Waterbirthing: Where the New Masters Come In

Auckland, New Zealand:

What a joy to be here! The psychic atmosphere was spotlessly clean. The physical one, too, as both my companion and I discovered about an hour off the plane. We winter-bound, sun-starved New Yorkers threw ourselves down on a golden sand beach in what appeared to be relatively mild weather and promptly burnt our backs off. Something to do with the ozone, I later found: In southern climes, the sun reaches through the atmosphere far more directly.

On immediate impression, New Zealand felt very new and fresh--and yet also, utterly ancient. As we wound our way up and around one extinct volcano after another, the age of the place grew on me. We’d hired a little camper--a tortoise of a hut on wheels, and a perfect headquarters. Our destination: the Rainbow Dolphin Centre, up in the Bay of Islands. Mission: to attend the second International Homo Delphinus Conference, learn as much as possible about underwater birthing, and meet the water babies themselves.

I suppose it was inevitable that I should find myself involved, though somewhat peripherally, with underwater birthing. If you’re going to mess with dolphins, the subject is bound to come up.

For those who haven’t come across the practice, underwater birthing was pioneered primarily by the Russian doctor/shaman Igor Charkovsky, and involves delivering the child while the mother’s torso is in warm water. Baths, tubs, shallow basins, even the sea have been used. Emerging out of the amniotic fluid, the baby transfers to the familiar, friendly water with no apparent shock whatsoever and then, when the umbilical cord is cut, can be lifted gently into the air.

It appears to be a very benign, far less traumatic entry into the world than most of us have experienced. Possibly the painful fears we carry around as a race had earlier evolutionary functions, but they now seem to have become counter-productive. Normal contemporary hospital birth techniques take little account of mother and child’s emotional and psychic state; and who can say whether these harsh and insensitive birthing practices do not directly contribute to the angry, fearful state of much of modern life?

The dolphins, with their nurturing and creative natures, also seem to be involved with the water birthing process. In the background of one of Igor Charkovsky’s films, you see them swimming around in the background while babies, apparently utterly unafraid of the water, are paddling their little legs off up there near the camera.

Although I didn’t really know what it meant at the time, I touched base with the dolphins’ interest in birth in one of my earliest telepathic flashes with them. Back in Florida in 1980, I felt I’d received from a pod of three wild dolphins a deep desire to see created on the planet a new physical form--a phylum that would include the finest features of several of the leading species. Over the years, other experiments the dolphins have put me through persuade me they are, among other things, a race of extraordinarily skillful bioacoustical surgeons--a race quite capable, I would imagine, of very advanced recombinant DNA engineering, using sound waves as the modulating factor.

So the situation sat back in the early ‘80s, when I wrote The DETA Factor: Dolphins, Extra-Terrestrials, and Angels (published by Coleman Graphics). I duly recorded the incident which--though it might seem outlandish here, laid out starkly and out of context--goes a long way toward suggesting just what that magnificent race of sentient beings may have been doing for the last 30 million years or so.

Then, in another event in the unfolding revelation, this time in the Bahamas, I saw an exquisite tide pool set in among the rocks of Paradise Island as a model for what I could envision as an inter-species environment--a place for artists and poets, sensitive scientists, and those wishing to explore the values of non-verbal communication. And in this wonderful, warm ambiance, I’d also seen a center to which couples could come and give birth accompanied by dolphins.

And this was well before I’d heard of Igor Charkovsky and his work with dolphins in the Black Sea. (He tells us, incidentally, that the dolphins’ bio-field, or aura, has a tremendously calming effect on women giving birth, and he is now attempting to explore further the fascinating field of inter-species collaboration.

Globally, at this time, there are three spots I know about that are actively pursuing underwater birthing. Of course, a number of underwater births are also taking place in Jacuzzis and tubs, primarily in the States, New Zealand, Australia, and somewhat less in Europe. With more than 1,000 babies born underwater, the Russian Igor Charkovsky is the doyen of the craft. He and others who have delivered babies in this way claim that it largely eliminates the primary fear-reflex that occurs when the baby is thrust out of the nil-gravity amniotic fluid into the “1-G” of the outside world. Charkovsky goes even further and says that delicate brain cells surrounding the crown chakra--which, he believes, govern many of our higher sensibilities like telepathy and psychokinesis--can be irretrievably damaged by “normal” birth.

