Hawk

Hawk:

to catch a close up sight of a hawk is a gift to me, truly a presentation of spirit that comes through the grace of proper timing and location that's entirely of this majestic birds choosing. Recently during a late morning walk we stopped to take photos of a Green heron that was intently fishing in a shallow section of the pond and a Red-shouldered hawk swooped directly to a branch right before us, inviting us to turn our attention away from the heron and bestow this bird with awe. He stayed with us for quiet sometime, having such deep stillness and poise, with absolutely no concern for our proximity. 

a rare gift indeed. 

most often they are seen in hunting flight, their distinctive call drawing my gaze upward in attention, or sometimes posed on a telephone wire and quickly glimpsed while driving by. Even then they're a thrill to see and that same calm poised is sensed through distance, a predator in flight or rest. It's always a special occasion to find one as I'm walking, as if it's waiting on a certain branch specifically for my arrival. Somehow my eyes are always drawn in their direction, as if pulled by a subtle energy of chance encounters. I'm always struck by the synchronicity of events that bring me here. that if I take one turn in a different direction, hesitate for just a moment before heading out the door, and I might completely miss this sacred opportunity. 

and truly is is a holy event, a shaman's gift of direct revelation. 

a hawk will speak to me of connections, showing me a vision of a world through flight, invisible currents of air and energy that invite me to soar along their heights. There is a special sight for these invisible pathways, a hawk's view that sees throughout its entire body, from eye to wingtip, instantaneous in response. That's my lesson here, it's shown by the hawk's patient perch on tree limb, having an inherent gift of flight that relies as much on the grace of air as it does on effort of wings. Flight is always a present possibility, those currents of energy are constantly available, never diminished, and that a restful moment on a branch is just that - a pause, an opportunity for wings to gather close to body, connecting more to earth through limb and all the way to the spread of tree roots. 

I am taught to trust my own gift of flight. 

as well as my connection to earth. 

everywhere is home, from branch to air. 

a lesson from a hawk. 

~

Peace, Eric 

We Are

We are: 

we are soul, it's not that we have one, or anything at all, not really. We don't have a soul, nor do we have a body or a mind, it's simply what we are - soul expressed physically, thoughtfully, creatively. There's nothing else, just soul, seen as infinite form and as every function. 

we are...

truly, nothing more needs to be said but that, the beginning of any self-description is immediately the end as well - collectively, to say "we are" is an apt interpretation, anything that follows is only a story, an aspect of an aspect of reality. 

or even more removed. 

just as my own self-description, individually so, is to say I am, and nothing more needs to follow in order to capture any essence of what I truly am. Those two words are enough, not a summary, but complete by themselves alone, whole, and they contain absolutely everything that comes right after. To say I am is to provide a fabric for my life to unfold, a blank page given for an infinite story to be told. It's reality right before anything else is properly expressed. 

I am - is soul.

we are soul.

and of course, this is a story too. 

even if it's true.

~

Peace, Eric 

That I Dream of Bears

That I dream of bears: 

since childhood bears have figured prominently in my dreams, often appearing in times of most turmoil or if I'm fearful of a certain change to come. They've always seemed to represent my own strength to navigate these events, and that I'll be able to make it through whatever life brings my way. Sometimes they seem to appear for no reason at all, perhaps just to offer reassurance that guidance is always nearby, or that their company simply provides me comfort through the night. Honestly I've never spent much time analyzing this - it's enough that I dream of bears and appreciate the assurance that they offer. 

my grandfather was a bear hunter, widely renowned for his skill and endurance on the hunt. This thrilled me as a child and couldn't wait to one day be such a hunter myself. As I grew older the wish to pursue anything with a wish to harm faded to a deep compassion. There's no judgment to those who hunt by way of their lifestyle, my extended family have lived for generations hunting, close to the land, and I have only love for them and the life they've chosen. But there's not a bone within me with this desire, although it was years before I settled in my own way of living. 

my own desire is to heal, to cause no harm to others. 

