Sunday, November 21, 2004
Close Encounters of the Bird Kind
We’ve had a series of close encounters lately. Not with aliens but with birds. When birds and animals come forcefully into our lives we feel it’s best to pay close attention.
It started with a hummingbird late this summer. He decided Lillie was more interesting than the feeder. He flew repeatedly to within inches of her face and hovered there, regarding her with seriousness only a bird can achieve. His black eyes mirrored her image. The backwash from his tiny wings caressed her cheeks. He made those characteristic chittering sounds.
“What’s up little brother,’ she asked.
He cocked his head at a rakish angle, chittered some more and sped off to a nearby twig where he sat regarding her for nearly a minute. A minute is a long time for a hummingbird to remain still.
We pondered the hummingbird’s message for days. Lakota people regard the hummingbird as the most powerful of the avian world. Although tiny, it is the only bird capable of hovering in place and flying backwards. Lillie said the hummingbird blessed us.
Our next encounter was with an owl. His hooting in the woods below the house pegged him as a great horned owl, the largest resident owl in our region. I wondered why he was making such a racket in mid-summer. It certainly wasn’t mating season that takes place when the snow cover is deep.
As I stood listening one night he flew so close I felt his wings. Ghostly silent he glided into a tree nearby to regard me. I might have been a mouse my heart pounded so hard.
I knew great horned owls exert hundreds of pounds of pressure per square inch with their talons. We regarded each other for timeless moments. When he flew he was gone in a blink. I felt blessed, especially since he hadn’t grabbed me. Trust me, he had my full and undivided attention.
el has always had a special relationship with hawks. When we were small he learned to call them close. He didn’t need to whistle or make a sound although sometimes he mimics their high-pitched calls. He can sense them and attract them from beyond a mountain ridge to circle over a pow-wow dance circle.
One particular hawk nests in our woods each summer. She’ll sit in a tree near our bedroom window and call until el goes outside and acknowledges her. Sometimes in mid-day she circles the yard calling and calling until he goes outside to talk to her. When we lived on the other side of the state I swear this same hawk went with us she is so attached to el. He was up on the trailer roof spreading that gunk to seal leaks and she came from across the valley screaming to hover over him. He smiled a lot that day. You might find this a stretch to believe, but it’s true. It’s how we got our first Indian name: Calls Hawks.
Anyway, this particular day we were photographing a hill near the New York State border. Locally it’s called Spanish Hill, or Carantouan. It’s past is the stuff of legends. In Native American oral tradition it’s a sacred place. A Manitou lived there when the Susquehannocks hunted this land.
The first time we saw the hill we almost wrecked our car. At that time we had no idea it was locally famous, the subject of mystery. We just knew it called our soul. We drove all around the little arrowhead shaped hill. We searched out its history. It was linked to Stephen Brule a Jesuit sent by Champlain to scout the region. Mormon founder Joseph Smith stalked it with a seer stone seeking Spanish gold reputedly buried there.
One day while we were photographing the hill a large hawk flew into view. el acknowledged her. She circled closer and closer until she hovered directly overhead calling. She was as large as an eagle, the biggest red tail hawk we’d ever seen. She stayed until we left. Then she flew in a straight line disappearing behind the hill.
In almost every picture taken that day there is a hawk. Some are dots in the sky where you’d expect them to be. But there hawk shapes and shadows in the leaves of grass too.
Last spring we mowed a labyrinth into the grass in what was once our pasture. There’s a dead tree on the very edge of it. el’s hawk comes in and sits on the very tip of that dead tree when he’s out there.
Labyrinths date back more than four thousand years. They’re found in nearly every spiritual tradition around the world. Labyrinths are different from mazes. A maze offers lots of choices a labyrinth only one: to enter or not. Ours is a left-handed, unicursal labyrinth. That means the entrance path turns first to the left and the single path that leads to the center. Ours has a 60-foot diameter. It's a qurter mile from the entrance to the center, so walking it in and out is a half mile workout. It’s based on classic seven-circuit Dine (Navajo), Hopi and Pima designs and is similar to labyrinths found in Crete and Ireland. The path winds back upon itself, tricking you into thinking you're almost to the center when a turn later you're back on the outside edge. We thought creating it was our idea. We should have known better.
“It will call people to itself,” a friend said.
That sounded way too new age to me.
“Like field of dreams huh?” I said and laughed
She turned and gave me the look women give moronic men. I quickly wandered off and found something productive to do like breaking sticks into small pieces.
She was right. Eyvonne and I thought we were building the labyrinth for our family. By the time we had half its arcs completed and it was already pulsing with power. It was kind of scary.
