The Cetacean Messages

Chapter One

Encounter

Peering through my mask while floating face down on the glass calm surface of Kealakekua Bay, I hardly perceived my breath whistling through my snorkel as the late morning Hawaiian sun gently toasted my backside. Twenty feet below the ivory sand reflected the sun's dancing rays, refracting to and fro as if set to an aquatic symphony of audible crackles and pops.

The ocean is anything but silent. A trained ear will hear the constant chatter of shrimp snapping, parrotfish munching, waves lapping, triggerfish grunting, dolphin squealing and whales singing. It's these latter two oceanic wonders that had drawn me out, alone, to this spot in the middle of the bay on that gloriously sunny morning. Not that I really had any expectations of interacting, mind you. I was drawn mostly by the peacefulness that I experience being one with the ocean. Away from people and the "normal" sounds of the world, this aquatic sanctuary provides for me a feeling equal to what meditation might provide the yogi.

Steadily, I kicked away from shore. The sand bottom soon giving way to coral and rock formations and then, finally, to a ledge that sloped to more than a hundred feet deep. Skimming over the abyss, I exhaled slowly, fully, to allow for a very deep breath. As I inhaled I kicked myself forward, bent at the waist, swung my legs upward and began my descent — head first, into an ocean so blue as to define the very essence of the color. Beneath me the bottom appeared like a ghostly mirage as I hovered mid water at about forty feet deep. I am always amazed at how clear this water is and how far I can see. A hundred feet of visibility is the norm and a very good day can produce twice that much. This was, indeed, a very good day.

The secret to "free diving" is to move slowly and gracefully. Amateurs try to rush their descent only to find themselves quickly out of breath and bolting back to the surface within seconds. Experienced divers know that speed is unimportant. It's not how fast you go, it's how efficient you move. The objective is to conserve energy so the body will use less oxygen. Some divers even slow their heart rate, allowing them to achieve superhuman depths and times before resurfacing. I've measured my own pulse while at depth and found it to be only two thirds that of my normal resting state — indicative of a relaxation that instinctively reminds me of floating in the womb.

Of course, in diving, there is also the matter of the ears. Well, not the ears exactly, but the pressure you feel on the ears. As most anyone who has dove to the bottom of a deep swimming pool can tell you, the water pressure on your ears can be unbearably painful. That is, of course, unless you "clear" them... diver talk for equalizing the air pressure in the middle ear to match the water pressure pushing on the eardrum. Usually a pinch of the nose coupled with a quick snort will alleviate this pressure... and one must frequently perform this maneuver throughout descent to avoid imploding the eardrum.

As I hung weightlessly suspended and enveloped in translucent blue, I reveled in the sounds and searched the far ranges of visibility for members of the dolphin pod I knew were in the area. Their clamor of high pitched squeals and clicks alerted me to their presence. I could hear them all around even though their physical presence eluded me. Slowly I started my upward drift to the surface as I continued to search the outer reaches of visual range for a telltale glimpse of two-toned gray.

The funny thing about sound underwater is that it seems omnidirectional. You simply can't tell what direction it's coming from. The fact is, sound travels much farther and four hundred times faster underwater — making it very confusing to human ears. When I hear a dolphin squeal or click it's impossible to know where the animal actually is. It could be a hundred feet or a hundred yards away. It could be to my right or my left. It could be above or below me... or even right behind me — like a practical joker comically keeping pace with the back of my head as I rotate to search vainly in all of the wrong directions. It is true that no one gets close to a dolphin without their permission. Before I see them, they have detected me with their sonar. They are aware of my presence from a distance. They seem aware of where I am looking and know how to avoid my gaze. They are smart enough and move quickly enough to stay out of my sight regardless of the distance that separates us. They are masters of their environment and I am clearly the ill-adapted visitor.

Back on the surface I scanned above water for the elusive pod. Many times before I had been in this spot, and on several occasions I've been lucky enough to briefly swim along side. Contrary to popular belief, dolphin encounters with humans in the water are infrequent. And these particular dolphin that reside in Kealakekua Bay are shy, tending to avoid swimmers and snorkelers. Hawaiian Spinners, they are called — members of the order Cetacean which includes whales, dolphins, and porpoises — known for their enthusiastic jumping and spinning antics when surfing the wake of a boat or just playing away the day. They always look like they are having so much fun. As I saw a pair frolicking in the distance I daydreamed, "when I die I want to come back as a dolphin."