in my own way though, I hunt bears through location, having traveled to places where I can find them, backpacking to remote location for just a glimpse of one to cross my path. That I dream of bears is a hunt of power, to confer with them in spiritual conference, a dreamland that provides a direct communication and the transference of the gifts they offer. Perhaps my grandfather would be proud of the skills and endurance I've gathered through these dreams as well as actual mountains that I've climbed in pursuit of simply seeing one for the joy it brings me. 

yesterday, a bear was spotted near my suburban home, minutes from the pond I walk each morning. Of course hearing this brought cause to roam my neighborhood relentlessly, adding miles to my routine walk, sharply watchful for any signs that one might be near. No luck. But several neighbors told me that they saw him. As a child I roamed these very same patches of woods and fields, so much larger in my imagination back then, wilder, every thicket held the possibility of concealing a bear. Of course that was my childhood imagination, wishful for a true wilderness close at hand. Yet I made do with the woods that I had, and years of exploring here unfolded to a lifelong love of trails and wandering, finding bears and other animals in deeper woods then my childhood neighborhood offered. 

as I set on my morning walk, heading to nearby pond and familiar wildlife, there's a possibility that the bear has remains nearby, a small chance, maybe, but one that thrills me just the same. A child's imagination still lingers through these words, being called to experience the wilds once more. I'll probably never see a bear here, not in my neighborhood, but there's always that possibility, seemingly more likely now that one has actually been sighted. 

but it doesn't have to happen, it's enough that I might see one,

there's a possibility.

and that I dream of bears...

is what keeps this wilderness of my imagination alive.

~

Peace, Eric 

Whatever Words

Whatever words: 

each morning I come to face an empty page, a clear screen that holds nothing but the potentiality of whatever words might be given. I've written most every day for well over 20 years now, not a streak as I really don't give it much concern. It's simply what I do. Truthfully, I no longer even consider it a commitment or a writing practice, it's like yoga to me, meditation, or more so, it's an act that's built into the fabric of my day in the same manner as brushing my teeth and all the other smaller actions that don't any thought at all. I write in the same way my breath is drawn, it just happens on its own. 

but that doesn't mean it's in any way taken for granted, or that I'm not mindful of the words that reach the page. My mornings are inspired, everyone of them, and words generally come easy as I relax with my first and only cup of coffee for the day, my body feeling loose and energetic from earlier rounds of sun salutation, and my mind is still, curiously empty of inspiration until my fingers reach the keyboards and begin typing whatever words arrive. 

it's an easy process. 

and there's very little for me to actually do. 

except prepare the coffee.

it's not that I'm on any sort of auto-pilot of expression, triggered by an empty screen to write whatever words appear - really, it's more that there's an absence of an actual author here, no one attempting to find certain words with great meaning and cleverly arrange them on a page. It's just writing, either words arrive or I sit in silence and enjoy my coffee, inspiration will reach me in its own time, usually paced before the last sip is gone. 

it almost always does. 

so for me, whatever words appear come purely from inspiration, there's no attachment to theme, nor are there any thought given as to who might actually read these words. There's little need to have any meaning here beyond the pleasure of my writing. 

inspiration is always free from expectations. 

most especially my own. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Cattails

Cattails: 

cattails are found along a water's edge, abundant throughout most wetlands, a symbol of a certain place where shore and shallow water meet. They have long been a favorite plant of mine, from a child exploring nearby ponds and creek beds to being an adult now and watching as red-winged blackbirds construct there homes within the protective thicket that they offer - they are a common theme to my memories, a presence to my morning walks and time spent watching wildlife.

a plant I deeply love for its appearance throughout my life. 

cattails are an important habitat for wildlife, providing shelter for birds, food and cover for fish,a home for various insects for both birds and fish to eat. They protect riverbanks and pond shores from erosion, acting as a barrier between the force of water and the edge of land. It's a plant of importance, an ally to the ecosystem, and just by my presence I am included in its aid, healed by virtue of my inclusion. Cattails draw me closer to streams and ponds, giving me a moment to pause and visually explore what's offered. In just a brief glance I might see a turtle, it's neck stretched long to fully appreciate a spot of sun found between the reeds, fish skimming to the surface in a quick dash to catch a meal, perhaps if I'm truly fortunate or infinitely patient I'll glimpse a water snake or eel glide by. Herons are often on the hunt here, stealthy, confident in their skills. And of the many songbirds that make their home amidst the dense stand of reeds, the beauty of the red shoulder blackbird never fails to catch my eye. 

