Always Laughing

I swam with dolphins today. I heard once that on certain days, when the weather is just right, and the ocean’s tide is mellow, there is a pod of dolphins that frequent Kahena bay, a black-sand beach near Kalani Retreat. I had never witnessed the site myself before today, when the sun decided to shower the residents of Puna with its rays, and everyone ran for the beach. I arrived, surprised to see fins jutting in and out of the water, dolphins jumping, spinning and splashing back against the blue. At first I was hesitant, a little frightened by how close you could actually get to the graceful creatures. I’ve never encountered dolphins swimming freely in the ocean. So I swam with apprehension, inching closer and then backing away, noticing their ever-present smiles. I always thought it such a strange physical feature, the upward shape of a dolphin’s mouth that makes it look as though they are always laughing.

As my courage took hold of me, I started swimming closer to the pod. There was no single leader, at least not to the casual observer. The role shifted, depending on the slightest change in direction. One second, the group would be following one particular dolphin; two seconds later, the orientation would turn sharply, and the group would propel in a different direction. I moved in unison with the group, rubber fins allowing me to keep up with their speed. The movement was exhilarating: the group would surface, flip and spin all at once, and then descend back down to the coral-covered bottom, silently gliding through the rocks and in between schools of fish. The pod would arc, as though rounding a corner. I began to anticipate the shift, feeling almost synchronized to their motion.

I was stunned by the absolute silence and serenity under water. The last sixteen months have been a lesson in stillness for me, and silence: hours alone in the apartment, laying on the couch, quietly enjoying pure, undisturbed silence. Sometimes I think humans talk too much. I find myself bored, or frustrated with my inability to communicate my experience through words. There, among the dolphins, I reveled in the beauty of companionship without words. Communication, most definitely. But not words. What bliss, what absolute joy, diving in and out all day, darting up and down, surfacing and descending into the quiet serenity of the ocean’s depth. I imagine a truly enlightened individual may be reincarnated as a dolphin. The smile so permanently etched on the dolphin’s face is no accident.