I swam with sea turtles the other day. Hidden within the ethereal temple of underwater corral columns and aisles of reef & lava, we worshiped together, floating on rhythms of waves pulsated by the draw of the moon’s wooing. Dancing together inside the praises of salt-water cathedrals, where lighting was perfect and no sound needed, we floated, me using my arms for buoyancy, they using their fins for the same.
We danced inside that womb of water. Sameness. Eyes. Torso. Limbs. Head raising for air. Fish surrounded us, like children gracing the aisles of a service. It was a truly spiritual experience, almost surreal.
As I was making my way back, the island fish, the Humuhumunukunukuapua’a, just one in number, accosted me in the foyer of sand and surf. Swimming in front of me, staring me straight in the eyes, and scurrying its body forward, as if trying to pick a fight in the water. It did this several times. I almost felt it asking me: “Who do you think you are?? What are you doing here??” Good question. As we sat there suspended in the midst of our underwater paradise, I then felt it communicate this: “All you humans come and gawk at us, amazed at our beauty. Yet you then turn around and eat us and our kind, separating your experience of now, with that of your appetite. Who are you??”
Honesty of the sea, and spirituality indeed.