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.
