Chapter 139
Practising living in impermanence. With Pele’s capricious moods on the other side of nature’s whims, this is the perfect space to let go and drop into the flow and ebb of life and death. The increase in population, both transient and permanent, is significant since my last sojourn. There is standstill traffic each day on the one road to and from. It’s a far cry from the peaceful hum I used to know in lower Puna, the wooden boardwalks will soon become a thing of the past, ploughed under by ‘progress’, another small drop in the endless swirling soup of life amid the Pacific.
Faces are, on the whole, maskless. This is mainly because I restrict my habits to spaces on the beach or lonely roads, village essentials and little more. Visitors here from Europe exclaim over the delightful energy, people’s friendliness, the absence of cellphones…
At the end of a random trail cut from the road toward the shore, beyond an impenetrable wall of deep green, swarthy, significant leaves, I find the end; a lava cliff falling eternally into the glorious azure, rolling away under the foaming white caps, accents to constantly changing hues of blue. Beyond this breath of poetic vision, the waves of the Pacific purl on, the myriad lives beneath continue while we above struggle onward in utter ignorance.
I have spent most mornings at the beach. Some mornings, like today, I rouse early and visit with the unfurling breath of sunlight. The peace of the ocean in the first slice of the day is juicy and tender, welcoming me into the tranquil waters without so much as a splash. I wonder how I walk through those white waves into the deepest blue, they are equally likely to pick one up and toss a careless body back into the ever-shifting rocks.
The rocks, black and murderous, pile high book-ending the beach. Daily people rebuild a solid stairway from sand to carved igneous shelf. Nightly the ocean wraps silken formless fingers around these great rocks and tears them away as though they were mere fragments of lace against the sand’s breadth.
In the daybreak hours, I dance down the treacherous gnarled cliff trail, shifting my harp from one shoulder to the other to avoid the reaching rock-faces that snug close then fall away to stunning views. Last week, standing at the halfway point, thankfully without harp, I was smitten by a freak wave that rose from no-where – at least 30 feet below – and swept a blast of chilly end-of-the-day water across my back.
This morning, I stop at the same point to take pictures of the pastel sky, the sun’s first rays bleeding life into the world, colour into the water, the clouds and the fragile delicacy of the morning sky. Dropping to the beach, I observe the new day’s arrangement of wave-smooth rocks, mountains of tiny black pebbles highlighted with rare white specks of coral and shell.
There is an arch of heavier pebbles mid-way along the beach, a space generally reserved for smooth black sand. It appears the ocean is mixing things up today.
Feeling the energy of the earth rise up with the sunlight. Sweet.
Two days prior… I arrived to the empty beach, save for the regular morning crew of diligent swimmers, yogis and practitioners of varied and interesting rituals, all of us unclothed in the simplicity of being. Sun beaming. Ocean rolling and singing its song. I played my harp. The way the music flows from the strings has evolved over the short time I’ve been here and the ears of others no longer sends my small voice into a tailspin. It’s fun to play to the sun, sea, sand…and the appreciation of others. It’s a joy to wake this simple machine from its packaging, some times, when the wind picks up, all I have to do is raise it aloft and the wind will pick the tune.
“The dolphins are here!” is a regular cry. One man suggested the harp brought them in, a nice idea, but they come at their own whim. Willie is donning his half-wetsuit over his interestingly-tattooed body. He has large leaves shoved down the front… for the dolphins. It’s all about the energy…
I’ve watched them play in their dozens, diving and leaping and spinning. Some times they like human company, others not so much. On this day, I swim out, my concession to clothing a pair of goggles for underwater vision. Willie is not far behind, he too wears goggles, not fins. I swim out.
The dolphins come. There are at least 20 or maybe 30, mothers with young ‘uns at their sides, adolescents bouncing and leaping with the glory of youth, everything in between. Willie casts out a few leaves to float, swaying back and forth down through the waters, until the dolphins pick them up on tails, dorsal fins or flippers. The dolphins play with the leaves, suddenly launching up just beyond arm’s reach ahead of me, spinning in the sunlight before plunging below.
I look below me to watch the cetaceous group wend across the rippling sand floor of the ocean, their change in speed from cruising to sudden turbo-boost before my face is incredible, the propulsion indiscernible. At the surface behind me “This is so much better than I ever imagined! Swimming as naked as the dolphins around us, amazing!” I turned to see a beaming face of a man obviously having the time of his life.
Fantuzzi and I finally had a date – after two weeks of my being here. The next morning we went to the beach and swam together amid a pod of happy dolphins. What a treat from the universe to celebrate our reunion.
For many, it’s beyond reach, even when they make it to this island. Swimming out here is not for the faint-hearted, people die each year as I have documented before now. Yet I am surprised how few people are comfortable in these waters. I am surprised at others who swim around the point and over to the south where the currents can pull you out into the ocean and far, far away. I stay within a certain boundary, I know my limits…some of the time!
By the time this reaches your eyes, my body will be back in winter world, wrapped up and feeling a tad chilly no doubt. My heart may still be elsewhere…
With gratitude and love,
Kat Dancer
bodymudra@gmail.com
403-931-3866 (h)
+1 415 525 2630 (c)
