Cetacean Midwifery

by Valerie Thea Vandermeer

Kauai . Four in the morning. I have driven down a long, dark and winding road to the very end of the passable land. Before me looms the mountain that separates the tourists from the remote, uninhabitable and spectacular Na Pali coast. But I cannot see it in the darkness as I sit in my rental car and hope that I have not made a big mistake.

This twist in my travels started yesterday at the Hindu Monastery.  I overheard a group speaking about a Winter Solstice ceremony and I asked if I could join them. An amiable and chatty woman told me I’d be welcome and to meet them the next morning at the base of the Heiau at a particular Kauai beach. “You must be there before sunrise or you will not be brought up to the sacred place” she admonished me. I assured her of my promptness and departed with my family.

And that is how I came to be quite alone in this utterly dark and desolate spot.  I turned off the car but left the lights on for a while, too scared to turn them completely off. I wondered if I’d come to the wrong place -- there wasn’t another soul in sight. After a couple of minutes I realized that if I didn’t head up to the Heiau soon, I might miss the pre-sunrise deadline. “OK God,” I said out loud, “If you want me to go up to that ceremony, then you’d better send someone to help me right away.” Not a moment later headlights appeared at the top of the road. Buoyed by the obvious answer to my prayer, I grabbed my flashlight and jumped out of the car into the intimidating blackness.

The car drove by and a young man leaned out the window. “Are you going up to the ceremony?”  I inquired eagerly to my supposed guide. “What ceremony?” he replied. He was just a tourist checking out the island. He wished me well and drove off. I told myself that God must have gotten me out of the car for a reason and the rest was up to me. Against a tremendous inertia of fear, I trod forward towards the Heiau trail that I had hiked with my husband the previous day. It was not an easy trail. I wound around boulders and tramped over wobbly rocks. It was utterly dark and eerily jungle-like in the deepening brush. My flashlight’s beam caught the eyes of a toad directly in my path. Startled, rattled, and astonished that I was making progress against the darkness, I pushed myself up the hillside.

At last I found the spot. A small marker identified the Heiau, said to be the most sacred of all on the island. There was a sign instructing that you must be accompanied by a native Hawaiian to go beyond the entrance into the sacred space. I would need a guide. But no one was there. Was I too late? I was told to go to the upper Heiau, but could they have moved to the lower Heiau? I waved my flashlight beam overhead and it illuminated the undersides of the palm fronds. Perhaps someone would see and come to retrieve me.

After a couple of minutes I decided to find the lower Heiau. The trail became even rockier and was completely unfamiliar. I pressed on, now completely committed in my quest.  Yet when I finally arrived, there was no one there. I began to realize that there was no one here at all. I was alone and in the dark and panicky tears were close at hand. I began to climb back up the trail and returned to a landing spot that was open and had a low, flat boulder I could rest on.  Sitting there under the amazing canopy of stars, I began to feel foolish about my flashlight. The light beam was a tremendous security, but clearly my reason for being on this hillside was much deeper than simply attending a ceremony. I drew several deep breaths, found my courage and turned off the beam, forcing myself to drink in the spectacular overhead scenery.

I do not know for how long I sat. Slowly the tension eased and, finally closing my eyes, I began to meditate. Just as I felt myself relaxing deeply, a sudden swarm of mosquitoes attacked my ankles. At the same moment a voice deep inside commanded me to go down the hill right away. I literally jumped up and began stumbling rapidly down the trail appreciating the earliest strains of first morning light. Within moments I crossed paths with the lady who had invited me to the ceremony. She and her family were traveling up a different path to the Heiau. Had I not been there at that very moment, I surely would have missed her and driven home confident that I had completed my spiritual journey for the morning.

She was surprised when I reported that no one was at the site and insisted that we go up to the Heiau. We all traipsed up the trail, then down to the lower site, and back again to the top. I noted how I was being made to walk this trail over and over again. We stood at the Heiau marker. She and her husband had been brought to the sacred site several times for different events. They tentatively remarked that maybe it would be all right for us to just go up and see if anyone was there. Common sense said yes. My body and spirit said no. I explained that they could go if they wanted to, but my inner sense was telling me to respect the posted request to be accompanied by a native guide.