The theory of underwater birthing has always appealed to me. The films and videos of babies emerging happily and swimming around, enormously contented, can’t help but make a profound impression. I’d not doubted the parents’ and midwives’ claim that water babies were more fearless and alert than normal infants, but then, I’d never seen for myself. Thus, when the Underwater Birth Conference came up in New Zealand and a chance to meet at least twenty of the children presented itself, I gladly decided to go.

I’d no idea where the money would come from, but had faith that if the Universe wanted me there, It would surely provide. And provide it did: A round-trip ticket from an interested sponsor dropped in my lap, and it was off to another adventure.

Keri Keri, Bay of Islands, New Zealand:

Now, as night fell over the Bay, our camper parked out in a field surrounded by sheep, blue water turning to violet and stretching away, broken only by the animal humps of sleeping islands, I considered the complex of dynamics surrounding underwater birthing.

Predictably, medical authorities are reluctant to encourage it. They talk of dire dangers (to my knowledge, there hasn’t been one serious accident or infection) and in one case in California, even appear to have set up a midwife and had her arrested for attempting to arrange a birth under water. Of course, this approach has driven interested parents underground, so to speak, creating a quiet network of those who simply get on with the business and let the results speak for themselves. Nowhere has this network flowered more effectively than in Australia and New Zealand, where a growing number of babies have been delivered in this manner.

One of the main personalities behind this evolution is Estelle Myers, whom I first knew back in the mid-’70s, when she was doing public relations in New York. Dynamic, eloquent, caring, and loving, she was a perfect person to make Charkovsky’s methods known in the West and to encourage and support individual parents who wanted to try them.

For the past few years, Estelle has run the Rainbow Dolphin Centre in Keri Keri and has struggled to get underwater birthing better known and accepted by the public. It’s fair to say that two main camps have been spreading information on the craft: One suggests that the whole matter quietly move into social acceptance on a grass-roots level, making as few waves as possible and certainly not drawing any flak from the medical establishment. The other--to which Estelle, as a natural public-relations woman, has adhered--wants to introduce underwater birthing as a fait accompli. The Russians have done it; why not us?

The next few years will tell if either approach--or both--will advance the cause, but i bet that the more quietly it slides into place, the better. Nobody wants underwater birthing to become a fad, or to be choked off before it’s gained momentum as a childbearing option. If a couple (and especially the woman, for obvious reasons) has a genuine desire to give birth under water, I feel sure her guardian angels and guides will direct them to somebody who knows how to go about it.

(Many of us interested in this field suggest that pregnant women work with floatation tanks, for the experience of floating in a super-saturated saline solution at body temperature gives a very good feeling for the part that water can play in the birth process. Also, the soundless darkness is an ideal environment in which the mother-to-be can start making telepathic contact with her unborn baby, encouraging the spirit to enter the child at a much earlier age than normal.)

We had spent our first day careening up the North Island’s narrow, winding country roads. Both the climate and the geological conditions changed constantly as we swept around the hills of this remarkable volcanic island. Broad, rocky vistas one moment; tiny enclosed spaces the next. In all this, I soon felt the reality of Lemuria: Something touched the soul about moving through a country tended continuously for over 100,000 years. Every tree and meadow, every mountain, each waterfall was precisely in place--the most sensitively landscaped garden I’d ever seen, laid out in a massive feat of geomancy--an immense and palpable feeling never to leave me throughout my travels in New Zealand.

