I was trying to find an old license from decades ago that I might need for a job application. I looked all through my files and then had to look through storage containers. In doing so, I found a journal from my time photographing and swimming with spotted dolphins and humpback whales. I started reading and found a meditation written from my experience with whales.
The license wasn’t what I needed to find. It was the journal. Isn’t it wonderful how life works!?! The same messages I was receiving and recording 11 years ago, are coming strong now. Not only was it a validation for me, but a wonderful remembering of feeling dolphins push against my body as we swam in perfect harmony. And of humpback whales connecting with their calves. I still get goosebumps!
I hope you enjoy this meditation gifted from the whales to me…and now to you.
Imagine our Sun, in about 5 billion years, expanding into a red giant star. After it uses the hydrogen at its core, it will swell dramatically and engulf Mercury, Venus, and most likely Earth. Before then, the Sun will brighten gradually at about 1% every 100 million years. This will make Earth’s surface too hot for liquid water within 1 to 1.5 billion years. Imagine this, if only for a moment. The unimageable beauty here….lost.
That’s what I think of, what my heart aches about. It’s long after everyone I know dies and most likely long after humans exterminate ourselves from our toxic ways…emotional, physical, mental, and spiritual toxicity. But the mountains, oceans, wildlife, plant life…unimaginable loss of beauty.
With this ending of life as we know it a billion years or 365,242,500,000 days away, it makes everything here so much more precious, so sacred. And yet, since 1760, when the Industrial Revolution began, 266 years ago, we have systematically destroyed entire ecosystems. Between 1500 and 2004, 784 species have been listed as extinct. Over 160 species were declared extinct between 2010 and 2019. 2024-Slender-billed Curlew; 2023 eight different species of honeycreeper birds and eight different species of freshwater mussels. In 2020 31 species were declared extinct in a single update including several freshwater fish species and the Splendid Poison Frog. 2011…the Western Black Rhinoceros. The list goes on….
So, in other words, humans are doing quite a fine job of destroying life on Earth long before the Sun vaporizes all water on the planet. In fact, we have been speeding up the process by shifting from traditional energy to burning fossil fuels and creating massive deforestation, both of which release enormous amounts of greenhouse gases. Since 1850, this has increased atmospheric CO2 from 280 to 419 ppm, causing a rise in temperature. This creates climate instability which intensifies weather events such as droughts, wildfires, and floods. It’s estimated that switching from human and animal power to fossil-fueled machines established a 50 times faster rate of warming compared to previous natural variations.
Since I documented the BP Deepwater Horizon Oil Disaster from April 2010 to April 2011, I have been keenly aware of the damage humans do to our planet. I felt shame at being part of a species that in its greed for more, more, more is destroying such a precious jewel of a planet—a rare place that we take for granted every single day.
Sunset Gulf Shores, Alabama 2014 with iPhone
It’s beyond my capacity to understand how humans, as a collective, can create so much destruction and not understand the consequences of our actions. Many of us are awake to the reality of how every action we takes has an effect, for good or bad. But the rape and pillage of Earth continues. More! More! More! is our chant and as more species are lost, more catastrophic weather events occur, more deforestation occurs, we are truly creating what we focus on. Though perhaps not the ‘more’ we wish for.
I didn’t intend to write a depressing essay on the death of Earth. My intention was to write something that somehow illustrates the depth of love I have for this planet and all life here. And yet, to do that, I must share what is at stake: beauty so profound, life so sacred, that even with astronomical observations over the past 100 years, we have found nothing like it within or outside of our solar system. That’s not to say it’s not out there somewhere. But so far, life as we know it exists here. Now. The depth of grief I have over our collective destruction of it is immeasurable.
