One
of my greatest joys is to spend time with dolphins. One my greatest challenges
in doing so is when its time to leave them and return to the mainland.
This is a story of the acceptance, playfulness and compassion of these
magnificent beings.
During my first
retreat with the dolphins I was graced by their choice to swim very closely
with me for hours every day. And every day a large male I called Slash
(named for a long horizontal scar below his dorsal fin) and a mother and
her new baby, Cashew and Peanut guided me to where their group or "pod"
was.
Occasionally
we would be interrupted by a swimmer who would spot the dolphins' dorsal
fins and come splashing toward us in a very aggressive fashion. Dolphins
do not care for this type of behavior and move away from it quickly.
On one such
occasion, I was swimming with the pod at a steady, slow, pace when all
of the sudden they powered off, all but Slash. He beamed me to wait, approached
the swimmer and guided him away. In what seemed like just seconds, Slash
returned to me and guided me to where the pod was waiting. We then continued
weaving our patterns together in the bay. (I've experienced these behaviors
with dolphins repeatedly over the years.)
Upon rejoining
the pod, with Slash on my right and Cashew and Peanut on my left, a young
male dolphin swam so closely underneath me that I curved up my spine to
avoid touching his dorsal fin. He paused, mirroring my body. I playfully
asked him "What are you up to?" In reply he turned his head around just
enough to look me directly in the eyes. He then moved slightly in front
of me so I could see that he had a strip of plastic on his tail. He was
inviting me to join him in a friendly game of "keep away."
I reached for
the plastic. He was too fast for me. He quickly flipped his body around
and caught the plastic with his pectoral fin, dove about ten feet and let
go of it. He then powered toward the surface. Well, I knew I could easily
dive down ten feet to retrieve the floating plastic before he returned
from his leap in the air. WRONG!
He leaped into
the air, performed a tail over head flip, dove back into the water and
gracefully snatched the plastic with his beak just as my fingers were about
to grasp it. I beamed him a playful remark referring to him as a "show
off." He replied by releasing the plastic from his beak and shaking his
head from side to side with his mouth open, as if he was laughing at me.
I beamed back, "When I was in a dolphin body I used to beat you at this
game!" He replied, "And now?" and swam off, plastic in tow (or on fin),
seeking a more challenging opponent.
I rejoined
the pod, who were watching this exhibition of play at a close distance.
We resumed our synchronized swim, sharing a precious heaven of time together.
We continued
swimming together at a gentle pace until it was time to return to the retreat
house. I looked up to see what direction we were swimming. We were heading
directly toward the retreat house. The dolphins were escorting me!
I did not know how to say good bye to my dolphriends, nor did I
have any desire to.
I had asked
the dolphins if they liked me bringing people to meet them. They answered
with an enthusiastic yes. I asked them many questions with replies so profoundly
simple yet full of wisdom. Communicating with them gave me the guidance
and confirmation I was seeking. From this experience, I chose to continue
offering retreats as vehicles to introduce people to the dolphins (and
vise versa).
Gliding through
the waves, I was speaking my gratitude to my beloved dolphin pod when like
a flash, the young male appeared, dropped off his prized plastic right
in front of me, did a little shimmy and sped off. I grabbed the plastic
and tucked it in my bathing suit. I extended my Aloha to the pod from deep
within my heart. I watched as they made their turn toward the sea. Holding
back the tears, I looked after them until they disappeared in the deep
blue distance.
When I got
to shore I ripped off my mask, sat down on the sand and let the tears run
free. They were tears of joy and sadness mixed with how profoundly the
dolphins had affected me. My heart was wide open. A spectrum of feelings
rushed through me which I acknowledged with eternal gratitude.
A friend from
the retreat house came running out to check on me asking why I was crying.
I pulled out the plastic from my bathing suit, pointed to it, still sobbing.
Not quite understanding me, she put a comforting arm around me, took the
plastic and unraveled it revealing that it was in the shape of a dolphin
with dolphin teeth marks throughout.
Today this
plastic (or dolphin toy) rests in a place of honor on my altar.
