Inspirations: Animal Stories

  I sat on craggy Maine rocks, washed in sea mist and seaweed smells. It was lovely to be at the shore, though it wasn’t my shore, nor familiar sea smells. I am a child of another ocean, of soft sandy beaches, rolling surf lines and Dolphins leaping through waves. Romantic as this rugged Atlantic sea is, I yearned for what I had grown up with, the wet-remembrances of a tiny Pacific island peninsula. Memories rose of the very wet summer of my 16th year, when I was part of the diving team, the swim team, body-surfed the big ones, and applied for the job of Sea Maid at Sea World. “Can you dive?” “Oh yes.” “Great. We just lost a girl, you’re in.  We need you dressed in half an hour. Pick up a full tank, and shortie wet suit at supply. Let your hair hang free, and meet me above the California aquarium-theater. Do you know your fish?” I’m nodding ‘yes,’ as I slowly realize I’m not diving from a tower, but with a tank, and I really have no idea about fish other than grunion, jelly fish and the non-fish, lobster. But water is water and I know water. How hard can it be? I suit up and find the California tank. “Here you go. Sit on the ledge, wait for your cue, drop into the tank, swim back and forth, wave to the people, point out each fish as the sound track calls its name. Good luck.” I’m perched, ready in my short pink wet suit. A giant manta ray floats onto my lap. I stop breathing. No one told me the stinger had been removed, or that the ray loved to nestle on the girl’s laps as they waited. I may have been blond, but… Read more »

In lingering days of winter, longing for the sun’s return, and the miracle of spring, when snow overwhelms the psyche, and the cold is very old, magical events are most welcome.  Early, in this morning’s first light, three fox romped not 20 yards away, at the doorstep of the garden shed; mom, dad, and tiny fox-lette.  Their wildness in bas relief to the garden’s structure; their primal energy playing against our civilized, coffee-routine.  The warm, reddish coloring was electric against stark white snow banks. Snapshots from the kitchen window do not begin to relay the wondrous energy of these unexpected visitors.  But they were not visiting. They had arrived to stay, for they crawled under and out of their new den, making dirt fly over the snow, counter point to our stillness, stock still with incredulity. We were the ones held captive. Are they portents an astonishing spring?  Are they a numinous sign of new life, of a cunning new life?  Or is it a simply haphazard event?  We are the ones with a shed, and they the ones caught with an early new born?  We can read into what we will, but un-expected gifts open us to move into life with greater enthusiasm. (‘Enthusiasm’-from Greek origin-to be inspired or possessed by the gods.) These fox are beautiful reminders that there are primal forces to whom we owe allegiance.  There is a world out there not connected to computers and the mayhem of modern life.  Simply the reminder it exists, offers enormous solace and balancing. They symbolize a simplicity of being.  My perspective of ‘being fox’ is to play, kill, eat, sleep, dig, and lick the baby.  And, oh yes-be beautiful.  Be yourself.  Be a wild spirit.  Create a home where you disturb only the rose bush, eat only with… Read more »

The Birder turned his head to better hear the call.  He listened as though his ears extended six feet, then smiled as the repetition of exact tone and glottal dissonance reached him.  I watched his eyes follow the sound, and though he could not yet see the bird, he stood in patience, waiting for feather and beak to emerge from shadowy greens.  Soon all would be known.  When he sighted the bird, he raised his binoculars and I could almost see his ears retract into his skull. Spying on him, I grew sad that I had not taken time lately to stop and listen.  In observing his utter pleasure, I felt enormous loss. I used to make daily quiet time to see that which was hidden, to meander over a foggy beach.  Now, I’m only distracted,  cruising at Mach 10, so it’s hard to hear anyone beyond a tweet, which ain’t no birdsong. How much richness are we willing to forgo?  To be truly rich- we need depth.  To hear, we must really listen, and for that we need to-be-here-now. How many Peony un-furlings, sweet cat-nuzzles, laughter with old friends, and pillow-talks with partners are we willing to ignore…never mind mysteries calling from ‘shadowy greens?’ There’s something to be said for dropping out, or at the very least- drawing a line in the sand beyond which we will not speed up.  Is that possible?  Stopping long enough to hear unspoken feelings, to absorb and offer feed back, may be a dying art.  It has certainly become a generous art, and when offered-no small gift.  Careening through the year, bouncing from one stop-gap measure to another, the receptive feminine has become ignored and abused.  She, that takes in and nourishes, is growing weaker and weaker.  Sensory overload is shutting down systems,… Read more »