Although Labyrinths aren’t confined to religion, experiences within them are often spiritual and healing. Walking a labyrinth is supposed to promote right brain activity fostering creativity. Some doctors recommend walking a labyrinth for stress relief. We thought it would be good for us to walk it regularly.
but a labyrinth can be a trickster. Just when you think you have your goal in sight, something unexpected happens and you’re off in a completely new direction. It seems random but it isn't. It's like a graphic of the choas theory. Every time you walk it it's different. We learned so much from it in just a few months.
So we finished the labyrinth we found it a powerful place to meditate. Word spread about what we’d done. People started calling to ask if they could come and walk it a dawn, or at dusk, or spend some time there to work on a specific emotional or physical issue. People who were greiving came to walk. A family with a disabled child walked together. We nenver turned anyone away. Our friend was right. Who was laughing now?
Since so many people seemed to need what the labyrinth offered we put a small notice in local papers. Within days our labyrinth was featured on a public radio segment. That led to an inquiry from a TV station. The next thing Eyvonne and I knew we were walking the labyrinth with a regional celebrity as we were interviewed on camera. Aerial shots were taken from a helicopter. Owl was on break at work two miles away. Everyone noticed the helicopter.
“Look it’s channel five. Wonder what’s going on?”
“They’re filming my backyard,” Owl said. His co-workers laughed.
Since we don’t get TV we watched the segment at a local bar. We ate wings and drank beer and generally enjoyed ourselves. A guy at the bar next to Eyvonne looked from the TV to her and back several times. Finally he asked “Is that you?”
We were accidental celebrities and a local phenomena for weeks. I told you labyrinths are tricksters.
Like el with hawks, I have a personal relationship with crows and ravens. Tricksters. Did you know if crows or ravens gather together they’re not a flock? They’re a murder. Crows hate hawks and owls. One crow will chase a hawk or an owl shrieking out a raucous alarm. Crows from everywhere heed the call and mob the predator. Once we heard a murder of crows after something in our woods. Instead of a winged predator they were diving at a huge bobcat.
If I see three crows or ravens I pay attention. This past week or so they’ve been everywhere. This morning three ravens stood in a line across the road staring at our house. My thoughts drifted to Pleiades. He seemed like a trickster himself, capable of shape shifting and the whole gig. Were they warning me about him? Or were they just having some fun at my expense?
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
It started with a hummingbird late this summer. He decided Lillie was more interesting than the feeder. He flew repeatedly to within inches of her face and hovered there, regarding her with seriousness only a bird can achieve. His black eyes mirrored her image. The backwash from his tiny wings caressed her cheeks. He made those characteristic chittering sounds.
“What’s up little brother,’ she asked.
He cocked his head at a rakish angle, chittered some more and sped off to a nearby twig where he sat regarding her for nearly a minute. A minute is a long time for a hummingbird to remain still.
We pondered the hummingbird’s message for days. Lakota people regard the hummingbird as the most powerful of the avian world. Although tiny, it is the only bird capable of hovering in place and flying backwards. Lillie said the hummingbird blessed us.
Our next encounter was with an owl. His hooting in the woods below the house pegged him as a great horned owl, the largest resident owl in our region. I wondered why he was making such a racket in mid-summer. It certainly wasn’t mating season that takes place when the snow cover is deep.
As I stood listening one night he flew so close I felt his wings. Ghostly silent he glided into a tree nearby to regard me. I might have been a mouse my heart pounded so hard.
I knew great horned owls exert hundreds of pounds of pressure per square inch with their talons. We regarded each other for timeless moments. When he flew he was gone in a blink. I felt blessed, especially since he hadn’t grabbed me. Trust me, he had my full and undivided attention.
el has always had a special relationship with hawks. When we were small he learned to call them close. He didn’t need to whistle or make a sound although sometimes he mimics their high-pitched calls. He can sense them and attract them from beyond a mountain ridge to circle over a pow-wow dance circle.
One particular hawk nests in our woods each summer. She’ll sit in a tree near our bedroom window and call until el goes outside and acknowledges her. Sometimes in mid-day she circles the yard calling and calling until he goes outside to talk to her. When we lived on the other side of the state I swear this same hawk went with us she is so attached to el. He was up on the trailer roof spreading that gunk to seal leaks and she came from across the valley screaming to hover over him. He smiled a lot that day. You might find this a stretch to believe, but it’s true. It’s how we got our first Indian name: Calls Hawks.
