When I was a child,
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look,
but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown.
The dream is gone.

–Pink Floyd

 

 

Martinez Lake, AZ

I must have been seven or eight years old. My grandfather, Dick Stucker (yes, his real name) and I were in a shallow section of the Ferguson Cut, just off the Colorado River, pushing the lifeless Toyboat along. Why and whither we were doing so, I can’t remember, but boats tend to break down more often than cars, and this was one of those times.

Toyboat was Grandfather’s jet-powered ski boat. I wish I had a movie diary of the good times the family had on Lake Martinez, as we referred to it, and on that little boat. All the life lessons learned there, I carry to this day. I’m reminded of the eulogy I’d written for Grandfather’s funeral, that I couldn’t read without breaking down, so I’d asked my mother to do it for me. As I’m writing this, I retrieve a journal of mine out of his – now my – antebellum desk, to peruse my eulogy notes and the funeral program. Once again, I find myself stumbling along the crumbling edge atop an infinite pit of mourning. Pink dolphins hold me back…

As I struggled in the chest deep water to keep up with the two men, something in it caught my eye. The lake was smooth on that windless summer day, the dry desert sky clear. Off to my side a creature broke the surface. In the split second I had to see it, a pink dolphin’s back and dorsal fin smoothly, silently, rotated in an arc back down into the water. I couldn’t believe it. And I didn’t think Grandfather and Mr. Stucker would either. I kept the pink dolphin to myself then, and throughout the ensuing years.

 

 

YMCA of Orange, CA

I could’ve been anywhere of age from nine to thirteen years old. My Sensei, a native Hawaiian trained in a Buddhist temple, leapt to the stage upon which to demonstrate some move to the class. The balls of his feet alone landed on the front edge of the roughly four foot high deck. He was suspended there leaning back, away from the stage, having misjudged the jump. I was surprised that this amazing man would make such a mistake and waited for him to fall off. Instead, he teetered almost imperceptibly then slowly rotated upright and walked onto the stage. Supernatural, clearly. That, too, I kept to myself.

 

 

Irvine Park, CA

Driving age. A group of high school friends and I would play paintball, but using slingshots. None could afford actual paintball guns. My role, typically, was sniper. Alone I’d pick at the opposing team and draw them into the real ambush. One morning as I squatted in some undergrowth, I heard bushwhacking to my left. As it got closer, I readied a shot. To my surprise, two wolves came into view mere feet away from me. I jumped up, shouted, and fired a shot that went wide. The wolves were unperturbed, seemingly amused that a bush could behave so. They trotted off.

I told the guys about this later. Tom told me there are no wolves here; they must’ve been coyotes. I looked it up. He was right.

 

* * * * *

 

Some say that they wish they’d known then what they know now. But then there’s Bob Seger’s, “Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.” There’s a Zen koan: Show me your Original Face, the face you had before your parents were born. And from the Tao,

Free from desire, you realize the mystery.
Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations.

 

* * * * *

 

In my teen years, I had a dream in which my handle, Plisade (pronounced Plih-sahd), was presented to me. I’ve remembered it since then, and when computers and the internet with their IDs and passwords came to be, that word that didn’t exist came to have a practical use. But before and beyond that, I’ve held onto it with the feeling that someday its meaning would be revealed. It will mean something someday. It has to.

Speaking of the internet, the pink dolphin of my youth crossed my mind one day recently. So I Googled dolphins in the Colorado River: Nothing. Then, with no expectations, I searched on pink dolphins. As it turns out, they do exist and live in the Amazon River where they’re revered as mythical creatures.

And then there’s the number eleven. It’s everywhere in my life and I consider it an omen. I left my then-wife on 11/11/11. My parking spot at work is 11. My computer ID there is LV11. And lots of things add up to it: 1109, my platoon number in boot camp; and numerous addresses at which I’ve lived. But for several years now, eleven has been absent. I long for its return.

 

 

J. Percy Priest Reservoir, TN

Present day. I’m paddleboarding. The lake is smooth on this windless autumn morning, the sky clear. Off to my side a creature breaks the surface. The Pink Dolphin?! In the split second I have to see it, a large and scaly pinkish fish’s back and dorsal fin smoothly, silently, rotate in an arc back down into the water.