An Introduction

Mother Ocean had been calling to me all my life.  During my tenderest years, I heard her hypnotic whispers along the Texan expanse of the Gulf of Mexico.  Day after youthful day, much to my non-aquatic family’s horror, I lay on my surfboard, carelessly allowing it to be swept away by racing currents until I was too far out from shore to catch waves, had there been any.  Something vastly alive stirred within me as I floated peacefully, joyously alone, fascinated by the life that might be moving in the mysteriously murky water beneath me.  Little did I know then that I was being recruited for a training program.  

 Although I always felt that I was being guided, I found out for certain in my mid-twenties.  Due to severe abdominal hemorrhaging, I was rushed to Houston's best hospital. Writhing in excruciating pain on the cold examining table, drifting in and out of consciousness, I could see a light down a foggy hallway.  Closing my eyes I floated down to the  foggy brightness. There was a group of very filmy-looking people in a huddle to greet me.  Even though I thought I was pain-free for the first time in weeks, I was confused when they told me that I could not stay. "You must go back!  You can make a difference in the world with your love and with our love.  We are going to be with you every step of the way" they whispered gingerly.  It took me many years to even believe what happened that night.  Not even my closest loves knew, until now, that I ventured past the veil and was sent back to keep a promise.

I later relocated to the Northern California coast, where I was introduced to cold parts of the ocean by an adventurous diving veteran, my husband, Bill.  Here shadows of big-eyed harbor seals and gregarious sea lions resembled the foreboding outlines of great white sharks.  I concentrated repeatedly on releasing my fear of those who eons before had laid claim to this part of the fifty-degree turbid water of the north Pacific as their breeding ground.  The void left by the purging of fear was immediately filled by a sense of belonging.

In 1986, I decided to volunteer at a marine mammal rescue center.  At that point my dreams became remarkably vivid.  Staged in the ocean, they starred marine mammals I had met over the years; each one, as it appeared, re-identified itself as a teacher, brother or old friend.  I also had a recurring dream about dolphins showing me the secret door into a violet crystal city.

    I loved being in contact with the animals at the rescue center, but I was saddened to see how disrupted their world had become.  All too often I would shed tears before and after weekend shifts spent baby-sitting the rare or endangered species of rehabilitating cetaceans and pinnepeds.  For the long-term safety of the majority of patients, volunteers were not permitted to interact with them.  The belief was that human contact would foster within them a dangerous trust in people, one that would lead to repeated shootings, strandings and net injuries.  "Don’t let them think all humans have food and kindness for them" was the policy of the rescue organization.  Honoring the code, I silently apologized to the animals for the blatant transgressions committed against all forms of sea life.

Amid the darkest moments of helplessness and failure, even after witnessing senseless deaths, I felt thin threads of hope.  You can make a difference, said a reassuring voice.  Keep telling humans about our brightly shining hearts and one day they will listen. 

  It is not too late to turn the tide! 

Over time I came to trust this inner sense that many of the animals, especially the cetaceans, wanted human contact, even if it was to be the last event in their lives.  I was convinced that they wished to communicate with us to touch our hearts with theirs.

Soon, photographic travels took Bill and me to prime whale territory as far north as Alaska, and southward to the breathtakingly beautiful island chains of British Columbia.  We spent a 1992 expedition in the company of my most admired whale-hero, Dr. Paul Spong, at his Orca lab and tracking station perched unobtrusively atop the rocks overlooking Johnstone Straits.  It was there, while enjoying a visit to his Hansen Island compound, that we heard the vocalizations of wild Orcas broadcast over loudspeakers as the pods cruised by continuously, day and night.

Their sweet songs swept through me, inspiring me to sing back.  Tucked into my sleeping bag at night, I could hear their music and was never quite sure if I was awake or asleep.  All I knew was that I had surrendered to the kindest, most unorthodox heart connection imaginable.

To Top of Page

By 1994, although unbeknownst to me at the time, I had become a conduit for both energy and information.  Promoted to graduate work, I was yanked off to Hawaii to complete a mission with Spinner and Spotted dolphins.  On the beach in Oahu, at a place called the dolphin camp, I met Terry Pinney, dolphin experience coordinator and facilitator of a unique healing program that introduces children with severe disabilities to dolphins.  Terry was to become my favorite professor.

Events at the dolphin camp are recounted in The Silver Lei, a story describing my first encounter with wild dolphins.  For the first time all barriers separating me from the sea creatures dissolved.  Nothing except a very long swim stood between my runaway heart and the wildness for which it yearned.

Just as I was beginning to assimilate this momentous two-week odyssey with the dolphins, another phase of my underwater intensive rushed me north to Orcas Island, Washington, to be part of a scientific effort lead by cetacean expert Dr. Randy Eaton; its purpose was to communicate with killer whales.  As depicted in Unconditional Love from the Orcas, our endeavors that September were so successful that the Orcas the largest dolphins began bringing their calves to our rafts every day.

In 1995, I went back to Oahu to spend two weeks alone with the wild Spinner and Spotted dolphins. This time I camped in a tent-for-one at the remote end of the island, spending every waking moment either swimming in the ocean or scanning it with binoculars.

  Before long I was happily interacting with other ocean creatures, including mysterious eagle rays.  Dancing with Underwater Eagles describes a tender and unexpected exchange with these fluid birds of the sea, one that was cheered on by an unruly pod of dolphins.

It was clear to all who knew me that I had not made this second trip to Makua beach to be social.  Although I had packed forty rolls of film, my underlying intent was to learn more about healing from the dolphins.  As it turned out I was healed  by them.  During solitary times in the sea, I learned the importance of believing in my own abilities.  The words to Hearts  came gushing out as my sun burnt hands scribbled wildly on borrowed paper during the eerie plane ride home to an understanding husband in Santa Rosa.

Soon after returning from that second two-week solo expedition, I was at last ready to record an episode that had taken place one momentous day in Hawaii the previous year.  Setting my vulnerabilities aside, I relaxed and began typing Jupiter and the Dolphins.  Right away, human judgment took a firm stand, causing the wimp in me to conclude that nobody would believe what had happened.  Finally one night I relented to the insistent voice lovingly raised in argument within me: You have not written about the communication technique.  It was shown to you, but you did not include a word of it.  This work will not be completed until you do.  Clearly it was time for me to get out of the way.  So I closed my eyes, placed my hands on the keyboard, and let the hair-raising realities come to expression.  There was no doubt about it had been on assignment all along!

By 1997 I thought this book had been completed, but I found out that my two most important missions of all were still to come. Late February brought the pleasure of an animal communication trip to visit the birthing grounds of the California Gray whales in Baja Mexico. Being able to touch baby whales that were nudged close to us by their moms was a gift. It was a busy cetacean year because in autumn the celestial planners sped me back to the dolphin beach for a week so that I was able to witness the blessed re-awakening of the Goddess energy on this planet, photographs and all.  Her arrival finally brought my awareness to the existence of the ancient and sacred symbols that the dolphins had been giving me for years.  Thus Symbols in the Sand was created without fear of being looked upon as being a strange person.  It happened, and I was assured that the world could deal with it.  The last pieces of the puzzle came into their own and with them the understanding of every communication that I had ever experienced with the dolphins and whales.

Sit back comfortably.  Shake off the relentless demands of our dry world, and allow your perhaps forgotten fascination with seashells to come to the fore.  As you prepare to read these stories, know that they were inspired by the pure love in the hearts of sea creatures.  Feel their embrace and know in your heart that all of life is connected.

If you smile like a dolphin right now as you turn the page, I will have done my assignment well.