Bonaire Archives - Page 3 of 6 -

Golden Crown of French Grunts

By Simone Lipscomb | June 1, 2014

I hung motionless in the turquoise water, silently witnessing a living, golden crown adorning a beautiful growth of elk horn coral in the white sand bottom. That’s how the Sea is….alive, moving, breathing as one with all Her creatures. The French grunts with their golden stripes schooled and moved as one being, swaying with the surge of the water column. I too moved only as the water moved me, hanging so peaceful in saltwater reverie.

That’s why I dive…Oneness. It’s never about how far I go or how long I stay underwater but only about the experience of being part of the underwater world, a witness to the immense capacity for life found in the Ocean.

I awoke to the sweet sounds of a warbler perched in the palm tree outside my window. In the dark, pre-dawn quietness–while most of the place is still sleeping–trills and warbles pierced the silence and brought me from the dreamtime. In that land between sleep and waking, the palm leaves rustled their staccato swishing and began the song of the dawn.

A faint glow called to the artist in me so I unpacked my camera, grabbed my tripod and headed to the water. As I stepped outside it felt like I was un-peeling another layer of civilization and properness and expectations from myself and entering into the elemental world of Bonaire that my soul answers to with opening…unfolding…deep breaths….unbounded gratitude.

Standing in soft, cool sand, sound again spoke to me in the tinkling of coral bits in the gentle surf, the wind gently whistling and tossing my hair, water swooshing and moving itself up to my feet. Music of the dawn, calling me to connect with elemental spirits of air, water, fire and earth. There is no other place that calls so strongly to my soul.

Later….a frog fish, master of camouflage presented himself to me. A large peacock flounder, another being perfectly capable of rending herself hidden on the reef, lay quietly waiting. A tiny, precious little moray eel, yellow and black and no longer than a few inches, caused rapturous joy to erupt from within. This life….this immense Ocean of life…is the lifeblood of Earth and I, a daughter of the sea, felt my heart singing hymns of worship.

Later still….I knelt at the clear, warm water’s edge seeking bits of sea glass. But really, truly I simply wanted to connect with the silence within myself as the saltwater caressed me, nurtured me and reminded me of fins and scales, and seaweed hair that are features that define me…mermaid….daughter of Poseidon…lover of the Sea.

Around my flowing, seaweed hair swims a crown of fish as I swim beside a grandmother sea turtle. There is no separation. There is only Oneness.

Magic of Submersion

By Simone Lipscomb | May 21, 2014

All focus comes to the breath. The feeling of freedom comes with a cost of being on life support. The metal tank cinched snugly to my body, the array of hoses and regulators each contributing their role to my underwater experience.

Amid fish and corals, sea turtles and respectful divers the true meaning of home is experienced. The Mother and I are reunited once more.

Her salt pulses through sister turtle’s body and mine as well. Such stillness…such openness. Peace. Home…..Freedom.

Elders Enduring

By Simone Lipscomb | June 13, 2013

My last full day in Bonaire I rented a truck and drove through the north part of the island. As I was making my way toward Rincon, and then Washington Slagbaii National Park, I eased through Gotomeer. The narrow, one-lane road hugged the shore of a lake where flamingos waded along with other shore birds. It was beautiful with cactus lining the rocky landscape.

As I drove past a tiny island, I noticed the fence and shelter had been improved from last year. In fact, each year it seems to get more fortified and improved.

After passing it, I came upon an elder. His dark skin glistened in the heat and he motioned for me to stop. Yes, I was alone with few other humans around and yes, I had a backpack full of expensive Nikon photography equipment, part of which was laying on the seat beside me. But locals get rides from anyone who is willing to stop and give them a lift. I didn’t feel any fear as the man wasn’t carrying anything and was most likely in his 80’s. As a visitor to Bonaire, I have given rides to locals before and they are always very appreciative.

Before getting into the backseat of the four-door truck he asked if I was Dutch. “No,” I replied. “Do you speak Dutch?” he asked. “No, sir. I don’t speak Dutch.” “So…you don’t speak any Dutch?” he asked again. “No,” I answered.

He climbed in the backseat opposite me and shook my hand. His firm grasp was friendly and I knew it was right to stop and give him a lift into the small town, not far ahead.

He asked if I was American. I responded with a ‘yes.’ He told me he liked Americans and they always treated him well. Without any prompting he started telling his life story…or a bit of it.

