At our beach, the Child is busy out at the edge, washing barnacles off Whale. You are watching from your place. You ask: “Sing a Whale song, please.”
The Child tilts her head, as if in thought.
Whale: ‘You heard what she asked. Respond.’
The Child turns to look at you, and sings.
The melody holds words that roll like the far ocean, without rough breaks, similar to Hawaiian or Polynesian. It is pure, light, and ebbs and flows like the surf at sunrise.
You tilt your head, and hear the Child in your mind say:
‘That is the greeting upon meeting song’.
You start to answer in words, then change to telepathy, ‘Then you have greeted me?’
But the Child appears to blush, and turns away.
Suddenly, the Child hears the proper response to the greeting, and realizes that you have just sung the short reply, in Whalesong.
She stares at you.
Whale: ‘See. She is willing. Go learn. It is important to communicate with humans. You have a message. You have a responsibility. Don’t you want to do this?’
Child: ‘No. They can all die. I don’t care anymore. They are not like us. They cause pain and death, and dissonance. They break the Harmony.’
Whale: ‘She has responded. Do you see her like ‘them’? Do you want her to die?’
Whale: ‘It is a conundrum, love. Go learn. Then we can go journey this evening.’
The Child then walks hesitantly over to where you are sitting, smiling. She sits directly in front of you. She says, telepathically: ‘Teach me human. Teach me by touch on fingers. Teach me how it is to be alive as human.’
You: ‘I will be and do my best. I am strong, and I am not afraid.’
The Child echoes your words, in song, back to you:
‘I am strong, and I am not afraid.’
You reply, in song:
‘We are strong, and we are not afraid.’
Whale Child's third journey