"Hold on, Child," The Prophet called out. "Hold on."
"I'm holding on, Prophet, but I'm getting wet."
"Don't worry about getting wet. That happens. Just hold on to the whale."
"Gee whiz, am I glad the whale's here. I don't know where I'd be if I weren't riding on its back."
The Child had barely finished the sentence when a huge wave, dark and wide, rose from out of the ocean and started coming their way.
"Eeeeeeek!" shouted the Child, sizing up the wave; the Child's voice trembled with fear. "I'm going to slide off of my whale, Prophet."
"Lie on your stomach, Child, and stretch your legs forward. Then, grab hold of the dorsal fin."
"Then, the whale can't see, Prophet, cause my feet will cover its eyes."
The Prophet smiled.
"It will see, Child. Then you can't see."
"But don't I need to see what lies ahead of me."
"No, Child. You only need to stay on the back of the whale."
The child wrapped her arms around the dorsal fin as the whale rose up from the ocean and sailed a few feet in the air.
"Eeeeeeek!" The Child screamed.
"Are you still there?"
"Of course, I'm still here, Child. Why do you ask?"
"Cause I can't see you or hear you?"
"Is it necessary to see me, Child?"