Arriving at dusk, we found the Rainbow Dolphin Centre perched on the crown of a wonderfully curved rock. Its location is superb, wild and beautiful, with the sea and islands on three sides. Estelle was in ebullient form, greeting the new arrivals as they tumbled in from all over the world. Yet the last year or so at the Centre had certainly not been straightforward. Though miracles had peppered its coming into being, funds were never plentiful enough for it to achieve its ambitions and become a birthing center in its own right. Estelle’s publicity efforts had paid off in a number of full-page stories, but certainly hadn’t made the practice of waterbirthing any easier. The dolphins themselves are so notoriously slippery that it seems somewhat unrealistic to ever pin down a location in the hope they’ll appear on your doorstep. But Estelle had hope and faith in boundless measure, and one product of her untiring energy was the 2nd Annual Conference of Homo Delphinus.

Now, her eyes sparkling with occult humor, she could hardly contain her good news: “Guess what? We’re not going to meet here, but on the Maori Marae!”

Marae turned out to be the name for both a Maori settlement and for the larger meeting hall that serves as their tribal focus. Estelle explained that the Maori had heard something about waterbirthing, and the possibilities so impressed them that only a few weeks before the scheduled time for the Conference, they had turned up out of the blue and insisted the Conference be held in their own sacred space--a rare privilege, since the Maori, somewhat like the North American Indians, have watchfully guarded their truths and natural wonders. Never before, apparently, had they opened their arms to anything quite like this.

With all the novelty in the air, there was a certain trepidation and much whispered advice on how to conduct ourselves with what, in many ways, was a thoroughly alien culture. There seemed to be quite a lot of don’ts. On no account were we to walk over the grassy rectangle in front of the Marae. It was sacrosanct; something to do with buried ancestors. While in the Marae, don’t walk over another’s body and, since we were all to bunk down in the hall together, don’t sleep with feet pointed toward another’s head. By the second night, that last caveat was enough to give most of us spatial dyslexia!

Next morning found a convoy of us driving the twenty-odd miles to Maori land. It was misty and wet, the sun breaking through intermittently to light up a countryside that was utterly unfamiliar and yet insistently reminiscent of England’s Somerset (or Sumer-set, as an occult companion once pointed out to me).

The Marae is cupped in a small valley by a sheltered bay, whose mirrored turquoise surface was broken only by the dark, curved backs of volcanic rocks. Without too much hassle, we lined up opposite the gathering hall’s yawning entrance doors and were told we were going to walk on the grassy rectangle.

Now thoroughly confused, I asked, “What about the buried ancestors?”


In retrospect, I fancy that it was at this point I began crossing into an altered state of consciousness. Perhaps the cognitive dissonance between the two perceptions of the sacred plot pushed my authority-buttons in some way, opening me to other, parallel lines of reality on the curious morning. But as is so often the case for me, passage into the other state is guarded by a demon who needs to be outwitted.

So as we stood shuffling our suddenly very-Western feet in front of the Marae, it was then the demon struck. Over me fell a vision of enormous natives leaping out of nowhere, spears flashing, teeth gnashing, drums crashing--out of a childhood of Movietone Newsreels with Her Majesty the Queen looking unmistakable po-faced trying to deal with it all.

The vision--of men with ferocious masks hurling themselves at us for the splendor of it all--came and went, leaving me blinking across the grass at the Maori Elders, lining themselves up with their backs against the Marae. Not leaping, prancing warriors, of course but--wonderful surprise!--people just like us: a little older, and in some cases wearier, but with sparkling bright eyes full of knowledge and wisdom.

The Senior Elder was welcoming us--a key point in the ceremony, in which we were formally invited to join the tribe. He spoke casually but rhythmically, skillfully modulating his voice. As his open-hearted resonance reached into my spirit, I found tears running down my face. We were starting to realize why we were all here, together.

Beneath his words, which wound on, in the way of simpler people; in the rise and fall of the round volcanic hills and the quiet, wind-eroded basin in which we rested; we realized we were all being welcomed home to Paradise. His voice ringing in our souls, we walked proudly forward, filled with light and happy privilege, stepping--just this once--over the forbidden green lawn. To be welcomed by a people, by a tribe: a rare experience!

