Whales and Redwoods
Floating in warm tropical seas. Sounds. Long. Slow. Various pitches. High. Low. Singing tranquility, wrapping me in a rocking, moving lullaby. I am held in whale songs. Every day for over five weeks, when I snorkel amidst the green sea turtles, marveling at bright yellow and purple fish, I am held by these beautiful rounded tones. The notes calm me, entice me, make me wonder with their meaning I can almost understand.
Somehow the whales seem to be imbibing starlight, and sending the cosmic energy out in their songs, informing the sea of an ancient knowing that feels familiar and far away, all at once. Opening myself more, I imagine the lighted song lines crossing oceans and gently being received by the land.
Whales are calling us, if only we could understand.
From far away, on another land mass, Ancestor Tree also calls me from the redwoods at home. I feel an impulse to return and visit this ancient, gnarled tree deep in the heart of an old redwood forest and bring the whale songs home. I am supposed to bring my friend Allegra with me.
At first, when I'm home again, I visit the spruce trees on the cliffs by the sea. So many came down in the fierce winter storms of California. I'm filled with the poignant feeling one might have seeing a beloved friend or family member who had been through something hard when we weren't there to be with them. I am equally aware that I'd just have huddled in my house with the power on and off, scared the wind might blow the big pine over onto my roof.
After a couple weeks home, the day finally comes when Allegra and I hike through the ferns and freshly watered forest to Ancestor Tree. Branches, debris, and some fallen trees are scattered everywhere. Deeply quiet and peaceful, the forest feels full of a potent, undisturbed energy. She's intact, and has been left mostly alone for the winter, to go her own wild ways. The particles in the air feel alive and nourishing, like sacred amrita, holy nectar, the pure wild essence has built up to an elixir of life. We inhale the fresh, crisp air, cool on our skins, smell the resins from fallen fronds. There's magic in the air.
And then it happens. I feel the whale energy meet the redwoods, alive and anchoring somehow from my field into this holy spot. Feeling the flowing element of water, absorbent, flexible, intelligent, Allegra and I dance, a clumsy Hula, but in my mind's eye I'm seeing the beautiful young Hawaiian woman, shiny black hair to her waist, dancing the Hula in her ocean blue dress so gracefully, as if she is a sea goddess undulating with the waves. We sing and it feels like the whales are sending love and support to these trees, this forest, the land after the trauma of the storms. Green tendrils wrap around the melodies, earth and sea coming together in a harmony, whales and trees sharing their tending and revitalizing care for the lines of light and song, of love and connectivity that circle our Earth; Gaia's net of aware intelligence.
Awe. Grace. Gratitude. Fabled Lemuria comes to mind, and I can almost taste that time, long ago, when I imagine or remember being able to understand the songs of whales and birds, the croaks of frogs, and the whole exquisite symphony. We are invited to listen to the whales, to sense into our own songs within and find the sweetest, most life-giving melodies.
