A Dolphins Dream (13 page)

All of Poseidon was there as if he had fallen yesterday and his life’s blood shouted in color and form. It rattled and trembled with kaleidoscopic fecundity. Fish of every shape and color probed the reef like garish jungle birds, splashed with the brilliance and fervent style of Hieronymus Bosh. Oranges stirred with electric blue, ruby dots studded with chocolate browns, waves of chartreuse upon bracing cerulean, egg-white bellies laid beneath pulsating purples, coal lacks co-mingling with swords of silver, pinstripe copper across mottled greens and dollops of gold trimmed in emerald. There were fish with huge heads and scarcely a tail. Some were all tail and very little head.  There was a fish that looked like a stone, (and there were stones that looked like fish). There were fish with eyes that filled their heads and fish whose eyes were lost in tiny dots. There were fish with oversized mouths and a fish with hardly a mouth at all. There was a fish as thin as a shadowless thread and fish so fat it moved as an anchorless balloon. pon

Somewhat apart from the multitudes lay a coral head swarming with fish. Twelve feet directly above it Compton rested on the surface and gathered himself, taking deep breaths and concentrating on the notion of moving without moving. Bending into the water he began his descent. Almost instantly the fish departed the top of the coral head as if swept by a wind and he halted in mid-dive as the fish continued to scatter. Returning to the surface, having no idea what or how he had spooked the fish, he waited until they had returned to their chores and again pumped up breaths and prepared to dive. Slowing his pace he descended with diligence and the fish held to their positions as his fins cleared the surface but as soon as he reached for his nose to clear his ears the fish retreated. Halting his dive he turned for the surface thinking, all right, I need to go even slower and have everything in place beforehand. When the fish reclaimed their positions, he dove. Again and again they sprinted off, this time when he was within six feet of the coral head.

And so it went for most of the morning. Sometimes he knew what he had done to cause the fish to flee, an inadvertent kick, a hand or arm movement, even a head turn. It became a discipline and exercise in body/mind awareness. While resting on the surface it occurred to him that it was with careful deliberation that Abraham had demanded a hundred pounds of fish a week. In that pursuit he would have to move out of his cerebral world of ineffective thought patterns and into a reality where one focused on the very basics of existence -- moving, observing, eating -- in general, paying close attention to the world at large and letting the trivial and extraneous business of the mind fall away to simply watching oneself move.

The failures mounted and he grew frustrated. It seemed the more intense his concentration, the clumsier he became. In the course of his defeats he spotted a large fish that appeared to be a twenty-pound grouper lying in deeper water beyond the coral head. He pumped up several breaths and carefully made a dive for a closer look at the fish. As he closed on the fish it turned tail and disappeared into a crevice. However, in the dive he became aware that when he passed the coral head the fish remained undisturbed on the head. They had apparently accepted him into their world as he had swum by, then at almost the exact moment of that realization the fish scattered in all directions as he rose to the surface thirty feet away from them. It was as if they had read his mind. Compton became fascinated by the implications. Something else was going on that transcended his body movement. Perhaps it was his eyes, could the fish see his eyes? Or was it even subtler than that? His intention? Was one linked to the other? He had grown cold and hungry and the sun called to him from the beach, as did a whole new set of questions to be pondered in its warmth.

Compton sunned himself while lunching on cooked spam and the theory of intent. Lose the intent of getting close along with its communication through the eyes and perhaps the fish would let him in if his body did not betray him. Anxious to test the theory he prepared to enter the water again, adding another five pounds of weight to his belt to lessen his effort to reach the bottom and insure a more pronounced glide pattern earlier in the dive.