We all marched down to the beach and sat for a while in the early sun’s light. My entourage spotted a friend coming toward us with her young daughter. She stopped and we shared our story. Confident that she was going to find what she had come for, this woman also decided to go up to the Heiau, despite our telling her that no one was there. I watched her walk down the beach with her child. But several minutes later, I felt a tremendous urge to be with them. Astonished that I was going to do it again, I hurried after them and we chatted pleasantly making our way to the upper trail. My new friend, for that is how she felt to me, had a very peaceful presence and her daughter was remarkably like my own -- very silent, very wise. We repeated the earlier experience of going to the deserted Heiau entrance and then returned together to the landing spot where I had gazed at the stars.

The other family joined us there. The children were playing and running around together. The adults were in great consternation as to what to do. Quite suddenly the little girl piped up, “What about that path?” She pointed to a spot that none of us had noticed, despite passing it several times. It was a seldom used, somewhat overgrown trail which appeared to lead up towards the direction of the Heiau. I didn’t hesitate a moment, reminding my reluctant cohorts that when in doubt, always follow little children. Off we went. Within a matter of minutes we found ourselves standing within the upper Heiau. The “secret” trail led us just above the entrance. We were well beyond the signpost with its warning, before we even realized where we were. The other’s looked at me with concern and wondered aloud if we were trespassing on sacred ground. I responded with utter certainty, “No. We are meant to be here. That is why the child led us to this path.”

The Heaiu was on a promontory of land overlooking the vast ocean and surrounded by rocky mountain walls in a semi-circular formation. There were offerings that had been left at various spots, flower leis and pieces of fruit. The “doorway” to enter the sacred circle was clearly defined. We three women stood there contemplating what to do next as the children played. The only man in the group decided to wait for us on the beach. We agreed that we were meant to have a ceremony, but we all still felt unsure about entering the sacred circle that was clearly a space reserved for native Hawaiian spiritual practices.

“Look! A baby whale!” shouted the children, jumping with glee. Goose bumps ran up my neck as I watched a small whale breach repeatedly in the distance. A sign, a clear sign. I felt a knowing run through me. The cells of my body flooded with a deep sense of the merging of all peoples and all traditions. The whale’s presence told me to go into the Heiau – reminded me that we were the teachers. We were not meant to wait for guides -- we were the guides.

I looked at these two women that I hadn’t known an hour ago. My sisters, I felt in my bones. We all felt it and began our ceremony at once, smudging and entering the circle. Each of us had our part to share. We spoke of our inner wisdom and our resistance to becoming teachers and leaders. We understood the perfection of the morning’s events.  We wove our heart’s light with the energy and spirit of that amazing spot, acknowledging the power, persistence and surrender that it took us to get there. We blessed ourselves and the land and sea and her creatures with deep gratitude.

We ended our ceremony with an earth goddess chant and as we left the Heaiu and moved down the trail toward the beach, the children joined in singing with us. Half way down the hillside we saw people gathering on the beach. It was the group of ancient style hula dancers and healers who were to lead the ceremony! We hadn’t missed it at all -- because of the looming mountain, the sun did not rise and strike the beach till around eight in the morning. We were still several minutes ahead of the sunrise. We giggled and skipped the rest of the way down the trail till we joined the gathering in the sand. 

I hadn’t thought much about the whale since then. Its timing was so extraordinary, so ordained. Without the whale’s encouragement, we probably wouldn't have entered that sacred space. About a year later,  I received an e-mail with information about whales and dolphins being the midwives of humanity as we birth into a new form of consciousness and this experience came flooding back to me with even greater meaning. The whale appeared to us as we hovered between two worlds. In the one, cultural differences and practices separate us and we must look to the experts for leadership. In the other, there are no barriers between cultures. Instead there is a deep, respectful melding of the great spiritual traditions in which each of us rises in our own dance of spiritual meaning and charts our own course of connection. This is the world that the whale invited us to enter.

Much has changed since the moment when I took my place in that sacred circle.  My “voice” has been liberated and it moves out from me into the world with a greater confidence and passion than ever before. Great swells of inner knowing now wash over me – and I share them. I no longer keep them hidden or secret like the esoteric teachings of an ancient sect. They are revelations meant to move out in ever expanding circles, touching and healing as they go.  I now think of the whale as my spiritual midwife, encouraging me to go deeper into my own soul to bring to birth a vision of hope and transformation for us all.

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Copyright 2002 Valerie Thea Vandermeer. All rights reserved.