As we closed the intervening distance, there seemed to be a multiple mixing of realities, but all saw were their smiles growing broader and their welcoming arms more expansive. As when we die and our loved ones come to greet us, so did I feel appropriately expanded and uplifted.

Looking over the Marae’s timber facade, with its lizard-like carved ancestral forms, I saw the smaller buildings and workshops and, beyond them, the quiet mysterious water. All the hills had become softly rounded with time and erosion--a quality of a kingdom or reality once lost in the mists like Avalon, but now coming back into phase, shepherded by the Maori people.

We gathered inside the Marae in two concentric rings: visitors on the inside, Maoris spread out around us in the wider circle, standing back against the walls. Behind them reared the curious, powerful carved figures of their sacred ancestors, standing nine feet high and supporting the roof, the rib cage of the god. In a deep and primordial way, these carvings’ reptilian bodies were very familiar. The moment, however was being taken up by the Greeting.

Now, this was meeting people! Slowly we wound around, greeting and in turn being welcomed by each member of the tribe, holding forearms and bending over towards each other and gently touching noses. First one side, then the other. To a jaded New Yorker, the intimacy and purity of it was like a cool mountain stream.

After three or four noses, winks, blinks, and mutual knowings, I caught on: We were drawing in the breath of each other’s spirits. No hiding or trickery here, I realized. In the presence of those scrupulously honest and open-hearted people, we were all expected to be as near as we could get to Who-We-Truly-Are.

More noses, then an old woman with eyes of lapis.

“We’ve seen him before!” A weirdly familiar laugh, and a look deep into the soul of me. I stared back, recognizing in her eyes She whom I have ever sought; I then knew I was among manifestations of the Divine Mother. This was indeed holy ground, and once again I found myself a willing participant in the Sacred Game.

A complex joining, a merging of realities, a mutual revelation was taking place person by person, mounting in waves of new-found ecstasy, with most of us crying unabashed. Then, washed into a circle of stillness by the power of the emotions, we listened to individuals taking their opportunities to welcome us. We replied with warm little speeches, good-hearted in spite of stilted deliveries. What a fear of public speaking our culture has!

The Maori, used to tribal gatherings, are masters of the short speech, full of feints that make you think the talking is going to be endless. Words lurch and start and snap and spark until you realize you are hypnotized and caught in their web. Then the speaker will bring you back into he quiet clearing of your known self, refreshed and tingling with the love of it.

The Conference plunged into a new gear: Loose, openly informal, and Spirit-directed, the meetings moved with the swell. Gatherings changed in size and passion with wind and tide as much as much as anything else. So wholeheartedly was I swept into the group mind that I find I have little conscious recall of the day-by-day meanderings. Looking back, though, I can see that we all took significant leaps of consciousness, as though we were being unstepped jointly, as a group. No Castaneda I, all I found myself able to scribble during the first break was, “Ah, the wonder of it! All together again in the whispering sunlight!”

Afternoon found us back in the long hut, each person saying what he or she’d like to see accomplished, both personally and as a group, during this four-day period of closeness.

At this point, somehow, really listening will full attention to other’s hopes and aspirations changed my body’s inner rhythms, slowing and quieting them. As we seemed to slip into this timeless state, so another effect started coming in: I began to hear “everything-at-once.” That’s as closely as I can express it, but the experience was quite pronounced. I have little doubt that in our own ways, each of us directly experienced this “falling-into” synchronous group-mindedness. Although I’ve been present at much smaller group-mind experiments, certainly I have not participated in as intense a coming-together as was heaving over this gathering’s horizon.

The mechanics may well lie beyond our conscious understanding, but it became a unified experience with our group of about 200 in all--visitors and Maori hosts alike. Like most indigenous native people, the Maori appear to be more experienced in group telepathy than us, and thus were able to sink back in the sensory field. They seemed more to be facilitators, always present when we needed them.

As in any gathering that involves a personal depth of honesty and reality, there are areas in all of us that simply have to come out and be expressed. Personal egocentricities, like closed coils of recording tape, have to be unwound. The ego frameworks and status investments, the delusionary webs we have created to maintain our personas--all this needs to be honed down and refined in preparation for the exquisite intimacy of the full telepathic group-mind experience.

