Easter Dolphins

I've been at the beach. A strange way to spend Easter, really. No sunrise service--in fact, no church service at all. No Hallelujahs. No "He is risen indeed." No colored eggs. No lamb dinner. No cross or chick-shaped butter cookies. No little girls in bonnets (tho' it's been awhile since I've seen that, come to think of it).

We did have Easter baskets, sort of. A few weeks ago, Hugh told me to be sure to remember to bring Easter basket stuff for his friend Eli, too. (Eli came to the beach with us.) I informed Hugh that I really wasn't planning to do Easter baskets this year as 1. we'd be at the beach, and 2. isn't 15 a bit old for the Easter Bunny? Well, geez, you'd have thought I'd told him we were moving to an organic farming commune with no electricity or indoor plumbing. The shrieks of anguish, the cries of deprivation. I relented and promised Easter baskets. Scarred and traumatized as he was, however, Hugh didn't trust me and instead convinced his grandmother to fill up a massive shopping bag with Easter essentials--marshmallow and miniature chocolate eggs, Peeps, jelly beans, pastel-colored M&Ms. . . . We hauled all this crap to the beach, where I (ridiculously guilt-ridden and, dammit, not to be outdone by my mother-in-law) tossed in some more sugary crap, poured it all into our beach tote, and put it between the boys' beds on Easter morning. Rolling into semi-consciousness around noon, Hugh and Eli threw candy at each other, ate a bunch of chocolate, then went back to sleep. And at some point in the afternoon, a mumbled grunt thrown my way conveyed their thanks.

So much for the magic and miracle of the most important day of the year on the church calendar.

Still, we were at the beach. And if you're at the fabled white sands of the Gulf coastline, if you're up well before noon and you sit out on the deck and watch the ocean patiently, if you sip your coffee calmly and just wait, then--almost always--there will be dolphins. I sat. I watched. I sipped. I waited. And there were dolphins.

Now, let me make clear--I am not of the "a hike in the mountains/fishing/gardening/insert some form of solitary activity in Nature here = my church service" school. It's not that I don't grasp how one can more easily commune with the Divine on a mountain hike or while fishing on a quiet lake or during time in the garden. Absolutely. I get it. But the thing about a religious service is that it's not just about Self and God. It's also about All These Other People. Many of whom drive me nuts on a very regular basis. And that, I think, is kind of the point. Here are these people who make you crazy. Now love them.

So, I'm not saying that watching the dolphins frolic in the Gulf was an alternative form of Easter church service. It would be totally cool if I could believe that was the case, because--let's face it--dolphins are so much more lovable than people. Did you know that dolphins are the only mammals, apart from humans, who have sex for fun? They have sex for fun and they do not shoot each other. They do not have gated communities. There is no dolphin version of Rush Limbaugh spewing hatred.

Loving dolphins, then, is not difficult. It's literally a no-brainer--no thinking, no strategizing, no need for inspirational reading or sermons or a rousing hymn. You just look at those lovely faces, so goofy yet so smart, and you watch those graceful bodies transform the anarchy of the ocean waves into a carefully choreographed ballet, and you love them.

So, no (damn!) I don't believe that dolphin-watching = church-going. But the thing is, this Easter, Easter morning 2010, God said, "Daughter-darlin', you jus' enjoy dose dolphins." (Sometimes, you see, God speaks to me in the voice of Aunt Jemima. More often God uses my Auntie Hank's voice. Tho' at times He/She/They sound/s like Sean Connery. Occasionally there's a kind of Robin Williams thing going on. I go with the flow. I mean, God's God. When He/She/They speak/s, you know it.)

The dolphins came. I enjoyed them. God let me be. And in the letting, showed me a bit more of what the being is all about.