Born on the island many years ago, he was subjected to forced Dutch schooling where the native children were not allowed to speak their own language and had to learn Dutch. He told me how difficult it was but it wasn’t so much the words he spoke as the way he spoke them that disclosed his lingering wound. I could feel his pain and struggle and sensed that he still carried distrust of the Dutch settlers who forced their rules onto local, native residents.

I knew of the Cherokee and other native tribes experiencing this sort of abuse in the United States but I had never met anyone who experienced it. Recently I watched a film called, Rabbit Proof Fence, about two Aboriginal girls who escaped from such a school in Australia. It was profoundly moving and gave me a better understanding of this kind of prejudice.

We soon arrived in Rincon. In holding John’s (not his real name) hand–as he thanked me and wished me a good day–I said a silent prayer and blessing for him and all native people who endured such prejudice and abuse. I also asked forgiveness for humanity’s capacity for cruelty.

We need to hear their stories and they need to see that we are listening, paying attention and understanding the mistakes that were made and most likely continue to be made somewhere on the planet.

The Wild, Wild Heart

By Simone Lipscomb | June 5, 2013

I rented a truck in Bonaire and drove up by myself into the national park. It was the first time in a very long while I had been there. Hot desert, cactus, rocks, dust ringed by turquoise and indigo ocean with large waves crashing against the shore–these are elemental energies at their strongest.

Structures built by humans are very few. What was built now stands in ruins, reclaimed by the sky and salt. Destined to always be reduced to the basic elements from which they arose.

The wild energy of the place invoked my inner wildness with prayers whispered in winds whipping through my hair. It bestowed a blessing with the warm fingers of solar energy touching my skin. Jagged rocks cut through any pretense, any boundaries erected to survive the insanity of humanity and I was cut open, my heart beat once more in instinctual rhythm, that cadence that is slow and grounded yet dancing with power and passion.

As I stood on a craggy cliff over looking the ocean I cried out to the sky, “Our world needs more instinctual energy, more awareness of elemental energy! We have forgotten the dance!” The cactus stood as guardians listening at attention, their reply the high-pitched whistle of wind through their needled arms. The wild parrots darting in and out of cactus answered me with their songs and calls. But the iguanas…they simply stared and waited…….the long silent stare that makes me a bit uncomfortable in my skin. It was as if they were asking, what are you going to do about this knowing that you know? Hmmmm?

The disconnect we collectively have from nature is destroying the planet. It is destroying us. If we dare to feel the beat of our wild, wild hearts we will never think it is okay to abuse the planet or any of its creatures….ever again. To heal the disconnect doesn’t require fighting and arguing, it simply requires each of us to reconnect with the part of us that belongs to the Earth. Then, from that bodily connection–that visceral connection–we will know what to do. The Earth will speak through us. She will rise up within us and heal Herself through us.

Still Room for Hope

By Simone Lipscomb | June 5, 2013

The morning began by a walk to the water before sunrise while the silver light of the waning moon still illuminated the sea. When the blue was still kissed with silver I stood, toes in sand, sinking into the soft substrate while warm, clear salt water kissed my feet.

In the quiet, when the birds were still considering their opportune moment to call up the sun, I breathed in the day.

As dead pieces of coral tumbled and tinkled in the rolling water, small bits of colored sea glass glittered amid the neutral tones of sand and coral rock. I began collecting them, gathering them into my empty tea cup.

I bent over in my sea glass meditation, in a sort of salutation to the morning, and in a moment of clarity gained understanding. I realized how broken litter–human garbage–was transformed into objects of beauty by the constant motion of waves working the sharp edges and shiny surfaces into something new and beautiful.

Many sins humans commit against our planet can still be righted. There is still time for us to collectively turn the tide and create something wonderful and healing. We can stop the assaults, poor decisions and mistreatment we have leveled upon the Earth and all of Her creatures, the land, water and air.

I smiled at the thought of a global awakening and realized the same metaphor applied to my life…to every individual’s life. The constant movement through changes and obstacles keeps refining us, inviting us to allow a deepening of awareness and an unfolding and strengthening of our talents and skills.

Each of us has the ability to become more beautiful, more effective in our walk on the planet. We can choose to remain broken or we can allow the process of transformation to change us into brighter expressions of our highest selves. There is indeed still room for hope.