In his first few attempts the movement in his body revealed him to the fish. But he now knew, or had a pretty good idea, when each movement startled the fish by way of the simple telegraphic nature of the exercise. They would only move when he moved and whatever moved or twitched was instantly recorded on the collective eyes of the school. It was late in the day when he was finally able to get all movements under control, as well as divert his eyes to the point of observing the fish in a peripheral sort of way and, at the same time, keep his mind clear of all intent. In that dive they held their place on the coral head. He had entered their realm and in that realization came the satisfying awareness of being fully accepted by the school. It brought a convincing sense of connection, not exclusively to the fish but to all that lived in the sea, perhaps more specifically to the sea itself. He dove in that manner until exhausted and returned to the beach in a state of self-imposed grace that expressed itself in joy filled dolphin kicks to the tune of losing his way back in. On the beach he watched the sun settle over Taveuni, igniting the leaves of its coconut trees with the fires of the departing sun, a self-satisfying pleasure etched upon his face, lighting him from within as if another sun had descended into his soul. 

Compton slept better than he had in months, perhaps years, perhaps since he was a boy during the last full summer vacation of his life. He arose as a boy might, with an entire day before him and no real plans to fill it other than play. When one enters a new day where nothing is planned, anything can happen. One is prepared to embrace all events great or small and there comes an awareness of the unfolding of life as each act is revealed.  In this state of grace he fairly bounded to the shoreline after breakfast and entered the water as a boy in the midst of summer vacation might. 

The fish awaited him as he awaited them. Initially he was out of balance on the first few dives and the fish scattered but soon his movements came under control. His eyes sought out the edges of the coral head rather than its center and his mind released the intent of its occupation. He soon fell into its midst. He laid upon the sand in stillness and observed the fish in their comings and goings, nibbling on the coral, establishing territories for who knows what, the pairing up of same species. They went about their day as if he didn’t exist. He had entered a sacred realm and forgot his breath. Such a small thing it was to watch fish, yet it was their acceptance of him as an aspect of nature, a part of the whole, that elevated the experience into the province of the extraordinary. He was unprepared for this inclusion and the feeling that came with it. It was as if he had entered another dimension of reality, one that had always existed long before man had set foot on the planet and one that will exist eons after he departs. One that felt true, and with it came the hint of connectedness, to the fish and with the sea itself as a living thing. There were times on the bottom when his breath-hold was forgotten and in the stillness of the moment he would forget himself and merge with the whole. Then when the demands of oxygen crept into him and he remembered his breath and thus himself, the separation would occur and he would feel it as he rose to the surface on his need. Exhaling with a rush, breathing deep breaths, he would look down into the colorful sea feeling himself breathing, empty of thoughts, at peace in the moments between breaths. 

Through the morning he dove seeking the peace that lay within the moments of his breath-hold on the sea floor and between breaths on the surface. He had not known such peace in a long time but did not think about it for the thought itself could erase the moment and somehow he knew this and his body knew this and together they kept his mind quiet. He dove up and down from coral head to coral head watching fish, extending his breath-hold until it was forgotten.

When finally the cold awoke him to his body and its demands he swam with easy, purposeful strokes to the beach and cast upon the hot sand and lay as a basking turtle sheltered in harmony.

In the afternoon he went to the sea again seeking all that he had left earlier. But his intent was great. He wanted it too much and it did not come. The harder he tried the more elusive it became. The fish scattered, his mind worked on its pursuits and he struggled within himself.  It was as if the sea knew all that was contained in his mind and unless he could free his mind, empty it into the sea, then it would not permit him entrance. On some vague level knew this but could not relax into the reality of this ephemeral knowledge and eventually in frustration, swam back to the beach.

In the preparation of dinner his mind drifted to the morning and he wanted to share that experience with Moses and wondered when he would next see him. As the thought drifted from his mind, Moses appeared on the beach stepping out of his boat with a large sack over his shoulder.

“Bula”, he said. “I have brought you fresh vegetables and some fish.”

Compton greeted him warmly. ”Thanks so much for bringing the food.”

Moses unshouldered the sack and gave Compton a look, looking again this time from toe to head, stopping at his eyes and nodding approvingly. “I see the sea has done its work on you.”

Compton laughed. “You can see it? You are a marvel.”

Moses walked to the kitchen and deposited the goods. “It is not a difficult thing to see, eh. The sea does its work on us all, keeps us clean in our bodies and in our minds, that is the gift of diving in it everyday.”