Anyway, this particular day we were photographing a hill near the New York State border. Locally it’s called Spanish Hill, or Carantouan. It’s past is the stuff of legends. In Native American oral tradition it’s a sacred place. A Manitou lived there when the Susquehannocks hunted this land.
The first time we saw the hill we almost wrecked our car. At that time we had no idea it was locally famous, the subject of mystery. We just knew it called our soul. We drove all around the little arrowhead shaped hill. We searched out its history. It was linked to Stephen Brule a Jesuit sent by Champlain to scout the region. Mormon founder Joseph Smith stalked it with a seer stone seeking Spanish gold reputedly buried there.
One day while we were photographing the hill a large hawk flew into view. el acknowledged her. She circled closer and closer until she hovered directly overhead calling. She was as large as an eagle, the biggest red tail hawk we’d ever seen. She stayed until we left. Then she flew in a straight line disappearing behind the hill.
In almost every picture taken that day there is a hawk. Some are dots in the sky where you’d expect them to be. But there hawk shapes and shadows in the leaves of grass too.
Last spring we mowed a labyrinth into the grass in what was once our pasture. There’s a dead tree on the very edge of it. el’s hawk comes in and sits on the very tip of that dead tree when he’s out there.
Labyrinths date back more than four thousand years. They’re found in nearly every spiritual tradition around the world. Labyrinths are different from mazes. A maze offers lots of choices a labyrinth only one: to enter or not. Ours is a left-handed, unicursal labyrinth. That means the entrance path turns first to the left and the single path that leads to the center. Ours has a 60-foot diameter. It's a qurter mile from the entrance to the center, so walking it in and out is a half mile workout. It’s based on classic seven-circuit Dine (Navajo), Hopi and Pima designs and is similar to labyrinths found in Crete and Ireland. The path winds back upon itself, tricking you into thinking you're almost to the center when a turn later you're back on the outside edge. We thought creating it was our idea. We should have known better.
“It will call people to itself,” a friend said.
That sounded way too new age to me.
“Like field of dreams huh?” I said and laughed
She turned and gave me the look women give moronic men. I quickly wandered off and found something productive to do like breaking sticks into small pieces.
She was right. Eyvonne and I thought we were building the labyrinth for our family. By the time we had half its arcs completed and it was already pulsing with power. It was kind of scary.
Although Labyrinths aren’t confined to religion, experiences within them are often spiritual and healing. Walking a labyrinth is supposed to promote right brain activity fostering creativity. Some doctors recommend walking a labyrinth for stress relief. We thought it would be good for us to walk it regularly.
but a labyrinth can be a trickster. Just when you think you have your goal in sight, something unexpected happens and you’re off in a completely new direction. It seems random but it isn't. It's like a graphic of the choas theory. Every time you walk it it's different. We learned so much from it in just a few months.
So we finished the labyrinth we found it a powerful place to meditate. Word spread about what we’d done. People started calling to ask if they could come and walk it a dawn, or at dusk, or spend some time there to work on a specific emotional or physical issue. People who were greiving came to walk. A family with a disabled child walked together. We nenver turned anyone away. Our friend was right. Who was laughing now?
Since so many people seemed to need what the labyrinth offered we put a small notice in local papers. Within days our labyrinth was featured on a public radio segment. That led to an inquiry from a TV station. The next thing Eyvonne and I knew we were walking the labyrinth with a regional celebrity as we were interviewed on camera. Aerial shots were taken from a helicopter. Owl was on break at work two miles away. Everyone noticed the helicopter.
“Look it’s channel five. Wonder what’s going on?”
“They’re filming my backyard,” Owl said. His co-workers laughed.
Since we don’t get TV we watched the segment at a local bar. We ate wings and drank beer and generally enjoyed ourselves. A guy at the bar next to Eyvonne looked from the TV to her and back several times. Finally he asked “Is that you?”
We were accidental celebrities and a local phenomena for weeks. I told you labyrinths are tricksters.
Like el with hawks, I have a personal relationship with crows and ravens. Tricksters. Did you know if crows or ravens gather together they’re not a flock? They’re a murder. Crows hate hawks and owls. One crow will chase a hawk or an owl shrieking out a raucous alarm. Crows from everywhere heed the call and mob the predator. Once we heard a murder of crows after something in our woods. Instead of a winged predator they were diving at a huge bobcat.
If I see three crows or ravens I pay attention. This past week or so they’ve been everywhere. This morning three ravens stood in a line across the road staring at our house. My thoughts drifted to Pleiades. He seemed like a trickster himself, capable of shape shifting and the whole gig. Were they warning me about him? Or were they just having some fun at my expense?
© 2004 M. S. Eliot
