Must Float On, Must Float On

I used to hear stories about whale riders, and Maori warriors, and the spirit brethren of the Makah - and along came the fucking Earth First and Greenpeace and the rest of the LSD charade of the late 90's - and those stories of whale riders are gone. Mixed emotions.

To be fair, I do believe that without Greenpeace, the whales would all be dead now. So, there is that. But there was a love - a pure and unbidden love - held aloft in those stories of whale riders that I used to hear. And now when the conversations move onto whales, I'm only ever hearing about the end of the world in all its varying manifestations.

So, when I heard this story today, it nearly broke me in half.

Someone just told me at dinner tonight about an Orca whale near here who lost her child and has been carrying it around for the last sixteen days, and for some reason, in that moment, I had to hold back tears. All of the stories of my childhood, and all of the majesty of the Orcas - it punched my gut with a fist.

And there was something else.

In that moment, I could reach out across the sea and feel her pain. Here I am, empathising with a fucking whale. I could hear her crying.

And then an hour ago, it came back to me. I thought of Lezley McSpadden, and Sybrina Fulton, and Gwen Carr - and all of those mothers who have had to outlive their children. I cried.

Heavy sigh.

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Must Float On, Must Float On