I lowered my eyes back into the water and prepared to dive again. Immediately, as my head submerged, I heard a piercing message that blasted my consciousness with such intensity it shattered my delightful reverie. It wasn't exactly sound...... I wasn't hearing it with my ears, although it felt as if it were being delivered by megaphone from within my head. It was a question and a statement, and it seemed as though I was detecting it with some previously unused receptor buried deep inside the inner recesses of my brain.

"YOU CAN HEAR ME?!?"

"WHAT?" I shouted back, raising my head from the water and saying it more like expressed confusion than as a question. I felt as if another entity had merged with my consciousness.

"You CAN! you can hear me!"

This time, before I could answer, I was overwhelmed with... I guess I would call it... messages?

"Don't talk, too slow. THINK..., I'll understand," came the message.

"Now this is getting way too weird," I thought to myself as I looked around for someone, something, anything that might be identified as the source of this mysterious communication.

"Now I know I shouldn't be out here alone," I reasoned, "but, after all, I'm a professional dive guide. Surely the don't dive alone rule doesn't apply to me, does it?"

I rationalized that there was no chance of me getting in trouble. "After all, the tourists I escort aren't qualified to help me in a pinch — in fact, they're usually nothing more than liabilities. If I had a real problem they'd just be witnesses, really. So what good would it be if I had a buddy?"

I hoped I wasn't cracking up. After all, it was reasonable to think drowning could be a problem, but not spontaneous insanity. I distinctly remember saying aloud to myself through my snorkel, "This is way, way too weird".

Continuing with my soliloquy... "Has my eccentric hobby caught up with me? ...Am I going crazy?" The clarity and resonance of the message was inexplicable. It was more than sound... It seemed like pure feeling!

I took a deep breath and dove to about forty feet wondering if a "dialogue?" might ensue underwater. I noticed that everything was peaceful again when suddenly, from my right, a streak of gray shot past me like I'd envision a torpedo on it's way to a target. It passed so close I was displaced by it's jetstream. It would be impossible to have passed nearer without touching my body yet the animal did not even graze me.

Always before, if the dolphin were interested at all, they would slowly approach and maintain a discreet distance. This one, however, was behaving in a way that I had never experienced. As the animal repeatedly continued to pass within centimeters of me I was reminded of how well these life forms have mastered their liquid environment. I was so entranced by the moment and confused by the strange occurrences that I almost forgot to surface and breathe... almost!

After quickly grabbing a much needed breath of fresh air, I dove again — utterly fascinated by this incredible animal. I dare say, I was no longer thinking about my unexplained perception of moments before. I was simply elated to be privy to the spectacle of aquatic showmanship this dolphin displayed.

As I hovered weightlessly at depth, the dolphin rocketed to within five feet of me — a more comfortable distance, I thought. The creature then began circling me clockwise, slowly, taking about 5 seconds to complete each revolution. I felt like the hub on a wheel as we rotated in sync, our eyes solidly locked on each other's. It was as if we were connected by some invisible spoke linking not only our bodies but also our feelings as well, when abruptly I heard;

"I am happy you can hear me. Your fear is killing us!" came the message rather nonchalantly.

"Whose fear? ...killing who?" I thought, not exactly sure if I was responding or just thinking to myself. "What is going on?" It was at this point that I started getting answers exactly as fast as I could think of the questions.

"Human fear... Almost everything... We are 'talking'"

"What are you?" ...stupid question.

"I'm a dolphin, of course."

"Who are you?" ...that's what I meant to say.

"Call me Deja"

It was a she. "How are you communicating with me?"

"Tediously. Humans aren't exactly the fastest communicators on the planet. I'm afraid it'll be some time before your species overcomes the 'word barrier' ...if ever you do at all."

I was receiving what seemed like a combination of pictures, feelings, and concepts. There really were no words... only those my mind fabricated in order to translate the messages being passed to me... and it was all happening really fast.

"Why are you... 'talking'.. to me? It wasn't precisely the right word but I didn't have a better one.

"There's an appropriate question," came her rapid response.

I felt my companion's whimsical sense of humor but also her trifle bit of impatience with me.

Deja continued, "I'm communicating with you because you're receptive, available and someone must get this message."

I pondered for an instant and then I thought... "What message?"

Instantly the gentle response... "Your fear is killing us".

"Mine?... Killing who?

I got a rapid fire reply. "Human fear. Virtually everything".