This the story of a man named Jeff and his bird, Freedom. Ten years ago, a badly maimed baby eagle came to Jeff. She could not stand or fly. Both wings were broken, and even after surgery her left wing didn’t operate or open fully. Despite her emaciation and injuries, Jeff made the choice to offer her a chance at life. She took it. After weeks of tube-feeding she still could not stand and talk circled about euthanizing her if she couldn’t stand by the week’s end. Jeff put her in a large dog carrier and took her everywhere, talking to her, urging her to fight for life. All she could do was stare up at him with ‘those big brown eyes,’ sending silent messages. On the Thursday before the last Friday, he went to her cage, and there she was, standing, at long last….a large and beautiful eagle. Named for what she was not ever going to experience under ordinary circumstances, he trained her to the glove, and then to jesses. Freedom became the star of education programs for schools in western Washington, ultimately finding herself in print, on radio and TV. In 2000 it was Jeff’s turn for a bad year. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, stage 3. He did eight months of chemotherapy, loosing hair, strength, and most of that year. When he did feel strong enough He took Freedom for walks. She began to appear in his dreams and he knew she was helping him fight the cancer. The day after Thanksgiving, Jeff went in for his last check up, on a wing and a prayer. His results were ‘freedom from the cancer.’ To celebrate, he took Freedom out for their walk. When they stopped, he looked at her and knew she knew. She wrapped… Read more »

This was a front page story in the San Francisco Chronicle. It relates the plight of a female humpback whale who had become entangled in a spider web of crab-traps and lines. She was weighted down by many pounds of traps that forced her to struggle to stay afloat, and there were hundreds of yards of line wrapped around her tail and torso, with a line caught and tugging her mouth. A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farallon Islands (outside the Golden Gate) and radioed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so bad off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her as quickly as possible. This is extremely dangerous for one slap of the tail could kill a rescuer. They worked for hours with patience and curved knives, eventually freeing her. When completely loose, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushing them gently around. She thanked them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives. The man who cut the rope out of her mouth said her eye followed him the entire time, and he will never be the same. Lest we forget how connected we are, and the responsibility owed. Asana: Ardha Matsyendrasana/ Half Lord of the Fish Pose. Sit on the floor, bending knees, place L foot under the buttocks, (keep foot horizontal, little toe on ground) or keep sitts bones rooted into the floor, tucking L foot beside R hip. Bend R knee and lift R leg, placing foot on floor by the outer L thigh/knee, R ankle touching L knee, shin… Read more »

In days of darkness, somewhere there is light. When we have lost faith, somehow, reason to hope appears. When we are most cruel, sometimes kindness prevails. A brief news bulletin from the provincial town, Beta Genet, 350 miles outside of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, tells of a twelve year old girl, missing for a week, who’d been taken and beaten by seven men, one of whom wanted to marry her against her wishes. Three lions came and frightened away her attackers, then stood guard over her throughout the afternoon until police and family found her. “They stood guard until we found her,” said Sergeant Wondimu Wedajo, “And then they just left her like a gift and went back into the forest.” A gift indeed. A redolent reminder that there are more things in heaven and hell than we shall ever know. When Angels choose to move through us, ‘us’ doesn’t have to mean human. The connection between human and animal is far greater than we acknowledge. Mankind can be so much worse than we wish to know. Redemption can be greater and stranger than before envisioned. Like storytellers of old, sharing this story makes it more alive in me. It calls to what is profound, mysterious, and brave, as well as what is evil. In its re-telling I connect over and over to the magic, alive here on earth, never forgetting how close by darkness waits. Be the lion! Asana: Simhasana/Lion Pose, of course. You can sit with your R foot placed under left buttocks, place L foot under R buttock, or in Padmasana, or kneel. Stretching the back up, extend hands, placing them on the knees, opening fingers wide. Focus gaze at tip of nose, or within to the Third Eyes, in center of forehead. Open your mouth as wide… Read more »

Nothing against Aquarians, but February is not a cakewalk as months go. We have spent our money, and bills are due. Pipes are frozen, and you can’t smell spring. We have gained weight, and resolutions haven’t paid off yet. Taxes, like heating bills, loom large. Given that the above are true, what do we most need? Hope & Silliness, not necessarily in that order. Groundhog’s Day goes a long way to satisfying hopes with lashings of silliness. Groundhog Day history is a strange combination of European and Native Indian ritual and story. In February 4, 1841 a Pennsylvania-German storekeeper referred to a celebration of Candlemas, which has origin in the pagan celebration of Imbolc. It is timed for the mid-point between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. Candles were lit and carried home to dark houses. Superstition was that if the weather was fair, the second half of Winter would be stormy and cold. The other half of the Groundhog equation emerged from the Delaware Indians, who considered groundhogs honorable ancestors. According to their original creation beliefs, their forebears began life as animals in “Mother Earth” and emerged centuries later to hunt and live as men. The Woodchuck comes from the Indian legend of “Wojak, the groundhog” who was considered to be the Indian’s ancestral grandfather. Punxsutawney comes from the Indian name for a location, “ponksad-uteney” which means “the town of the sandflies.” So far so good. None of this is particularly interesting or makes any connection to today’s legend. They simply increase the nonsense around Groundhog Day, casting wierd shadows on it’s history. What I love is that from these disparate, sacred beginnings, it took Americans only a few short years to turn them into the bizarre ritual of Punxsutawney Phil looking for his shadow. Asanas: If the requirement is… Read more »