Mighty Whale (prince of silence)

This vignette was inspired by a question from a friend, “does the whale in their might and beauty practice such”?

In those brief, hazy moments that slip between the dream world and the world of convention, I saw a whale out in the ocean. The day was trying to touch me with sea mist, low clouds that swirled, first dense and then thin and filmy like a worn curtain fluttering behind broken glass. I tried to part the curtain so that I would see clearly. . . but I couldn’t. . . and it didn’t matter.

Out there, in the ocean, the whale surfaced up into the wind and then plunged, drenched in the earths sweat and tears, down into his home. His movements. . . above and below, to the air then to the deep blue were mighty, graceful arcs. How could any creature, so powerful, be at the same time so serene? It may not always be so.

As he swam into the bay, I sensed that his mass was parting first the water and then the sky. This disturbance was so profound that I could feel the air around me become compressed as he rose above the water, that I could feel the vortex of the sea pulling me forward as he disappeared. I felt then that my breathing had adopted his rhythm, or had he begun to dive as my heart beat? Still, his nearness was disturbing. . . or reassuring? I couldn’t tell. . . . And I will savor this dream forever.