“How does a race of beings without hands record its history?”
Photo by Olga Kolpakov, courtesy of iStockPhoto.com
Story of spiritual dolphin encounter by Emily Seate of Fort Worth Texas

Dolphins

My first encounter happened in San Diego, California, at Sea World. An old fellow, with nubs for teeth and filmed-over eyes, laid his beak in my hand and changed my life. When he did, I felt an energy that simply overwhelmed me. I was walking away from the petting pool into a kind of garden when suddenly my legs buckled and I landed on the pavement, sobbing. How I knew that energy had intelligence, I’m not sure, but I did.

I tried writing poems – love poems to a creature I did not know beyond what I had felt. My words stumbled and staggered. Eventually, I wrote six episodes about a dolphin named Sarnak. I still have those pages. Handwritten in turquoise ink as though the color in my pen could make the words less hesitant. For years I worked on Sarnak’s story, learning as much from my imagination as my research. Much of that effort is available to readers inThe Power of Dreaming.

How does a race of beings without hands record its history? Why not create a holographic history in their watery world, a fluid history without the need for time? I have read of dolphins in a long line, surfacing for air and diving over and over again, one behind the other like a solemn ritual. Odd for these seemingly playful creatures. I witnessed the dolphins at the Naval Oceans Systems Command in San Diego swimming round and round in their tanks, a kind of rhythm to their surfacing and diving. By surfacing and diving, surfacing and diving, one behind the other in a circle, my dolphin characters create Dolphin Dreaming, and include humans in the experience.

Since writing Ah-Mah and The White Crown, I have heard from two different sources that native Americans have legends that speak of Dolphin Dreaming.