I watched Whale Rider again last night, my final
night at sea. The film was still on my
computer from having viewed it as part of the Authentic Leadership course I
took at Naropa University last spring, so it became the Super Cargo version of
Friday night flicks.
Before settling in for a
movie, I went for a swim. No, that’s not
right: the indoor pool aboard the Hanjin
Boston is a small square too short in either direction to allow for
swimming strokes. In gliding across a
few times I was surprised at the bouyancy provided by the salty seawater, the
surface as still as a bathtub’s. I
turned over and lay on my back and, arms outstretched, found that I could float
high atop the water, resting, as it were, on the Sea of Japan.
I took a soft focus on the
ceiling above, dull gray and dancing with fluid reflections, and I began to
meditate. Floating meditation, a new
technique. Thinking… Eyes closed of
their own accord… If the water were just
a few degrees warmer, this thing would make an excellent sensory deprivation
tank. Thinking… Those sessions in
the tanks at Altered States in West L.A.—or was it West Hollywood? Thinking… My God … must be 29 years now. Thinking… Kitaro flowing through headphones, sublime;
tears resalting the brine. Thinking…
So it was in this state of
mind that I watched pretty Paikea best the boys and recover their whaletooth
amulet from deep beneath the ocean waves.
Tears flowed once more as she rode that great whale out to sea, calm and
unafraid, before letting go.
It was no surprise, then,
when I read this morning’s Tao:
Hence, only he who is willing to give
his body for the
sake of the world is fit to be entrusted with the world.
Only he who can do it with love is
worthy of being the
steward of the world.
Dr. Wu simply got the pronoun
wrong.
We need a new translation.
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