all from the briefest glance. 

visually, cattails are elegant in their stance, gracefully emerging from water, a long stalk looking similar to a blade of grass and then the familiar brown topping of its flower. Cattails show me that my true home is not so easily defined, always on the edge between worlds and yet completely belonging as the thinnest line, a veil that holds the appearance of every side that touches the holiness of its location. It's an important reminder of my place here, that I'm not between worlds at all, but existing as an ecosystem of my own, holding a place of holiness as well,

cattails show me that I belong.

~

Peace, Eric 

Non-Ordinary

Non-ordinary: 

in shamanism it's called non-ordinary reality, a label to distinguish it from our regular state of mind, what we think of as our normal everyday mindset from which we experience life. On occasion a different reality bleeds through and we catch a glimpse of something completely other than the world we know, another state of consciousness expressed in a way that fully stuns us, shattering our conceptions of what's ordinary after all. 

I've loved that term since first reading in my early teen years, the yearning to experience non-ordinary reality fueled early experiments with LSD and mushrooms, taking me to Grateful Dead shows where I would dance with the ecstasy of intense playing from the band, particularly the extended drumming segments, and it was with this experience that I realized drugs weren't truly needed. The music alone could take me to where I longed to be. 

through some years of meditation, self-inquiry, and exploring those non-ordinary states,  I've seemed to settle in a more inclusive view of reality, a world that allows for nature to speak to me through the energy of spirits, being simply information in subtlest form, whispering inspiration and giving me the urge to write of what's been shared between us. This isn't non-ordinary reality, it's just the world speaking directly to me, happening all the time, but the magic comes through the quality of my listening. 

it's really our reality. 

all of us. 

life is simply energy in constant creative imagining, manifesting as infinite form, and there is only that reality. It's inclusive, always willing to be explored through its every possibility. My everyday, completely ordinary morning walk turns into a shamanic journey whenever I pause and ask nature to speak to me, expressing itself through whatever form my imagination takes hold. It's a world of spirits because everything gives voice as some essence of the whole, an expression of some divine energy that gives cause for all of life to exist and appear in some specific form. 

non-ordinary reality is learning to listen, and to see the world through the infinite energetic patterns of its arrangement. In a sense, it's nothing special at all, being exactly as things are right now, completely ordinary in its magical appeal. 

reality. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Gray Catbird

Gray catbird: 

it's the songs that caught my curiosity first, seeming to last for minutes without purpose other than to extend the quality of its voice for others to enjoy, beautifully so, an artist right at the edge of thickets, staying hidden in tall weeds and tangled branches, preferring to be unseen. The gray catbird is related to the mockingbird and has similar vocal gifts, not quite as skilled with mimicry, but devoted to its song and will stretch it at length in a string of notes that play to perfect to the air. 

there's a subtle beauty to the charcoal gray catbird, a beautiful black cap sits atop of its head and with just a hint of rust colored wing-feathers under the tail to give it a distinguished flair, a soft distinction to the uniform gray of its body. A soulful bird, gray suits it's preference to remain hidden and play its songs. I love the artistry of this bird, it's devotion to song above appearance, shy, but not reclusive. 

the gray catbird is the spirit bird to every artist, not as well known as the mocking bird or other birds known for skillful mimicry, yet equal in the joy of giving sound, playing from a hidden depth of branches, right at edge of being recognized as the source of such beautiful songs. This bird shows me the way of artistry, that it's the song that matters, a skillful practice that's beyond the need of finish, each note being the perfection of the moment that it's given. Above all, this small bird teaches me of devotion, playing my own song with joyfulness and ease through the thickets and tangled branches of my life. 

a beautiful song indeed...

such an important lesson from the little bird.

~

Peace, Eric