We became part of a dance, a massive conspiracy somehow contrived on a meta-level to allow the stronger egos among us to give birth to our accumulated hearts’ desire. And as we started pulsing more closely with one another and trusted the Spirit to guide us to the right place at the right time, a wonderful secret was revealed to us: the secret of Homo Delphinus.

The Urantia revelation--an all-embracing cosmological system that is probably as relevant a metaphor as any--tells us that after a planet is seeded with life, the Life Carriers, whose function is to carry life to a world, are not permitted to interfere with the evolutionary process. That process, we are shown, is very different from Darwinism, in that it is essentially discontinuous: A species’ major evolutionary shifts happen suddenly, rather than very slowly. The angelic communicants maintain, for instance, that in one generation, true human beings appeared within the bosom of a primate family.

Thinking about it intuitively, I know that Darwinism always seemed to brush over the obvious anomalies it posed. It’s hard to believe that generations of lizards flung themselves out of trees until wings gradually appeared. Birds either fly or they don’t, so feathers had to happen fast.

Thus, the way the Life Carriers seem to have planned it for there to have been fourteen phyla, or basic divisions of living animal species, from which the human race might evolve. (And note, too, that this planet is an experimental one.) Within this system, human beings are seen to be the crown of the evolutionary tree--though I have yet to fully appreciate where dolphins fit in with this.

The Urantia Communicants tell us not to expect any more mutated species along the higher, more complex animals. But here, in the gathering oneness of the telepathic reality, was being revealed something else altogether: What is the evolutionary process is far more dynamic than we’ve been led to believe? What if the mutation in conscious that we are all experiencing is indeed leading to the development of an entirely new physical being? What if we are about to be presented with a mutation in our species, perhaps as far removed from us as we are from the reptiles.

These were the possibilities raised by the Group Mind in those moments of intense sharing, in which each of us received our own pieces of the puzzle. In this, I saw the blossoming of the new energy that appears to be manifesting all over the planet. Wherever love is, wherever there are open hearts and strong spirits, there also is this sublime energy. The mutated energy is surely the creation of a creature even more capable of expressing it--a physical being described also in The Starseed Transmissions--an Extraterrestrial Report as amphibious, equally at home in each element, and yet also able to live and travel in outer space. This telepathic being, in constant harmonious contact with all the parts of itself, is in a sense a group creation, through which our fumbling attempts to master the openness of Group Mind might be articulated more fully.

“This might come through the womb of a woman, or it might come through the womb of a dolphin,” I found myself channeling to the French diver Jacques Mayol one afternoon. I don’t know how much he was getting of it all, but he looked a little shaken up by the possibilities. Yes, there was some very strong link with the dolphin world here, though in the shared revelation, there was no suggestion of the mutated species being the progeny of interbreeding between dolphins and humans... rather that it might be an entity born to both species.

It then came to me that dolphins have been working on this--indeed that they’d tried it before! Babylonian history recalls the Oannes that waddled out of the sea and taught the people the ways of civilized life. I’d always though the Oannes (Berosus mentions five of them, the Annedoti) were possibly remnants of an extraterrestrial mission from Sirius, perhaps the same to seem to have visited the Dogon and their neighbors to the north , the Bozos. But consider a somewhat different scenario: that of a far more intimate relationship among all animal life, especially between dolphin and human. Also in this was an element of cosmic humor, as if coping with this new race of little monsters will be something of a handful--quite enough to keep us out of future mischief!, and certainly enough to bring us and the dolphins together, thus presaging a new era for life on this planet.

Before we gathered for bedtime and the psychic ambience was fairly humming along, Estelle played us a message of general good wishes that Igor Charkovsky himself had tape-recorded for the event. In his five-minute speech, filtered through an interpreter in halting English, the Russian shaman also made a strong statement in support of committed meditation: He favored the proliferation of meditation centers and suggested we meditate on both our “extra-terrestrial brethren” and “our invisible friends”--a revealing statement from anyone who has delivered over one thousand babies underwater.

