Whales — The Yogis of the Ocean

In the beginning, life was water —
a soft shimmer beneath a newborn sun.
We swam with gills and fins,
before walking the land with lungs and limbs.

When the Earth grew heavy with humankind,
and the breath of forests thinned,
some among us — wise and ancient —
turned back toward the deep.

They became the Whales —
warm-blooded keepers of compassion,
returning to the Mother Ocean,
to cradle her heart and calm her storms.

They breathe as we do,
yet choose to live where breath is rare.
They birth their young in blue silence,
nurse them with milk of memory and love.

A single heartbeat travels for miles —
a pulse of peace
With wet whale smiles

They sing —
songs of Creation, of longing, of joy,
that roll through the depths for hours,
weaving a symphony of ancient prayers.

They dive where light forgets to go,
holding breath longer than a muhurtham inhaled an hour and half ago

In that stillness, their hearts slow,
Conserving the O2 in H2O.
their spirits meditate —
true Yogis of the Ocean.

When they rise, it is a resurrection —
not merely to breathe,
but to pump life upward.
With every exhale,
they feed the unseen gardens of plankton — the tiny alchemists that turn carbon to air,
darkness to light, death to renewal.

our silent climate ally
our keepers of balance and song.

Remembering what we forgot —
that love is vast,
that loss has ritual,
that life is one endless circle of return.

To the Polynesian, they are Ancestors.
To the Native, they are Memory.
To the Vedic sage, they are Makara —
guardian of the cosmic seas.

From land to ocean, from breath to depth,
they carry the story of three hundred
and seventy-five million years —
the story of returning home.

Whales — the Yogis of the Ocean —
whose hearts teach us how to live,
and how to love without boundaries.