The Migration of 1997

photo by animal.discovery.com

[When this news broke, we in Clayoquot Sound were devastated and alarmed. The news article referred to drug running boats. But, upon reflection, we realized small boats could not have caused such havoc, that perhaps the official news release was intended to deflect awareness away from something larger that was going on. We never determined the actual cause of the whales' deaths.

I wrote this poem in a small effort to assist in the transformation of consciousness we so desperately needed then - and even more desperately need now - on this planet, struggling in the grip of the multinationals.

I highly recommend the Julian Lennon production of Whaledreamers, documenting

the arrival in Australia of aboriginal elders and shamans from around the world,

gathering in a sacred whale-calling spot to sing the whales in to shore as in days of old.]

february 25, 1997

Sister whale,

you begin your migration

along the rugged coast,

and I stand waiting

in the chill, late-winter dawn,

watching to see you passing by

on your ancient journey,

both of us caught

in the spell of a force

far greater than man's,

connected in the mystery

and the beauty

of the universal plan

that makes us sisters

under the skin,

that makes us kin.

Mystical swimmer

in the primal sea,

it's been your ocean

since the world began.

You have made your way

century upon century

from birthing grounds

to feeding grounds,

your babies by your side,

your steady progress

purposeful and true

through the perilous course

your corridor has become

since it became a corridor

man shares with you.

I have looked down

to see you from the air,

your body outlined

like a dozing giant

in the kelp,

and I have caught my breath

as,with a huge exhalation,

you surfaced right beside my boat,

with your wise, loving eye

seeing me clear,

looking like you wanted to offer

us bumbling humans help

to learn the ancient wisdom

you could share,

if only you could find

a way to speak,

and if only we could find a way

to hear.

Now they say you're dying

in massive numbers

in the Gulf.

Up north, we're weeping

as we read the news

that your corridor,

a whale highway

at this time of year,

is also now a passage for cocaine.

The news item says drug smugglers

are dumping chemicals - NK-19 -

that they use to mark drug loads

for detection

from the air at night.

The shining boats must make

a pretty sight,

but when dawn comes

there are your bodies

lying on the shore

in numbers too great to ignore,

from swimming through the sea

in total trust,

because you have no choice

and swim you must.

My mind, after

the numbness and despair,

begins to form a bigger question: how

can small boats dumping buckets

cause such hell?

Or is this just

a smokescreen

to hide the truth?

Is nuclear waste the story

they dont tell?

My heart is aching,

for what it's worth.

Should we put up a sign in Baja:

Detour this earth?

Soon we'll hear

that whales are glowing

out at sea.

Will we sell tickets then

to see the show?

Night time whale watching:

double the profit,

double the fun.

I'd say I'm sorry

and I'm not the only one.

I own the guilt of

belonging to

my species.

All I can do is write my pain

into a poem.

I know your heart

holds sorrow too,

everywhere you roam,

for I can hear it

in your mournful song.

What are we doing to your home?

What are we doing to

our planetary home?

Sister whale,

swim fast, swim free.

Some of us know

that together we share

a common destiny.