But when I journey into the grief, I find a depth of love and appreciation so profound, it lifts me into ecstasy. I remember looking a baby humpback whale in its massive eye as it swam past with its mother. I remember a sea turtle and I diving together, sharing a morning swim in Bonaire…a sea lion and I exchanging acrobatic play in the Sea of Cortez…a deer emerging from the forest, walking up to me, and licking my hand while gazing into my eyes…a juvenile manatee chewing my hair while its mother took my hand with her flippers and placed it on her heart…a baby manatee resting its head in my hand as tears of love filled my mask (and roll down my face as I remember now)…a spotted dolphin pushing against my body to help me keep up with the pod…fog hovering over the creek as sunlight created a golden color that transformed the world….a double rainbow filled with golden light that caused me to stop my car and dance along the side of the road with joy….the aurora as it illuminated the sky in Great Smoky Mountains National Park and caused me to laugh hysterically at midnight as the wind carried my voice up the mountain at Kuwohi…the bear emerging from the steep bank with his 350+ pounds and allowing me the grace to back up and allow him to cross my pass as my knees knocked…the snowfall in Canyon de Chelly that transformed a hike down the trail into a magic so powerful it forever changed me…the birth of my daughter that showed me what love truly is…all of these moments of beauty and countless more, come from an appreciation of beauty, a realization of how rare and unique life is and a willingness to feel the grief and choose love. Choose life. And do whatever I can to raise awareness of beauty and how freaking lucky we are to live on a planet that is a precious, rare jewel in the Cosmos.
The headlights illuminated a doe, heavy with her unborn baby; her white tail a flag as she bounded into the woods from the driveway. So alive, so vital.
At nearly that exact moment, ten miles away, the beautiful elk mother, heavy with her unborn baby, was struck by a car.
As I drove into the national park, the thick, red slick on the road lead to her crumpled body.
I stopped and rolled down the window to say words, to say thank you…for your beauty, your life.
White ribs stood out against the deep, red gash…that image is burned into my mind…and her head, looking back over her shoulder at an odd angle.
The bulge in her belly, now still as the mother–both traveling the spirit world. Free of pain and suffering, leaving us behind to mourn more loss of beauty, of wildness.
Our tears mix with her blood. Together they flow into the river.
In the gray light of dawn, mist was rising from the surface of the Oconaluftee River. I looked ahead and saw two white-tail does and a tiny fawn splashing in the water. They spied me and stopped. Even though I froze, they were no longer comfortable in their play and went on guard, as any smart deer would do.
They reminded me of another area I walk. There is a doe I often find frolicking in the water on a bend in the creek where she plays. I always look for her, a water sister.
This morning, after observing the fawn and does playing, I walked on. Within a few minutes I saw an elk cow and calf in the river. Light was shimmering on the water’s surface, leaves were backlit and framing the scene in glowing green hues. All of these gentle creatures, going to water to find relaxation, peace, nurturing.
I struggle for words to express how being in water heals me. I find deep kinship with the deer and elk as they stand in the flow and attend to the present moment—breathing, sensing, being. Like the Cervids, I wander into water—I collect water to filter for drinking, but sometimes I just stand and breathe and feel the cool water rushing against my skin. Like them, I am home in these waters.
Photo of Simone by David Knapp
I was born on a small bay in coastal Alabama and grew up there with a childhood full of brackish-water adventures. As an adult, I found scuba diving and cave diving immensely pleasurable. But fly fishing has brought me to my home waters.
Traditionally, home waters is a term used to describe an area of sea around one’s own country. In fly fishing, we talk of home waters as being the waters near where we live and fish. After spending many days wading in all weather and seasons, I have come to understand that home waters are the waters I carry within my body. And those waters are never separate from the rivers and creeks around me.
The painted trilliums were exceptionally joy-producing.
I explored a new area today and asked It to tell me about Itself. It gifted me with play experiences, encounters with wildlife, and amazing beauty. Sometimes there’s really nothing else to say except… I’m so grateful.
Here’s a few photographs with comments. You’ll get why I can’t really add any major story or realizations to this post. It’s just….Amazing Beauty.
This butterfly wing was laying on a rock in the middle of the trail. It has a red spider mite (or some red insect) on it. I thought the colors of the wing, red insect and rock were quite lovely.
The creek was exquisite with many cascading drops.
The timing was perfect. The elk gals were laying down, resting, when I went up the trail. When I came back this cow was drinking and there was an opportunity to observe….(sigh)
This silly girl gave me a big grin as she pooped in the water. I use a Grayl water filter system and drink the creek waters all the time. I will say it gave me pause…..she was such an expression of amazing beauty.
Simple beauty of the day reflected in every element of the Place.
Photography note: All images except the water are with a medium format Nikon D 800 camera. It’s heavy….heavy…so I don’t use it a lot any more. But when I do, I remember why I adore this camera. It’s a beast of high resolution. The water flow image is with an iPhone 12 Max Pro using ‘live’ mode and then scrolling up on the image and choosing ‘long exposure.’ It does a decent job but nothing like my Nikon and Really Right Stuff ball head tripod….but sometimes its just easier to go light.
