Beneath the Surface: What Swimming with Manatees Taught Me About Connection

I keep overhearing the captain and the manatee guide talking about how few manatees there are.

“I think most have them have gone to the eel grass fields where we are restricted,” I hear the captain say.

The guide answers, “Yea, I hope we can find some today.”

I feel a deep devastation inside as I think about the possibility that we may not see manatees or swim with them. This event was the sole purpose of our trip. Every so often, one of them exclaims, “There! Is that one? No, just a stick.” We all keep our eyes on the water, looking for their noses to rise up for breath. Our guide and captain move us around to all the familiar spots where manatees are known to eat.

I start praying that God will bring us a manatee we can swim with. My heart swells with hope for a manatee sighting. We turn into a little cove area where we see lots of boats, snorkels and noodles sticking out of the water, and tourists in their float and freeze position.

“All right guys, who wants to swim with a manatee? We just need to find one that doesn’t have swimmers yet.”

Hope turns to excitement as I get my mask ready and put my phone in a waterproof case. I am the first to stand and move to the ladder they are lowering into the water. They tell us to stay as close to the guide as possible if we want to see manatees.

I am not shy about it and stick super close to the guide. I’m the only one! Everyone else is politely 8-10 feet away. She keeps calling them, saying, “Come close; stay close to me if you want to see the manatee.” Then she points right below us and says, “There is one right here.”

Floating on the Edge

I put my face in the water and breathe calmly through my snorkel. I can hear my Darth Vader breath in the water and hope it won't scare off the manatee. Then I see, through the sediment below, just feet from me, a huge manatee. It’s easily seven feet long and twice or three times my width. I so badly want to touch it, but I keep my hands to myself and float and freeze. My heart is racing with excitement and awe. I hear my own heartbeat through the water and think, “This manatee will probably think I'm some kind of fangirl dork!”

I look back for John, who is 20 feet away. I motion him to come close. I can see his eyebrows furrow with annoyance through his mask. I propel myself with my hands to stay with the giant manatee and close to the guide. Floating and freezing with intermittent hand propelling proves to be a bit unpredictable, and I find myself right over the manatee in very shallow water.

I hear the guide telling me, “Freeze and float! Freeze and float!” What does she think I’m doing? That is EXACTLY what got me into this mess. I was freezing and floating and therefore unable to control my whereabouts!

I can tell the guide is not happy with me floating directly above the manatee, and it seems I am one second away from being banned from the waters permanently. Would I go to jail if I touched it?! This is not my fault. I did everything she told me to do. I’m freezing and floating right over the manatee.

Deep Connection in Shallow Water

I suck in my stomach as best I can to not dare touch the manatee. I feel the heat radiating off his skin, which is only inches from mine. He happily grazes below me and seems to not care one ounce that I’m hovering above in a freeze float.

This moment seems to last forever and is incredibly surreal. As I try to calm myself down, I realize this manatee probably knows every thought I have. I summon my thoughts back to myself and concentrate on how much I love and admire the manatees. How I have wanted to swim with one for years and how I love elephants, their closest living relative. Flipper was my favorite TV show growing up.

Then it happens. As we float into shallow waters, I feel the hair of the manatee touch my belly and thighs. I am technically touching the manatee. It is completely forbidden. As it happens, I imagine all of my thoughts and emotions transferring to him like Avatar.

I might be making it up, but I feel like this experience is very common and normal for the manatee. He is not astounded by me, or taken aback that he can feel my thoughts. It was like he said, “Oh there's another one of those slimy pink things above me, breathing heavy and trying to float and freeze. I need some more grass.” This is his everyday life in the winter. As I write this, there probably is another slimy pink human near him while he eats his grass.

But to me, I touched something profound. A collective emotional intelligence that is a part of something divinely designed. I touched an organic technology that can feel thoughts and intent and even read my will. Its knowledge is framed by that manatee’s experience with other humans and other manatees and the living force around it.

The Language of Emotion

As I think about the hair on the manatee as the instrument for connection, I think about brushstrokes: the living record of intent. Do they touch the canvas with vigor and quickness or a deliberate slowness? Are they achieved by a swipe up or a swipe down? Was that brushstroke laid down with excitement or peace? Or maybe the artist was thinking of someone she loves and all her hopes and dreams for him.

Like the history recorded in our heartbeat, so does the brushstroke record our energy of the moment. Our brushstrokes live on the canvas and speak, creating a connection to the collective emotional intelligence that divinely inspires and informs our own revelation. The viewer of art feels the thoughts and emotions of the artist through the brushstroke.

Even if we are like the manatee eating eel grass, seeing our 100th tourist of the day, and we are delivering our 100th brushstroke on our canvas, it is not so banal for the art collector. When they feel those brushstrokes touch their belly for the first time, it arrests their heart, and some even gasp. Art collectors float and freeze their way through the art pieces on the wall until their belly is touched by a brushstroke and their heart is struck by deep emotion. Then, they know they are seen.

The giant, gentle foraging beast floats casually away from me, and I feel so grateful for the beautiful encounter. I float in my spot and watch the swimmers with their snorkels move past me and follow the guide. I feel like I have occupied the space near the manatee long enough and need to give others a chance. I return to the boat at peace and thankful.

I think about the days ahead and remember my goal of completing two paintings this week. I think about those brushstrokes I have yet to produce. I am painting two horses and two sea turtles and painting live at the gallery on Friday. This experience of connection forever lives in my heart. It will carry through into my brushstrokes that stack on the canvases this week.

With all my heart, I pray my brushstrokes speak profoundly to the viewers and collectors. I pray they hold the overcoming of my pain, the forgiveness of those who have betrayed me, and the love I have for all people in their beautiful journeys through their lives.

Have you experienced a profound moment of connection with a human, animal, or work of art?