Introspective Journey of the Blue Whale

        Emerged in the infinite blue, a rolling calm surrounds me. An undulating rhythm vibrates through the water: medium of life. I am alone. Rocks I rarely meet bound the ocean I inhabit. The vertical constraint is only realized as the shallow waters bleed into the sky. Endless freedom encompasses me; however, I instinctively know my way through the depths and continue northward on my journey.

The endless sea^[1]

        The routine pilgrimage to polar waters for feeding is a practice in pace. Buoyancy enables laziness, but does not permit sloth. The continuation of existence furnishes my movements, ornamented with a lumbering grace. My sustenance does not come from a large majestic animal, but rather from the humble krill. Surprising for “the largest creature to ever exist”.^[2] Hunting is not an act of aggression, but rather a mouthful of water strained for protein.

        Never do I worry about being the hunted. I face no danger thanks to my massive physique. No living being, save an orca, would dare contest me, but that is no excuse to abuse my size and the respect others have granted me. My natural gifts are no reason to disestablish harmony. I peer at the few creatures I meet along my path. Everything and everyone else seems tiny and minuscule in comparison but not insignificant. There is no being without meaning in this spectrum. We are physically connected by way of water, but nature still exists outside of us. We are not all-encompassing.

        I need a breath. Water rushes against me, smoothing the heat of speed. The heaven-blended waters near. I crash through to the dry hollow and hover in the ethereal experience. A new world is encountered. The squawks of a species drifting through the air pervade this open domain. A flurry of movement: a choreography of latitude. I fall and crash, book-ending the brief journey to an earth I will never fully know. The bubbles clear and my eyes reawaken. The flocks of fish don't tantrum as dramatically as those above, though their moves are no less elegant. Words of silence spoken in contrasting tongues.

A humpback whale breaching^[3]

        The hush, however, is mortal. I exist: mouth agape. The inanimate waters reverberate with song as I gush melodies. Invisible responses celebrate my creation. Resting bodies launch off from the crystal plane above me. A murky something returns to the depths, perpetually swallowed. Momentary vigor falls into the oblivion: a pulsation in the fabric grows dull.

        Dark silence resonates. The open seas maintain a heavy gravity. The atmospheric equanimity shifts attention from the outside to the inside. Free from extraneous stimuli, I can focus. Engrossed in myself, the beating of my fins against the aqueous nothingness begin to synchronize with the thumping of my heart. Arteries and capillaries intermingle with my consciousness and creep outward, grasping at the extremities of cognizance. Emphasizing self begets an inherent appreciation of nature.

Blue Whale swimming through the depths^[4]

        What more is there to living than the expanse that surrounds me in countless directions? There is life itself and the journey it provides. The purpose of life is living: the appreciation of self.

"Do any human beings realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?" Thornton Wilder asks in his play, Our Town, and briefly responds with "No. The saints and poets, maybe—they do some".^[5] Living life in the moment and truly experiencing it is the most important thing anyone can learn from their power animal. The Blue Whale embodies this manifesto in its seemingly unproductive migrations. While there is a scientific reasoning involving travel to "feeding grounds" during the summer and finding warm spots for winter breeding, it can also be viewed as the constant cycle of life, something that all species share.^[6] Whales don't have a unique purpose other than to keep the ecosystem stable. No Blue Whale, as far as I know, has ever worried about his or her impact on the propulsion of culture within their species. The ability to exist without constantly questioning whether or not a difference is being made by one's existence seems like a superpower rather than an inherent trait. I consistently judge myself based on how little I have so far contributed to the culture of contemporary art.

        Creativity is a constant center of conflict. Being tagged by others as a creative (or worse: an artist) fundamentally affects my self-esteem in the most melodramatic way possible. I have an abhorrent distaste for classification because labels invite a parade of expectations and stereotypes. In the oceanic void the Blue Whale need not fear a critic. The songs they produce are not rehearsed or perfected, but they are sung and brought forth into the world, if only for one brief performance. Whales offer no matinee showing. They also offer no reunion tours, no best-of compilations, and have yet to inspire one good cover band. The production of material is ultimately what matters to a creative individual and the boldness to generate media is a prerequisite for success.

        Ted Andrews asks those with Whales as spirit animals, “Are you applying your own creative intuition?”^[7] My response is a simple no. Creativity in and of itself and creative intuition are two different things. Creativity is an inescapable lifestyle: diarrhea for the mind. Creative intuition, on the other hand, requires the conscious application of brazen nerve and results in an end product. I am afraid that whatever I create will not be worth it. At the most, if done successfully, an artist can uncover part of the human condition and help people become in tune with themselves and their emotions. But what value does that hold? An artist is the essence of ego. They exist only to perpetuate self-absorption in others, bringing the focus from the external reality around us to the universes we all carry inside of ourselves.

        I look towards my power animal in the hopes of instantaneous enlightenment. Blue Whales exist. They do so without a written language, without television, without political schematics. Their sense of accomplishment in life, if they can be assigned such anthropological traits, comes from interpersonal relations, which is what an artist ultimately wants to create as a byproduct of their work. This is why great works tend to be controversial. A point of contention results is, most importantly, a point of interaction. Undoubtedly, some of the interactions will be sharp criticisms hurled at the creative responsible. As a creative leader, an innovator in a field, the Blue Whale teaches me to stay headstrong and thick-skinned knowing that my purpose, albeit self-assigned, is much more meaningful than working a 9-to-5.

        However, just because I induce interaction does not mean that I am a people person. I am cripplingly introverted so dealing with others is a skill I must perform tactfully. The Blue Whale, much like myself, is content in solitude but "not set in isolation".^[8] When in company, it is with a

the hopes that they are just as disgusting on the inside as I am. In all reality, the only way I could see myself involved in an intimate relationship is if I get baby crazy beyond all control. The ideal scenario in which I incorporate a significant other into my life would be little more than a one night stand with my presence extended long enough to get custody of her accident-of-a-child.

        The inescapable feeling of loneliness comes in waves. Because of this, I know that whatever emotional upsets I have are going to leave as quickly as they came. I am avoiding a messy interaction with another guy for as long as I can handle. It would be great to have an attractive person to complain to and eat ice cream in front of, but I feel that right now I should embrace the lifestyle of the bachelor Blue Whale.

Two Blue Whales cuddling^[9]

        Unlike most other whales, Blue Whales are not composed in pods. The only individual they rely on is themselves. They do not fuss with opinions of others or constructions of society. Blue Whales follow self-evident truths the way I should. Individuals can not go the wrong way if they choose their path. No hierarchy determines their civic fate. In this way, leadership is sound; each person is their own leader. It doesn’t matter in which direction individuals are marching as long as they follow their own truths.

        And how do we find our own truths? In the case of the whale, we must look within ourselves and focus on the meditative spirit the whale embodies. This is easier in the open sea because Blue Whales are not subjected to the structured confines of a culture. Their food is in the water and of the water. Their home is their canvas.

        I look to the Blue Whale, eager for insight and reassurance. I arrogantly expect a great purpose: a prophecy I alone am meant to fulfill. I don't receive anything like I expect. I look into the eyes of the Blue Whale and know: being alive is its own reward. The purpose of life is living: the appreciation of self.

The all-knowing eye of the Blue Whale^[10]

Word count with quotes: 1562

Word count without quotes: 1523

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