Shark Medicine: An Ocean Initiation

I awoke to sunshine for the first time since Hurricane Lane visited our neighborhood. I had missed two days in the ocean as we hunkered down, awaiting flash floods and 100 mile an hour winds, but luckily we were only visited by gray skies, a smattering of rain, and a few gorgeous bursts of lightning.

Relieved that my little slice of paradise seemed to be returning, I had breakfast, gathered my gear, and drove down the familiar winding road to my beloved bay. 

The ocean was calmer than I expected after hosting a CAT5 twister — just a bit of a swell, but nothing I hadn’t easily navigated before.

I let a few big waves crash, walked down the rocks, and waded in. Another sizeable wave came in before I could pass the breakers, so I ducked under and stood up on the other side.

After two days away, the ocean felt especially delicious.

I reached down to pull my mask and snorkel on, but only my mask remained. I must have lost my snorkel as I ducked beneath that wave. I had a spare in the car (I always carry an extra set of everything for spur-of-the-moment swims) but I was too eager to get out into the big blue, so I continued without a breathing tube.

An Ocean Initiation

I made it out about three quarters of a mile when I saw Emma. She may be the only person I know who spends more time in the ocean than I do. You can see her at all times of the day, swimming alongside the dolphins, squeaking as if she’s one of them.

Emma waved her arms and hollered, “Come close to me!”

Emma generally keeps to herself. She, like me, makes her best friends in the ocean, and she appears to relish her time alone as much as I do. So I was a bit surprised at her invitation, but I obliged. As I slowly made my way over to her, she continued, “We should stay together. I just saw a big tiger shark.”

So much for my leisurely swim.

Emma pointed down, and I peered into the water, expecting to see this massive, terrifying creature. But no, it was the dolphins.

I relaxed a bit, and began to swim alongside the sweet spinners, holding my breath for a few moments at a time to catch a glimpse of them underwater.  A few came from below, on my left side, and I slowed down to encourage them to come close.

One spinner came by.

Then another.

Three more approached, and then this big, beautiful, gray fish swam in front of them, snuggling up beneath me before he veered off to my left side and out of sight.

Not until this 14 foot creature turned left and began to swim away did I realize who I had just met.

A tiger shark.

Tigers are hailed as one of the most ferocious and deadly sharks, known to attack dolphins, whales, and yes, humans.

But I did not feel fear.

This creature came up to me with such grace and gentleness.

I felt power. And awe. Reverence, even, like I had just been in the presence of a deity.

But not fear.

I looked around for Emma and for the dolphins.

Nothing. 

I was alone.

I looked into the water, and I saw the then-familiar gray. The shark was coming close again. He came at me from below, like the previous time, which I’ve been told is the most dangerous way he can approach. But once again he was gentle. He repeated the same maneuver, swimming beneath me and to my left. His tail nearly gracing my cheek as he swam by.

Powerful. Graceful. Gentle.

I felt as if I’d been given a gift. Shown a secret.

A large catamaran came close, and Emma asked me if I’d like her to talk to the captain for me and inquire if they have an extra snorkel.

“I bet he’ll loan you one,” she said. “We’d just have to figure out how to get it back to him.”

I told her I was doing fine, but was a bit overwhelmed by the experience. For once, I was ready to be back on land.

She and I made our way back to the rocky shore for our “landing” as she called it. We took breaks periodically during the swim. Not because I was without a breathing tube, although I didn’t complain. We stopped to remind the shark that we are not fish. That we walk upright, and that we are not his normal dinner fare.

Fear

During one of these pauses I turned to Emma and said, “When you said there was a shark in the Bay, I was scared. But when I saw him, I felt no fear.”

“Yeah,” she said, “fear is like that. It’s the thoughts that create fear. But life just happens, and in the moment there’s no time for fear.”

As we swam the final leg of our journey, I thought about fear and how we are so easily controlled by it.

Fear can easily become anger. Even hatred.

We so often dislike and degrade that which we fear, or don’t understand.

Even the word phobia itself is defined as “an extremely strong dislike or fear of someone or something.”

How did we ever decide that fear and hatred were interchangeable? When did we stop getting curious about that which we do not understand?

I felt it in myself as I attempted to integrate my first shark encounter.

I used to hate sharks. Wish them eradicated. Once I understood their role in the ecosystem, I could admire them from afar, but still hoped to never see one up close. 

Now having nearly kissed one, I could feel that they too are sentient beings. They too spend most of their lives not killing things. They too take daily, peaceful swims in the bay.

It’s not my bay. It’s our bay. They’re here every day, whether I see them or not.

Shark Medicine

A few days later I was on shore after an uneventful swim, and I felt the tiger shark. I was safe on land, so I welcomed the spirit of the shark to come as close as he liked. He came right up to me, nose to nose. I felt a transfer of energy like I did from my mother after she died.

An elegant stream of power filled my cells and I heard, “Be yourself without apology.”

The message was firm, but gentle. Powerful, yet kind. Just as the actual shark had been.

He continued, “I am here. Call on me.”

The deep peace I felt after meeting the shark a few days prior returned.

The Call

Be yourself without apology.

Those words tumbled around in my mind, sparking memories of all the times I did not honor myself. All the times I gave up who I was in order to fit in, or to be liked, or to follow some societal or familial should.

It reminded me of Bronnie Ware — the palliative care nurse who, in her years of working with those at the end of their lives, documented the top 5 regrets of the dying.

Number one is a doozy:

“I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.” 

Too many of us are on course to have this same regret as we take our last breaths here on Earth.

We stand on our heads trying to be the person we think others want us to be, and in the process we bury the person we were born to be.

This was what the shark in my vision was warning me of.

“Don’t follow this trend,” he was urging me. “Don’t give up who you are. Be YOU.”

Yes. Thank you. It seems that I need this lesson again and again.

How about you?

What would it mean for you to draw on the power and wisdom of the Shark Medicine and heed the call to be true to yourself?