In the azure blue ocean the sunlight seeped into a dreamy hallow, permeating the benevolence of the last rays, that the atmosphere above allowed, before fading into a mystic darkness. A male humpback whale sang a lonely song, hoping to find a mate…In the dreams of a female whale, the notes found a resonance, a quivering hope that she was to be searched and found. Thus moved two majestic creatures, in the infinite blue towards each other, in the dance that they have danced for ages– the ultimate search for surrender.
I definitely do not remember when I first heard about the songs of the humpback whales. What has sedimented out of the memory however, is that I want to hear one of them sung in its full vivacity. I want to hear that with my eyes closed–the call of the heart. The call had been put as one of the earth sounds in the phonograph of Voyager Golden Records, floated in the Voyager expedition in 1977. What humans actually wanted is magnificently improbabilistic but with the hope that some other form of superior life may find us, recognise the essence of a life existence and answer back with the same hope that our call exuded—that we are not alone.
The search for a similar soul is perhaps what our existence is all about…that we eat, sleep, invent, fight, unite, write poetry and epics, study earth and beyond, study cell and within–this is all an occupation, fillers of a kind towards the main objective—to search and find the “other”. The search is the only thing that matters.Everything else is an attempt to plug emptiness.
Who essentially is the “other”? It does not matter. In collectivity, the earth is searching for another planet replete with the magic of life, in intelligence and acumen similar to our own. In singularity we all are in search of another soul, kindered and eager as ours, recognising our songs as their own.
The improbability that rules that the golden record is found is slightly more than the improbability that all our calls be answered, all our songs be recognised. What if the songs that we sent floating into the space be found long after we are done with our deeds in earth, and what comes back as an answer comes back to nowhere? We still take the risk. We run the risk of being humans and hoping, we run the risk of being animals and no matter what, lay open our hearts– to be nurtured or trampled, to be replied or ignored.
In the golden record, were other sounds. A despairing Bulgarian shepherd song, an Indian Classical song, musical instruments from China emulating a flowing stream, Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, sounds of rain, volcano, fire, earthquake, thunder, crickets, frogs, waves, animals, footsteps, heartbeats, human languages……everything simple and complicated that could define our search.
Allegorically our search within the earth is also same. We are in all our complexity and all simplicity, sending out songs. To hearts that we hope would answer. In the likeliness of divine timing, some would get answered. In the unlikeliness, it wouldn’t.
The souls that are meant to find each other swimming in the dark blue ocean, or in the emptiness of spaces, will understand the tenderness of these calls–almost like the familiarity that first rains and thunder bring to us— a connectedness to the deepest memories. They may even miss it.
But the song must be sung. No matter what.