Compton scrutinized him with the eye of one skilled in the ways of deception. “You know a great deal about diving for someone who doesn’t dive.”

Moses’ face grew dark and he licked his lips as if looking for words. “I am a fisherman, nothing more than that.”

“Well,” said Compton, “I had an incredible experience in the water this morning. I felt so,” he hesitated, searching for a word, “connected. It was…”

Moses held up his hand to halt any further conversation. “It is not a good thing to talk about what you did. Do not cloud your mind with talk. It weakens the strength of the teaching. Stay with the sea, learn about it and about yourself. The teaching of Aprosa is very important but the teaching of the sea is even more important. You can go nowhere without the teaching. Abraham said it would not work unless the teaching was right.”

“What wouldn’t work?”

Moses licked his lips again in search of an answer.  “I must go,” he finally said and hurried to the boat. After shoving off, he turned to Compton. “Do not stray from the teaching. Understand the sea and you will understand yourself.” He then poled off the reef, fired up the outboard and motored around the point without ever looking back.

Compton awoke late in the morning and wandered down to the kitchen where he found Aprosa sitting on the bow of his boat gnawing on a chunk of coconut. “Bula,” he said and waved. Compton returned the greeting and came down to the boat. “You have been diving, eh?” asked Aprosa. “I can see that the small fish have let you into their house.”

“How can you see that?” asked Compton without his usual skepticism.

“A piece of the sea is on your face, eh.”

Compton reflexively wiped his hand across his cheek, causing Aprosa to laugh uproariously. He patted Compton on the shoulder. “Come, we go into the water and find the real teachers.”

“What do you mean, the real teachers?”

“The small fish are not smart, they are like children, eh. The hunting fish, the ones who eat the other fish and the ones you will hunt, are very smart. You must learn how to get close to them.”

They put on their gear and entered the water, Compton following Aprosa through the coral maze and out along the edge of the coral line where the bottom began to drop away into water that appeared to be at least sixty feet deep.

Aprosa pulled the snorkel from his mouth and spoke to Compton. “From where the coral ends in the deep water to forty feet inside the reef line is where the big hunting fish hide. Every shot should be the kill shot, eh. If you miss the kill spot the grouper and the snapper take the spear to the deep holes and you have to dive deep to pull them out. To get close for the shot you must trick them. They are curious with intelligence, eh. So you fall to the bottom lie a dead man, with the gun out and ready, but no movement. They come in very slow to see who is this dead man on their reef. Sometime you hold the breath two minutes before they come in close for a good look. That is when you take the shot. But there is pressure in the deep water, eh. Pressure on the ears and face but mostly on the heart. This pressure on the heart does not hurt like the others but it affects the mind.”

Compton nodded as if he understood, understanding nothing.

“I show you.” Aprosa took several deep breaths and dropped down. In the gin-clear water the bottom looked no more than thirty-five feet away but Aprosa became smaller as he descended in a motionless glide and Compton knew that it must be far deeper that it appeared. Aprosa reached the bottom and settled on a large boulder in the sand. Small yellow and black tropical’s danced about him as he waited on the boulder. After a minute he extended his arm in ultra-slow-motion and pointed off in the direction of the reef wall. A large fish lay next to the wall and was slowly weaving its way towards the boulder. In what seemed like an eternity the fish came to within ten feet of the boulder. Aprosa then lifted off and in that movement the fish turned on itself and exploded away into the wall of the reef, the concussion of its tail sounding like a gunshot. Aprosa ascended in easy, powerful kicks, the long bladed fins bending nearly double from the stress. He reached the surface, exhaled and seemed unaffected by the lengthy breath-hold and ensuing ascent. Perhaps, thought Compton, it is not as deep as it looks.  

“You go to the boulder,” said Aprosa. “Pull the snorkel away from your mouth so the bubbles do not tell the fish you are alive, put it back on the way up. Take three big breaths and then dive. Be relaxed, that is the secret of the deep dive, it preserves the strength.  Stay relaxed in the mind, do not let thoughts come in and steal the breath.“