According to the Chumash, dolphins are humans that fell from a rainbow.
Their Creator built a rainbow over the Pacific Ocean so people could cross from the islands to the mainland. Creator warned them not to look down or they would fall to their deaths. Some people couldn’t help but look down as they crossed, and those who did immediately fell towards the water. As they were falling Creator took mercy upon them and turned them into dolphins.
I have always loved that myth, but when I look at the sea and think about the interconnectivity between the sea and the earth and the heavens, I can’t help but think that I would write it the other way around. My version of that myth would say that humans are dolphins who fell onto the rainbow.
I believe that all forms of life on earth evolved from the sea and therefore the sea is the mother of all living things, the great goddess of life. I believe that in the absence of her, life would cease to exist and that beneath her waves rests a record of the beginning and end of time. I believe that she is the vibration of both chaos and order and that there is a piece of her within in each of us.
We are but just drops of the same ocean.
One matrix interwoven.
Are the earth and I not made of mostly water? Is the amount of salt in the sea not equivalent to the amount of salt in the blood of my body? Does saltwater not fall from my eyes when I cry and my pores when I sweat? Are the tides of the sea not controlled by the cycle or the moon and is my cycle as a woman not one in the very same?
I look out at the sea and witness eternity on the horizon.
I watch as the clouds crawl across the morning. I watch as the wind rises to a scream and falls to a whisper. I watch as the sun breaks free of the clouds that held her captive and let’s her light parade down to turn the indigo waves into silver. I watch the day sink into an orchestra of color before fading from blue to black. And I watch as stars flicker into existence.
I watch it all from the strangeness of solitude.
The wind is at a 90 degree angle to Juniper now. It is the beam reach that I have been praying for. She sits flatter on the sea and rocks gently into the swell. All sails are flying and she is gliding across the water faster than she ever has before. Sometimes 7, sometimes 8 knots.
In the middle of the night the boom was slamming back and forth in the wake of the waves, so I woke up and fastened it down with a preventer. She’s been as quiet as a church mouse ever since.
This morning I noticed that my batteries were almost dead, so I disengaged the windvane and ran the engine for an hour. While they charged I cleaned and organized the cabin, pumped the bilge, cried because I was so happy to be alive, and danced around naked because nobody was looking.
Life on the water is reduced to sail changes, problem solving, writing, daydreaming, eating and sleeping. I wouldn’t want it any other way.