The message came at the perfect time, of course, emphasizing just how widespread is the manifestation of this new energy. Exhausted from the excitement and unusual psychic cross-currents, we all found our places to lie and curled up for the night. One hundred twenty souls--men, women, and a lot of children--clumped down together like a bunch of happy animals, perhaps to dream further of these magnificent new vistas.

It was indeed a pleasant night--of flying dreams, of meetings with one another and with yet stranger beings. Tribal memories of all being together; a dolphin’s world of easygoing, playful relationships. None of the authoritarian separations of more “civilized” living. No child cried that night, and all awoke enlivened, in the new sense of Oneness.

Looking back, I can appreciate how we were upstepped in increments. Choice was always presented to us individually as to whether we wanted to jump further in. To me, there always seemed to be hints, presentiments of the Great Secret, to beckon us on. Homo Delphinus--what could it all mean? A new race? An unheard-of species? Creatures who might be as strange to us as the first two humans must have been to the primate family who reared them? As you can imagine, we spent quite a lot of time meditating on this whole issue. The inevitable skeptics will claim wishful thinking, but possibly wishful thinking itself moves us toward its own eventual manifestation!

Whatever, something was definitely happening with the water-born children. Oddly, almost without exception, they had fair hair and blue eyes. Under the circumstances, it would be unheard of to have four days of such intense inner communion without constant disruptions from the kids, but not one such disturbance echoes in retrospect. I’m no expert on pediatrics, bu those children looked sturdy, highly responsive, and incredibly bold and adventurous. Each child with whom I interacted appeared to have his or her Spirit firmly in place and fully present. However small, none had that numbed, vacant, stoned-out look so many babies can get. I was able to photograph one six-month-old boy laughing, triumphant, standing upright on his mother’s outstretched hand after she had been whirling him around by his feet!

Dawn on the second day was a beauty. It spread over those quiet, rounded hills until there was no question that the weather had broken; the sun would be with us all day. Workshops and discussions were held on the beach, the outermost of the circle lapped by the surf.

Predictably, most present had some form of contact with the invisible realms, and we shared our experiences with dolphins, extraterrestrials, and angels. Mostly, however, there was just sitting in silence and touching core to core with our Inner Source and the gentle sweetness of sun and sea.

I’m not sure precisely which presences accompanied us during our discussions and silences. In all likelihood, there was no intention we should know. Suffice it to say there was a tangible sense of higher dimensional involvement. Igor’s message of the night before had sensitized us to what can only be tremendous interest among our galactic family. And among Those-Who-Watch, doubtless, are the beings originally responsible for planning life on this planet--observing, I dare say, with a peculiarly passionate detachment.

At some point in those three days, one of the Elders led a small group of us off to the nearby Kauri Forest--for the Maori, their holiest of holy places. As we drove over there, I had a chance to admire the Maori relationship to the automobile. The car was old, English, beat-up, rimmed with the dirt of country lanes. The roads were not paved and were studded with potholes and rocks. Yet we just flew! Sitting in the front seat, gliding over these improbable roads, I knew I was participating in yet another miracle, albeit of the most everyday variety.

Consequently, we arrived at the Forest with something of an additional sense of wonder. As the air grew cooler, in among the great trunks of these most ancient of the world’s tress, the psychic atmosphere broadened and deepened tangibly.

The Maori have revered the forests for so long that the trees feel as if they’ve taken on an extra sweetness. Everything was exquisitely tended, and the smooth bark on the Kauris glowed from the loving touch of many a generation of hands, come to hug and stroke a living being so many thousands of years old. In the way of forests, the air and the spaces between the enormous trees took on that gelatinous quality, a slow-motion effect: Trees, the occasional bird, other short-lived phenomena (us!)--all were preserved in the finest, most lightly golden mist of amber which hung quivering in the afternoon sunlight.

