I remember sitting at the elephant’s back wondering where I could hold on. Those big floppy ears were really appealing but I figured: who would want their ears clung to? But an elephant’s back is really wide so that once you get past the disbelief of being in a situation you do not remember agreeing to, you realize you have to try very hard not to fall from an elephant’s back. But we did not get past the disbelief and tried to negotiate our way with the help of a lot of shrieks, nervous laughter and positions that closely resembled drapery spread out on a high, bulging, swaying sofa. To make matters more precarious, we did not know where the elephants were taking us. But when we reached the middle of the river, the elephants started to lower themselves as if getting ready to bathe. It felt funny to be at the back of an elephant when it does that and to be greeted by generous spreads of elephant dung floating in the river about us. So at that point, my friends and I thought it safe to feel resigned and relieved that we understood what the sign "Elephants Bathing" really meant. But we spoke too soon. Before we could laugh at the summary feel of the episode, we were each given big handled brushes by the herders with the accompanying tutoring motion. We realized that we were being asked to bathe the elephants ourselves! The lesson was still so fresh: You do not say no to elephants. So we grabbed the brushes and scrubbed – ribs, legs, ears, and then the other side. By the time we were on our last strokes, we were humming and comparing elephants. We also stunk and did not mind anymore. I let my fears go and my desire to control, and in that spot of stinky pool where I held my brush and "my elephant," I had come undone.
Closer to today, another friend of mine and I were exchanging ideas about how to communicate the gifts of discovery that science offers, to a wider audience. She spends her working hours at sea most of the time, working closely with humpback whales, studying their mating behavior. She recounted how only a few hours before we spoke, a humpback whale had, in Disney-fashion, gone under their boat and lifted it up a few feet above water with the strength of the water it released through its blowhole. I sensed such a delightful lilt in her voice, a familiar sense I felt when I had my elephant encounter a few years ago. We shared our other encounters with non-human creatures and agreed that there is something in our humanity that is refreshed and refined when we approach animals respectful of their "otherness" and not in condescension. This is a fact: all things living now – bacteria, reptiles, birds, mollusks, plants, fungi, humans, from your beloved to the politician who triggers your anxiety attacks the most – all evolved to this point, and will continue to. We, humans, are neither above nor below with reference to the evolution of other living beings.
I have trouble understanding why we humans need to feel superior in order to feel alive. Do you have to be "boss" to embark on a quest for meaningfulness in our shared and personal lives? No, we do it anyway because that is who we are. We embark on quests that give us glimpses of the eternal to make sense of birth and death in everything, everyday, everywhere. And these contacts with the rest of the physical world in thought and in deed in the name of science or adventure, or joy, if done with respect, in recognition of our connections, afford us these glimpses. They are the very glimpses that, as Vladimir Nabokov wrote in an essay "Butterflies," would infuse in anyone "a thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern – to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to the tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal."