Animal Tales, Blog | July 8, 2011
After nine days traveling in the silence, tuned to eternal rhythms, we arrived at a lake to settle in for a week. Moments after our ar-rival, on the far side of the lake, three wolves emerged from the forest.
They casually loped along the edge of the water, stopping to sniff; explore, play. They trotted along the entire length of the lake from end to end and around, slowly disappearing into the trees.
A long, unhurried visit; beings arisen from this untrammeled place. My immediate reaction was an unexpected upwelling of tears. It felt as if they had come to welcome me.
Being in a place so vast; so silent; so whole, lets deeper things come to the fore; makes it possible to tune to fainter energies. Did they sense me because I love them so and come to visit? Did I call them without realizing it, physical wolves responding to spirit?
The wolves came again the morning I was leaving. Perhaps it was just coincidence, nothing more, their coming just as I arrived ; coming again just as I left. But how do we ever know such things? If we see it as a coincidence, and it isn’t, then what have we missed!
*Excerpt from Into the Space and Silence by Susan B. Eirich, a book inspired by a three week trip into the Muskwa-Ketchika, the most remote area of the Yellowstone to Yukon Wildlife Corridor
Bears, Blog | May 26, 2011
When an animal is sick we use all possible approaches to healing, because in our experience, wild animals are very receptive to energies. What we did do (actually we started as soon as we saw how poorly he was feeling) was contact people who loved Major Bear and asked for them to pray for him. Several of our friends are energy healers and they sent long distance reiki and other healing energy. One friend and admirer did a long distance shamanic healing ritual for him. Interestingly, she said in the process of going on a shamanic healing journey she could find no cancer masses in him…later verified by the vets at Washington State. Another healer, who had done something quite unfathomable to me in healing Teton Totem the grizzly bear from his paralysis when conventional medical care could not help, (see Teton’s stories on the web site) said whereas Teton had been willing and eager to receive the energy, Major Bear had flatly refused it, basically blocking it all off. She respected that feedback she did not even do an intuitive body scan. She gave us some hope though, saying that sometimes an animal will go into deep withdrawal, and starve themselves as a way to try to heal.
Day after day we offered him food which he refused. Though he was uncharacteristically secretive and we never saw him leave his box, we realized that he was drinking, as in the mo rning the water in his bucket would be down. Regarding the food, we had an onrush of very happy plump ground squirrels who discovered a bear enclosure full of food with no bear guarding it. We found apples and kiwis and watermelon nibbled to a nubbin by tiny little teeth.
Major Bear’s Auntie came to visit and sit with him, bearing gifts of organic grape juice, apple juice, blueberries and liquid probiotics in honey to help his digestion. A trained nurse herself she had followed the medical aspects of his care with absorbed interest, offering helpful suggestions along the way. We pondered together- could he somehow have never woken up from hibernation? He had already been 5 months without food during hibernation…did his appetite somehow never get awakened? Allergic reactions to parasites? Other possible reasons for the increased calcium in his blood? We pestered the vets with our ideas. She stood by the enclosure talking to him. She told him she loved him. She offered to peel him grapes.
I invited K’Lea, an energy healer trained in the use of Tibetan singing bowls to come help….it couldn’t hurt and perhaps it would bring him some ease. Despite her very busy schedule she immediately agreed to come the next day. It was cold snowy and wet weather, but she packed up and brought her 100 pounds of bowls and paraphernalia to his enclosure prepared to sit in the cold for the hour the healing would take. She had meditated deeply before in preparation on what healings to use.
It was drizzling, sleeting, muddy, gray and cold. Jean set up a piece of plywood just outside the enclosure so she would be off the ground and the wood would help carry the vibrations. Thus ensconced, she meditated again, and began. She did a healing for whatever would be for his highest good; a healing for depression, and once for peace. Major Bear was lying in his box, on his side, Jean just outside. His eyes opened at each new sound as she sounded different bowls with different vibrations. It was hard to tell what effect it might be having, but a sense of peace pervaded the whole scene, K’Lea sounding the bowls deeply concentrating, Jean and I feeling the vibrations and sending loving energy to Major.
A day later we noticed the grape juice with the probiotics was gone. Unlikely the little squirrels had drunk it all. A little lettuce was gone; then more grape juice. A little of his favorite very high quality dog food. The squirrels? Except………there was small pile of bear poop. Indubitable proof. The first food he ate in a month.
K’Lea came again one more time before she left on a trip. It was even more peaceful than the first time; she more connected now she had met him and had time to think about it. We had the feeling no matter what happened, if he was preparing to leave, or to heal, either way the bowls would ease the passage; support whatever the transition would be. I hope she can come again.
That is where we are now. He is not eating enough to sustain himself but at least he has an interest in food, which means an interest in life. Was it the loving gifts and visit of his Auntie and the love behind her offer to peel him grapes? The Tibetan bowls? Less romantic…a delayed reaction to the steroid? All the love combined, from visits and from people sending him love and healing long distance?
For now we wait, hoping against hope that something has changed inside him and he has found a way to heal himself along with all he loving support he has received.
Thank you all for your interest and help,
Susan, Jean and Major Bear.
Bears, Blog | May 26, 2011
In the last e-newsletter I wrote about trying to give a bear a pill. Because so many of you asked what happened, here is the next chapter in Major Bear’s journey. It has been difficult, but the good news so far is that Major Bear is still with us.
When I last wrote, we were trying to give him an antibiotic for what looked like a tooth abscess. I say looked like, because it is hard to get close enough to a bear to be sure- they are not into letting you let you pry open their mouth.
As time went on Major Bear stopped eating altogether and it was clear there was something very wrong. Was he not eating because of pain from his teeth? Was there something wrong with his jaw that it hurt too much to eat? We reluctantly agreed to have Don, our vet, tranquilize him to get the urgently needed antibiotics into him and do a proper exam. In our experience it is a trauma for a bear (or I suspect any wild animal) to be tranquilized. They have such a strong life force and sense of self preservation that it seems they experience the drug taking them over as impending death, and they fight it with everything they have. It is a major stressor on its own. It is a skill to give enough to put them under but not administer too much. The danger lies in misjudging the amount because of their fighting it and thus assuming you gave them too little…then you give them more and their system gets overwhelmed and they die. It took us three hours of waiting and watching but Don was patient, finessed it and succeeded.
The abscess was bad, but we were reluctant to pull the tooth without the antibiotics being in him beforehand. Also it was a canine which goes in a couple of inches deep to the bone so it would have meant a significant surgery, better done by a specialist. The x-rays were inconclusive. The blood tests were all normal except for an increased calcium level, which is a marker for possible cancer. Don gave him a long acting antibiotic shot (though there is so little research in bears, how long acting is a question). Our conclusion was that unless Major Bear received expert specialized care, soon, he was not likely to make it. The closest specialty teaching hospital was in Washington State, a 14 hour drive. They were not going to let us do a payment plan. The travel alone would be close to $1000 dollars and they requested we bring a blank check with us for potentially $3-4000 dollars – and that was just for immediate diagnosis and treatment. We have never had the luxury of setting aside enough money for a vet emergency fund. What to do? Let a bear die because of lack of money? We have never let that happen with an animal here and weren’t about to start.
It was Good Friday afternoon of Easter weekend when we got the test results back and the vets in Washington made themselves available for phone for consultation. At the very least, there was a bear dentist so we could ease that source of infection and discomfort. I contacted Major Bear’s official Auntie and most ardent admirer and shared with her his plight. She would have never forgiven us if we kept her in the dark until was too late, and we didn’t know how long Major Bear would last. The stress of the journey might prove fatal. Tuesday morning we received and e-mail from her – funds will be arriving immediately! It is hard to express the profoundly loving quality of many of our supporters but this is an example. The love and heartfulness behind the gifts are as nurturing and helpful as the gifts themselves.
The moment we knew we could bring the hospital a check, Jean swung into action, preparing a travel trailer. Could Jean have him there 8 am Wednesday morning when all the doctors could be standing by? Jean would find a way. I started all the necessary logistic and legal arrangements for traveling with a bear across state borders. Late Tuesday afternoon we were finally ready and went to get Major Bear, wondering how it would work. Usually we invited him to go where we needed with food but he was completely uninterested at this point, and had been lying in his box unwilling to come out for days. How to get him to come out? Then to enter the travel trailer?
Jean backed the travel trailer as close as possible to his enclosure, about 30 feet, and opened the back to exhibit a spacious cozy travel cage filled with fresh fragrant hay and a bucket of cool well water. We opened the door to his enclosure, backed away and waited. Major Bear looked up, gradually got to his feet and peeked out of his box. Very slowly he came out and looked around. He explored a bit as we held our breath. He walked to the trailer, put his head inside the doors and sniffed- it looked like he was about to go in…then a bird flew across the trailer screeching and startled him. Major Bear backed out. We waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Then, miracle of miracles – Major Bear, dear Major Bear, quietly, willingly, slowly, on his own, entered the trailer and the cage. His home with his own private box filled with hay was behind him; he knew what a travel cage was, having travelled before …yet he went in.
Jean took off, driving through the night on deserted roads to arrive at the vet hospital on time. The doctor and vet students came to see him and tranquilize him, 15 people standing there looking, all that energy coming at him. Major looked at Jean in a panic for reassurance. The doctor injected Major with a tranquilizer through the bars, Jean staying with him until he was under. As they took him off Jean asked to accompany him to the exam room. They were adamant that it was against hospital rules. Jean had to stand there as they took away his gentle bear. Jean, gentle also, and more obedient than I, exhausted from worry, stressful driving through the night and no sleep, told Major would be waiting right outside. I called a few minutes later to talk with Jean and they told me he was fast sleep in the waiting room.
Before they started the head doctor called and asked what to do if they found something ultimately incurable. Did I want to give a Do Not Resuscitate order? No! I did not! No matter what, especially after that pleading look he gave Jean, Major Bear was going to wake up and come back, to heal, or die, at home.
They worked on him all day, doing CAT scans, ultrasound, x-rays, extensive blood work. They could find nothing, yet all the doctors felt something else was going on beside his teeth. The blood work again suggested a cancer, but if so, where? They did what they could – removed his infected teeth; gave him more antibiotics, and a steroid in case it was lymphoma as they suspected. They hoped it would at least give him temporary relief and help his appetite. They felt really badly they couldn’t help more. Chemotherapy wasn’t an option. Not only didn’t we have a clear diagnosis; no one would know what the doses were, let alone how to administer and monitor it. Also, while we will go to great lengths if we feel the animal wants to live, and there is a good chance of recovery and a good life, chemotherapy with no guarantee of results did not seem a reasonable option. So home he came.
Jean, not wanting to leave him any longer than necessary in a strange place, loaded him up late Wednesday and headed home again through the night. He finally reached his limit a few hours from home somewhere in Montana, took a nap in the truck and arrived, a bedraggled man, Thursday morning. He backed up the trailer, opened the door, and Major Bear, showing more animation than he had in a long time, made a bear bee-line for his box. He wanted out and he wanted home. Bears are very emotional beings.
His belly had been shaved for the ultrasound. As he walked out we saw masses of pink bear belly skin contrasting with his black fur. Jean, who had a chance to look closely, said there were stretch marks. Major Bear had been a plump bear before this (hence Major Bear). Somehow, the picture of stretch marks on his pink exposed belly made him seem so vulnerable.
It is worth noting that the bear dentist, who had been very removed and formal and medical-like, saying she would only approach him tranquilized, obviously was touched by him when she met him. She wrote on the end of her detailed medical report. “Thank you for bringing us Major Bear. He was a wonderful patient” in large letters. Even sick, Major Bear struck a blow for bear appreciation and understanding.
We hoped after a couple of days of recovering from the tooth surgery he would feel better, but he still did not eat. We tried one more round of antibiotics to help with the infection and another steroid shot to try to stimulate his appetite. At this point we had done all that the best available conventional medicine could provide. Now there were prayers, visits and anything else we could think of as long as it was un-intrusive. We had bothered him enough. One kind lady had suggested acupuncture. From a health point of view it would have been a good thing to try – but we would have to find an acupuncturist who was willing. And Major Bear would have had to allow it. If anyone knows of an acupuncturist willing to work on a large un-sedated and unhappy bear please let us know for the future!
Earthfire Stories | May 26, 2011
By the time I was able to make the trip to Minneapolis to work with the Bun, his movement had been impaired for just over a year. His human companions, Mia and Paul, were not sure what had happened, but Bun had suddenly been unable to use his left hind leg, which after several months had begun to atrophy. Bun had allowed me to work with him several years before when he had somehow strained his back (he and his human, Mia, had formerly been my neighbors in Chicago), so while he was a bit wary, being a bun, he was nevertheless willing to give me a chance. Because I was spending the weekend in Minneapolis working with horses, I planned on working with Bun on three consecutive days. Because he was a bun, and not thrilled about being excessively handled, we kept the sessions short, about 20 minutes a piece.
In our first session, late on the evening of my arrival, I sat on the living room floor with Bun and began with gentle touching, using only my fingertips. My intent was merely to bring Bun’s awareness to his body. His movement had been severely diminished for a long time, and I wanted to reintroduce him to his body parts and their ability to move. I outlined each vertebra of his spine, gently pushed his tailbone towards his head to remind him how his hind end connected to his fore, outlined his ribs, and gently moved his sternum (or breastbone) from side to side, all with the tips of my fingers. I would have liked to work with Bun’s feet as well, but he would not allow it. At the end of the session, Bun still had his left hind leg tucked up under him, but he seemed much more alert and energized when Mia returned him to his area in the dining room where his bed and food were and where he now spent much of his time.
The next morning, I worked with Bun again before I left for the day. This session was similar to the first one, in that I was still attempting to bring Bun’s awareness to his body, but this time I wanted to bring his awareness to a slightly deeper level. Once again, I used my fingertips to I gently outline his spine and gently push his tailbone towards his head. But this time, instead of outlining his ribs, I gently lifted his ribcage, one side at a time, to show him that it was capable of movement and to show him the connection between his ribs and spine. And this time, when I touched his sternum, I used both hands—one hand on the point of his sternum, one hand underneath his body, directly behind his front legs. I gently, slowly moved his sternum back, forward, and from side to side, again to show him that movement in this area was possible and pleasurable, and to show him the relationship between his sternum, ribs, and spine. Bun listened attentively to this lesson. When he appeared to have had enough, Mia took him back to his area in the dining room.
Late that evening, when I returned from working with horses, I decided to work with Bun again. I was leaving the next day and wanted to work with him as many times as I could in the short time we had. I felt that the way to make the best use of our time together without overloading his nervous system with too much information was to do more frequent, shorter sessions. I began our third session by sitting on the floor and placing Bun between my outstretched legs. In previous sessions, I had worked on my knees, bent over him. But now, I wanted to offer him a secure, enclosed space, as I was going to work at a deeper level than the previous sessions. My intent in this session was to prepare Bun’s body and nervous system for standing on all four feet. Once again, I worked with Bun’s sternum. I used both hands to slide it from back to front to back to front. My touch was gentle, but I asked the sternum to move more fully than I had before. As I eased the sternum back towards his tail with one hand, I used my other hand, which was under his belly, to gently lift him onto his feet. As I eased the sternum towards his head, I gently set him back down. After showing Bun this rhythmic movement a few times, I began alternating it with gentle pushes through the pelvis—first one side, then the other—and the sternum. I still had one hand underneath him, offering him support, and now I was raising him completely off the ground to prepare his nervous system for standing. At first, he was alarmed when his feet left the ground; Mia pointed out to me that his eyes were beginning to bulge. But he did not try to escape or bite, so I gently continued with my work.
I then set Bun back on the ground and began working with his right hind leg. Remember, it was the left hind that was giving Bun problems. But I wanted to bring to Bun’s attention to how smoothly and efficiently a hind leg can work, and so to do this I worked with the one that already worked most efficiently. I placed the flat of my hand underneath his right hind foot, creating an artificial floor. Unlike an actual floor, my hand could move. And so with his tiny foot on my palm, I slowly rotated my hand at the wrist, causing the “floor” to slant in this direction and that, bringing Bun’s awareness to the flexibility of his foot and each of his toes. I then played with Bun’s leg, gently and very slowly showing him the range of motion he had available in the leg and hip. Bun was very quiet as we worked, clearly listening to the information I was sharing with him.
Finally, I was ready to touch the left hind, the leg that Bun had kept tucked up under him for so long. I gently touched his toes, one at a time, showing him that the foot was not an unyielding block, that it was flexible. His foot spasmed momentarily, then released and softened. As I had done with the right foot, I now played the artificial floor game with the left foot and then showed Bun the range of motion he had available in this leg and hip. As I worked with Bun, as his body softened, I became more and more convinced that the injury he had sustained was not to the leg itself but to the nervous system, that he had suffered a mild stroke. And so at this point, I decided to play a trick on his nervous system.
I eased one hand under his belly to support him and to lift him to his feet, then with the other hand I gently crossed his left hind leg over his midline-the imaginary line running vertically through the middle of the body. I had already shown him that his right hind leg was fully functional. Now I wanted to trick his nervous system into thinking that the left hind was in fact the right hind. To do this all I had to do was move the left leg to the right side. I had no expectations at this point. I merely wanted to give Bun this information. I still had one more day to work with him before I had to leave, and I planned on continuing our dialog the following morning. But, incredibly smart creature that he was, Bun only needed to be told once. Moments after I crossed his left hind leg over the midline, Bun jumped off my hand, shook himself, and hopped—using all four feet—into the next room. I started laughing, Mia started crying, and Bun no doubt wondered what all the fuss was about.
The next morning, I decided not to give Bun another session. I felt his nervous system had received enough information over the previous two days and that he needed to be allowed to integrate it. I sat near him while he ate his breakfast and gently stroked him a few times. Then I showed Mia a few ways she could work with Bun until I could return to Minneapolis several months later. I did not get another chance to work with him. Two weeks after my visit, Bun died of natural causes. Mia assures me that his last two weeks were good ones, that Bun was able to hop around the house and that one day he even scratched his face with his left hind foot, something she had not seen him do for over a year. I am forever grateful for that, and that I had a chance to work with this intelligent and gentle creature before it was time for him to leave.
Earthfire Stories | May 26, 2011
Last year I found a starling chick that had fallen out of the nest. At first I thought about letting nature take its course, then I decided to try and save the baby. I fed it game bird starter mixed with water. I named the bird Curley (from the 3 Stooges) because the fluffy feathers on his head reminded me of Curley. When Curley fledged, he “trained” myself and my husband to help him get crickets. Curley stayed until it was time for the starlings to migrate. One evening he pecked me hard on the cheek and that was the last time I saw him. I learned some things from Curley and this year I have been blessed with another starling baby whom I named Buddha. |
Bears, Blog | May 18, 2011
So we tried to go to give the bear brothers, Major Bear and Huckleberry Bear Bear, antibiotics in marshmallows, their favorite treat – usually they only get healthy foods. As per our last blog it didn’t work. Not even close. Plan B: honey, molasses, lemonade, and porridge sweetened with honey and raisins. No good. Huckleberry was recovering on his own but Major Bear wasn’t. So Plan Y, which we wanted to avoid, was to tranquilize Major Bear to be able to give him a long acting antibiotic shot and examine him to get a better idea of what was wrong. More details coming in a future blog but that is what we did. Upon examination, x rays and blood work we realized Major Bear would have to got to a bear hospital. To be continued…
Major Bear and Jean
Blog, Deep Ecology, Ethics & Whole Community | May 18, 2011
The animals know
when to come to us
because they are
knowingly linked
by the web of listening.
The miracle motions
of birds flocking
turning left, turning right,
they’ve not forgotten
how to listen
to the Great Listening.
The Great Listening
goes on beneath our feet,
above our heads,
inside our hearts.
And the animals swirl
in delightful fashion.
They seem to move
before the wind moves them,
as if they knew the future
and were bringing it back to us.
They let themselves be moved.
They hear the Great Thoughts
circling this Earth,
the larger language
circling this Earth.
They transmit messages
because they’re listening
without thinking
and we can learn from them
by watching movements
scribbled in the Earth,
above our heads,
inside our hearts.
The animals know
when to come to us
when we are listening
without thinking.
Like them
we are linked by litening
without thinking
linked by listening.
-Lyn Dalebout
Watch “The Great Listening” video
Earthfire Stories | May 18, 2011
While many who have attended summer programs at Clear Sky can attest to their considerable rewards, I once had the chance to spend a substantial period of time at the centre during its “off-season.” In the winter of 06/07 there were generally only three or four of us in residence, and on a number of occasions the peerless feline Sultan and I were entirely on our own. My memories of this delightful solitude include weeks of study and meditation, long walks, and the simple pleasures of splitting wood and stargazing. As spring progressed, a lone Engelman spruce – visible from the house in a spacious clearing on Bull Mountain’s lower southwestern slope – became an agreeable part of my daily itinerary. I discovered a superb natural meditation seat near the tree and there I spent many happy hours, body tingling from the hike, mind borne aloft by the spectacular view. However, the most memorable recollection I have of Clear Sky are those involving wildlife.
When there are few people around, our non-human neighbours become bolder. Seeing groups of deer or elk just yards away out the living room window is commonplace. Now and then skunks, badgers and even the occasional adventurous bear cub are observed, sniffing around the house. I never saw a wolf, but sometimes I heard them – a primal, dead-of-night presence pervading the moonlit forest. If you’re meditating, ignoring that sound isn’t an option. Like a Burmese monsoon downpour on a metal roof, the wolf pack’s howling becomes your meditation object.
One experience particularly stands out for me. On a Saturday morning in early June, I was walking alone along one of the paths near the property’s Northwest boundary. A large mound of soil there – piled up the previous yer in the course of some project – had become over grown with thistles, and I’d set out to pull them. As I was strolling through the forest, three deer abruptly bolted down the path away from me, about forty yards ahead. I assumed that my approach had triggered their flight.
Then one of them – the last in the group – screamed and fell to the ground. I thought it must have stepped into a gopher hole or been caught in a tangle of discarded wire, and I hurried to see if I could help. When I was only fifty feet or so from the struggling animal I became aware that its body seemed strangely misshapen. Suddenly I realized that there was a cougar holding it down! Stunned, I just stood and watched as the cat strangled its prey, teeth clamped around the deer’s windpipe.
I felt no fear, only awe. In our tradition we cultivate metta, the mind of lovingkindness, toward all beings, and the power of that benevolent energy and the confidence it inspires can be quite remarkable. IN the East, the development of strong metta is widely understood to confer immunity from the perils of the jungle, and there are countless anecdotes of forest monks living in harmony with tigers and other wild creatures.
I’d been in retreat for months and was in a very calm and positive state. It occurred to me, however, that should my metta wobble just a little bit I might be in danger. Momentarily I turned away and looked around for a stick and, as I found one, the cougar became aware of me. It looked up and our eyes met, and held. A wildlife expert might not recommend this kind of challenging behavior, but it felt right – anyway, it worked.
After a brief pause, the cougar let go of the deer, turned, and ran in the opposite direction. Keeping a close watch in case it should return, I cautiously approached the deer. It was still breathing, though unconscious. There were no obvious wounds or any bleeding, just the cougar’s saliva around its neck. I knelt down beside it, repeating the mantra of compassion – OM MANI PADME HUM – and gently stoking its side. Gradually it began to move and blink its eyes, regaining consciousness within a couple of minutes.
Then it looked at me, startled, scrambled upright, and dashed off into the bush, apparently unscathed. I sat in stillness for a while, feeling my heartbeats, breathing and listening, then stood up. I decided to postpone the weeding. As I turned back toward the house I began to recite the ancient Pali formula for sharing merit*, drunk with the unexpected blessing of the empowerment of Vajara Mountain Lion.**
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*Merit is the poitive energy created every time the mind inclines toward the wholesome and sharing merit is a practice common to all Buddist schools. At the end of every meditation session the merit generated is traditionally shared with all beings.
**In Vajrayana Buddhism an empowerment (Tibetan: Wangkur) is the ritual initiation into a particular meditation practice (sadhana). The teacher enters into amd ambodies the vibration of the archtype, bestowing upon the student a direct mind-to-mind transmission and planting a seed that will bear spiritual fruit when nurtured by diligent practice.
Earthfire Stories | May 17, 2011
A few days ago, I watched a video from Earthfire Institute of a woman doing a healing on a wolf, Apricot, who was suffering from inflammation of the spinal cord. The video is deeply moving. You can view it here.
Watching the video got me to thinking about a wild creature I had the honor of assisting many years ago, a seagull that I now call Sydney.
In the Water
It was a hot summer day in Chicago. I had been struggling with a piece of writing for several hours and needed to give my brain a rest, and so I headed out for a walk to the lake, a few miles away.
Sitting on the rocks, I looked out over my gorgeous lake. The water was clear and calm, gently lapping against the shore. The sky was pale blue and dotted with those fluffy white summer clouds that fill your heart with the ache of a peaceful summer afternoon.
After a few minutes of this luscious peace, I noticed something moving on the water, making small circles just to the left of my line of sight. I remember briefly thinking that it must be a duck. But a moment later, I snapped out of my trance, remembering that ducks don’t swim on Lake Michigan.
I turned to look more closely and saw a seagull, not an uncommon sight near the shore; one end of the beach a half-mile away was always filled with them. But this creature was alone. And he was swimming in an endless, tight circle. Looking more closely, I saw that his left wing was dragging behind him, skimming the surface of the water.
I couldn’t bear the thought of what was bound to happen to this creature: succumbing to exhaustion, dying alone. My heart ached for him.
I had only been practicing Reiki for about a year, but already it was a powerful force in my life. I thought, “When in doubt, try Reiki.” And so I stood up, drew the three primary Reiki symbols in the space in front of me, looked at the struggling seagull, and invited him to follow me to the beach, where he could come to shore amid others of his kind.
He turned to face me, treading water, and then began to swim parallel to the rocky shore, following me as I led the way. He couldn’t swim as quickly as I could walk, so from time to time, I would stop in a shady spot, it was so very hot that day, and wait for him to catch up. When he pulled up even to me, he would stop, turn and face me, waiting. I drew the Reiki symbols anew and once again set off towards the beach.
We were about a third of the way to our destination, when he came upon a pier of sorts, blocking his path. It was only about 15 feet long, made of rock and concrete and wood, protruding maybe three feet above the water. I’d seen it hundreds of times before, but never really noticed it. Now I wondered how it had come to be there, what its purpose was.
My seagull (my heart had already claimed him), swam right up to this blockade. I held my breath as he tried to flap his wings and jump onto it, but he only had one useful wing, and so his effort to gain dry land couldn’t work, and he fell back into the water.
He looked as though he was going to try again, but I was so fearful for his safety that I asked him to please go around the pier. I said the words silently. “Please, go around. Swim around. It’s not that far.”
He hesitated for a moment, treading water, still looking at the pile of rock and concrete and wood, but then did as I asked. He swam the 15 feet to the end of the pier, swam around it, and then returned to his spot parallel to the shore. Treading water, he looked at me. I refreshed the Reiki symbols and we set off once again.
On the Beach
Our journey of half a mile took us close to an hour to complete.
As we approached the edge of the beach, thick with seagulls, my friend, my teacher, swam around another, smaller pier, this time needing no instruction. He did not return to his place by my side but, seeing the flock, positioned himself to join them. When he walked up on the beach, I instinctively moved towards him, but he flapped his one wing in warning (the other wing dragged uselessly in the sand) and ran backwards, away from me.
I understood that it was time for me to leave.
A lifeguard was walking the beach not far from us. I stopped him, told him our story, asked if he knew of a wildlife refuge in the city, someone who could help my seagull. He looked at me as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what I was saying. “He followed you all the way from there?” he said, pointing to the place, so far away now, where our journey had begun.
“Yes,” I said, not yet realizing how sacred this journey had been, how utterly amazing.
He instructed me to go to the boathouse at the other end of the beach and look for the lifeguard supervisor. He said the supervisor would be able to help me. Then he said, “I get off in a little while. I’ll make sure he takes care of this.”
“Do you promise?” I said.
He said that he did.
I walked to the end of the beach. I looked, but couldn’t find the supervisor or anyone who could tell me where he might be. But I trusted the young man to keep his word, and so I went home with a peaceful heart, believing I had done all that I could do.
Back Home
That night, I finally returned to my desk, to the writing I had needed a break from that afternoon. After an hour or so, at about 10 pm, I felt a presence in the room. At first, I wasn’t sure what it was, but I quickly realized it was my seagull. He insisted I leave my desk and tend to him.
I sat on the couch in the living room, lit a candle, and took him (not literally, of course) into my lap. I drew the Reiki symbols in the space in front of me, said a prayer for healing, and held his body, the idea of his body, in my hands. About twenty minutes later, he was gone. I wished him well and returned to my desk.
The next night, again at about 10 pm, I felt my seagull’s presence, urging me to leave my desk and tend to him. I again sat on the couch with his beautiful self in my lap and shared a Reiki healing with him.
The following night, at the same time, my beautiful friend called me away from my desk once again and directed me to assist him. But this time was different. At the end of this third session, just before he vanished, he stood tall on my lap, fully extended his wings, and slowly flapped them with tremendous power and grace.
I did not know, and probably will never know, if Sydney’s wing had mended, whether he was alive or had left this earth. I did not know if he had been accepted by the flock or had been pecked to death, if he had managed to feed himself or had died of starvation. I did not know if he had been rescued and cared for by humans, if he had been returned to the wild.
All I knew, and the knowledge broke over me in a warm wave, was that Sydney had been healed.
Thank you for teaching me the meaning of healing, dear Sydney, for your courage and persistence, your wisdom and grace. Blessings to you, my friend.
Earthfire Stories | May 13, 2011
Ray of Light is my boy kittie family member. He found me one day 5 years ago when I went to donate towels etc, to the shelter at the MSPCA. I had been there many a times and I also would visit the animals and then leave. This time however I visited the kitty room and the moment I
walked in Ray or Light’s eyes looked at me and I looked at him and that was it. He lengthened his long young body like an improvisational dancer and said, “Where have you been? ” It was truly a match made in heaven. He has been such an amazing teacher and family member.
A few days ago he and I went outside. We mostly go out together and he explores the yard. We hang out together as well as do our own thing depending on the day. We had been outside for about 20 minutes
when I picked him up and walked to the door to go back inside. I felt that he wanted to stay out a bit longer so and I figured I would make a phone call and then we would go in.
He was right near me during the phone call, yet when I finished the call, I did not see him anywhere. I began to look high and low. He was not in any of his usual places and after awhile I began to get a bit anxious. I looked all around once again with no luck.
I then went and sat in my car in the drive way and got myself grounded and let go of the fear. (I can easily let my fear get in the way, at least in the beginning of something) Not this time though, as I knew that I could indeed communicate with Ray of Light and he with me.
I telepathically let Ray of Light know that I was feeling some what aggravated that did not come to me when I called his name. I told him that my feeling of aggravation would not out weight my feelings of sadness if he were not to come home.
I asked him to find me and to meow so I could find him if need be.
And seconds later, there he was walking from behind he house meowing loudly.
I was ecstatic. He not only heard me, yet took the time to let his voice be heard and to find me. He also let me know that he had wanted to hang out with me and not me on the telephone. I got it!
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A Small Exchange with a Grizzly by Caitlin Sullivan