After the intense excitement of the Conference, it was a serene and grounding experience. I’ve done my bit of hanging out with trees--California’s massive Sequoias, the great forests of Europe, juniper groves in Florida, banyan in India, tropical rain forest in the Amazon Basin--and certainly I’ve heard the language of the trees more than once. But seldom have I experienced the intense dignity and reverence for life those Kauri trees emanated. It was far too tender an experience to render into words and to be really appreciated, must be undergone in situ.

The last day of the gathering, there was much talk about a diving reflex in the human body, and with training, water babies were apparently able to stay under water for up to eight minutes. Now, that’s certainly going to interest the dolphins, isn’t it? Jacques Mayol, who can now dive to 105 meters with no aqua-lung, has trained himself through breath control and yoga to hold his breath for four minutes. He talked about going through fear and panic points by using a self-disciplined will; in fact, to surrender into relaxation the moment fear comes up. This is stern stuff, if you consider the massive fear our species as a whole has toward the sea. I’m still trying to master a panic reflex my body goes through if anything touches me unexpectedly in the water, and suspect that whatever evolved into us might well have had good reason to leave the perils of the deep for drier climes.

Around four o’clock that last day, I recorded rather portentously in my journal, “Homo Delphinus is born!” I knew that as of that weekend, a sufficient number of people now have a conceptual reality of what a mutated being can mean. This, I believe, permits the next stage of unfolding. The subtle realms, I have noticed, are eminently fair in presenting us with free choice on any significant issue. For something as far-reaching as the introduction of another sentient--super-sentient--species on the planet, they are going to want to make sure we know what we are getting into.

I sensed the people present, drawn as they were from all over the world, were a seed group whose function is to midwife the concept into the World Mind, and thus, also, into its Womb. Whether all present consciously assimilated the revelations is perhaps less important than their having the experience to start with. I’m equally sure that much more was going on than I could consciously register and pass along. Perhaps each of us in this august gathering was permitted our own unique, miraculous glimpse of what may lie ahead in the coming Golden Age.

On a more down-to-earth level, the gathering confirmed the viability of water-birthing as a process. It certainly encouraged a lot of people to exchange confidence with parents who’d been thorough a water birth. A number of individual midwives came from different parts of the United States, Australia, and New Zealand, and fine, spirited people they were. These ladies really mean business, and they’re on the bleeding edge of guerrilla midwifery. One told me that she was planning to drive a mobile birthing center--a pool in the back of a Winnebago--all over Australia, wherever it is needed. My bet is that she’ll do it!

As David Goodman, father-to-be of a water baby, pointed out to me, most of the water babies there had rather unusual-shaped heads: large craniums and slight bumps in their foreheads. Not very obvious yet, but it could be a start to something. many of the more advanced cosmologies suggest that there are at least two primary kinds of human being on the planet: the “first-timers” and those who, for whatever reasons, are reborn into another human body. If so, then the beings choosing to come into he water babies seem drawn from the latter group.

This is just the tip of what we are going to be seeing over the next decade. Of course it’s early to establish an overview of what might actually be happening, but there’s little doubt that the extreme stresses and strains our planetary culture is undergoing are attracting beings of considerable age and experience toward the challenges of further growth.

Without really knowing it, we are gearing up for the wonders ahead. As waterbirthing becomes more widely practiced, I believe we will be setting the stage for the appearance of altogether new levels of wisdom. With present momentum, I suspect that the water-born will evidence some pronounced manifestations of higher consciousness--tricks and talents that will make metal-bending and fire-walking look like the childish games they tend to be. If the revelation and manifestation are indeed true, then how magnificently humorous that such a planet as this, long thought of as near the bottom of the barrel among inhabited spheres, should receive the rare cosmic privilege of the birth of a new energy form!

The Homo Delpinus Conference was one glimpse of the many to come of what we, as a race, are growing into. By the end of our time together, I was able to intuit glimmers of this new consciousness in all the water babies I saw. It’s a very familiar feeling, as if it has always been happening, full of humor and knowing. And in a scarcely surprising way, it has about it something of the quality of the dolphins.

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