The word "human" being the emphasis of her statement, I couldn't help but notice how happy this creature was. Her apocalyptic message was logically terrifying but the feeling tones with which it was being delivered felt like those associated with a cute joke spiced with love and compassion... absolutely contradictory to the message which was being ...uh, transmitted, I guess would be the best word.

"Killing dolphin?" I queried.

"Oh yes, dolphin too, along with everything else — including yourselves. Your fear has outlived its purpose. It has grown to decimating proportions. It obstructs your ability to believe, trust, love... and it fuels your preoccupation with materialism. Your fear is killing us."

Bewildered, I stared at Deja while pondering the meaning of what she had said. Then, wondering about her purpose I asked, "Why are you telling me this".

"I told you", she said with a gleeful tone of impatience, "because you are receptive and available — and someone must get this message."

"Why me, why must I get the message"

"You are human, are you not"

"Of course"

"Your inability to recognize connective relationships underscores the problem. When I say you ...I mean you as a human. Humans are very confused and somehow must get the message that your fear is killing us."

Intuitively, I got that "us" described some interconnected system of life on a truly vast scale... including the planet itself. As if to confirm my intuition Deja clearly messaged to me...

"All life forms, including yours, are in danger of major regression and even extinction unless you, humans, get the message and drastically alter your focus of attention. It is time for you to reevaluate what you call 'important'... your fear no longer serves you. Have I stated it simply enough for you to comprehend?"

I felt like a slow learner but I still didn't understand. The speed of her messages had my mind whirling... a conversation that should have taken several minutes had conspired in only a few seconds. Also, it was much more than her "messages" that were confounding me. I was overwhelmed by a light-speed barrage of conflicting feelings. In a series of split seconds, I felt peaceful, exuberant, sad, loved, confused, urgent, terrified, appreciative... just to mention a few. My emotions were on overload and as I began to ponder my sanity I got a reassuring message.

"I see I'm communicating too fast for you, I'll slow down. It is unusual for you to perceive us anyway. Humans are generally unreceptive — stuck in a period of suspended development. However, some of you possess the ability to comprehend very basic thought transfer. It requires much work on my part and a lot of patience. Most people just experience a good feeling when around us, empathetically reflecting our natural exuberance. By and large, humans are tediously slow and unevolved beings in areas dealing with communication."

"Should I feel insulted?"

"You may if you like... but bear in mind that dolphins evolved millions of years before you, give or take a few millennia. That's a big head start"

I was still having a tough time assimilating the messages and Deja must have sensed it.

"Ok, .... I'll slow w-a-y down. Obviously I am still going too fast for you so I'll attempt to pace it as if we were two humans communicating verbally. I apologize, but I must tell you that it is like teaching a young child who is a very slow learner.

"Now I do feel insulted."

"Your feelings are part of your problem. You are ruled by them, constantly trying to alter your state of being. Anyway, don't take it personally. For now, feel comfort in the fact that you are receptive. You may even feel complimented if your ego desires it. It'll be a while before you attain the ability of thought transfer again..."

Her sentence trailed off, unfinished, as if she had said something she wished she could take back. "What do you mean by that? Before I attain thought transfer ability again?" I felt compelled to ask.

Without answering my question, Deja continued, "Remember, when I speak of 'you'... I am speaking of all of you... all humans. You should know that we are all connected. It is time for you to realize that you are inseparable from each other as well as interconnected to everything that exists — even that which is far beyond your awareness and currently beyond your understanding."

As I pondered the intensity of her feelings, she swam away. Frantically, I attempted to maintain contact, I ...broadcasted, "Come back..., I have more to ask. We can't be done yet. I don't understand..." I intuitively realized she was referencing creatures of this world and also beyond — which only added to my confusion. I definitely did not understand.

Suddenly I had this overwhelming urge to breathe and instantly realized that I had not surfaced during the entire episode. Panicked, I shot upward like a rocket and gulped the fresh air. How long had I been under? I had no idea. Fifteen minutes? More? Less? ...I just had no idea. Normally, two minutes would be a long breath hold for me. But it seemed so much longer. "Impossible", I thought. Then again, talking to a dolphin is impossible, ...isn't it?

Anxiously, I searched underwater for Deja. I scanned the surface for the dolphin school. I repeatedly dove back to depth and hung weightlessly, hoping she would return. Nothing. Only blue.., not even the ghostly bottom for a visual reference, it was too deep.

I resurfaced and began convincing myself the whole episode was a delusion. In a daze, I kicked my way slowly back to Napoopoo beach.

© Copyright 2024 Planet Ocean LLC - All rights reserved