Category: Nature’s teachings

Parting the Veil–Thoughts from New Year’s Eve

Parting the Veil–Thoughts from New Year’s Eve

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As I paddled through thick, gray-white mist across the mouth of Weeks Bay, the silence was broken by a loon that surfaced nearby. The haunting cry bounced off the wall of fog and wrapped around me like a voice from another realm.

I felt peaceful and quiet, encapsulated by a small radius of open water as I glided through the new year’s eve morning. No sun, no warmth, the only comfort was the shroud of containment hugging me, coating my eyelashes with tiny water droplets.

Up the west side of the bay I traveled–the mostly undeveloped side where natural marsh grasses grow in sandy soil right to the water’s edge. No bulkheads disturbing the natural flow of the tides, wildlife or sand migration. Every paddle stroke yielded sounds magnified by the dense fog….droplets of water sliding off the blade, returning with a plop into the bay from which they came; the wake of water curling off the bow of my board; my own breath, warm against the air as I pulled myself and the twelve and a half foot board through the brackish life-blood of the estuary.

Further along, the mist parted so I could see the other shore, less than two miles away. I decided to paddle across, thus making a loop on my last paddle of 2011. I glanced back over my shoulder as I reached the middle of the bay. The fog was closing in behind me rapidly. The scene reminded me of the Mists of Avalon, a favorite book of mine from many years ago.

Parting the veil is a quest worthy of any seeker.

The rolling wall of fog pushed me forward. Access to what was behind me faded as if it never existed. It wouldn’t be wise to go back, to enter a white-out and get lost. The past is done…over….gone.

I hugged the shoreline as the fog intensified and made my way back to Mobile Bay. I didn’t want to spend new year’s eve paddling in circles in the bay so I kept the shore within sight. Years ago I was paddling my kayak in a large, fogged-in lake and lost my way by failing to follow the shoreline (and not having a compass on board). I nearly paddled over a dam (or close enough to make my legs shaky). Reflecting back, I saw where I have managed to learn a lesson or two that has gotten me safely through almost of all of 2011 and the years in-between.

Past skeleton piers and roosting shorebirds I glided. Slowly I maneuvered over pieces of broken piers, buried in the shallow water. I was in no hurry to reach my destination given the lack of visibility and snags floating just below the surface. Plus, I was enjoying the beautiful white cloud I was moving through and was not eager to step out of the other-worldly realm created by the bay, water and fog.

The solitude was a gift bestowed by the fog as it kissed my cheeks and swirled around me as I remembered the secret to parting the veil.

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Polar Bear Paddle 2012–Magnolia River was a great time! Even with our small crew we had a blast exploring far up into the river in the warmish temps…and one of our crew decided to take a plunge as well but she lives in Michigan now so a little winter river water did her no harm. Happy 2012!

Wisdom of the Wild

Wisdom of the Wild

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My first morning back on the Gulf Coast found me paddling my SUP board from Mobile Bay into Weeks Bay. Since it was a chilly 51 degrees, there was nobody else on the water in boats or other watercraft. It was just the bay, the sky, multitudes of shorebirds and me.

As I paddled through the mouth of Weeks Bay I saw cormorants and pelicans along with wintering ducks and gulls flying, floating and feasting in the brackish water. Moving further into the bay I noticed something floating ahead. It looked like a pelican but it wasn’t moving. The closer I got to it the more concern grew within me. It looked like the large bird was entangled in debris. When I slowly and quietly glided up to the bird I saw with horror and sadness the situation.

What I thought was debris was actually one of its huge wings trailing behind it as this regal bird’s long bill hung in the water. Her wing was completely broken in two and the large bone protruded from feathers and skin.

As I glided up to the bird I sat down and eased closer allowing her to understand I was not there to hurt her. Being on a paddle board I had nothing with which to perform a rescue operation. Plus, did the bird want rescuing? The stress would most likely kill the beautiful creature given her weakened state. Not knowing what to do, I simply drifted with her and asked what she needed.

As we drifted together on the surface of the bay I gently spoke to her while asking for guidance from any angels that might be about. I decided to steer her to the sandy beach to see if she could exit the water. I knew this would be the only place I could attempt to capture her, if that was the right action for me to take.

Slowly we drifted to the remote shore. When we arrived, the pelican walked out of the water and stood, barely able to support her weight. I beached my board and continued sitting on it and asking what to do. “What do you need? What can I do for you?”

With great effort this magnificent bird crawled to a small bunch of marsh grass and laid down. When she got settled she breathed deeply a few times and her body relaxed. I went to a deep place within and knew that the only action called for was to allow her to die in the sunshine among the grasses and sounds of life on Weeks Bay. Any attempt at rescue would kill her at this point. She would be better served by allowing a quiet passage rather than a traumatic one.

So I sat on my board weeping quietly, asking for angels to carry her across the rainbow bridge. After her breathing slowed I gently pushed off from shore and gave thanks to her for being a teacher for me.

Sometimes the best action is to take no action.

The next morning I paddled back into the bay. As I paddled along the shore I saw her, white head laid across her brownish-gray back. I envisioned her last breath with long bill pointed skyward as she gazed into the sky from which she had fallen.

Teachings from a Christmas Tree

Teachings from a Christmas Tree

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The first thing I remember is swirling stars and crisp autumn nights. In human years I know not how long ago I was planted on the mountainside. I remember waking up in the chilly air and realizing the magnificent forest of my brothers and sisters around me covering the hills.

I felt my friends being planted alongside me. We communicated through our roots and branches as they swayed in the fresh breezes. It felt good to sink my roots into Earth. Such warmth and joy I felt as Earth’s energy coursed through my being. I tingled with excitement.

My first night, my roots already working deeper into the soil, I could stretch taller. Oh, I wanted so desperately to touch the stars, to feel their sparkle on my green fingers.

The first snow felt so wonderful. Cold it was but it blanketed me and somehow it felt right, as if this was where I belonged. And so I flourished and sang my life song with the wind and rain, stars and snow. And I heard the music of the heavens. So sweet was it in answer to the deep, resounding heart beat of Earth. The music of the spheres filled my days and nights, but especially at night could I hear it…when everything else got quiet.

So was my life until one day I saw humans, some very small, running up the path to the big trees in the neighboring field. The small ones ran and played among branches and some came over to me and started making human sounds…”Baby trees….aren’t they cute….want a bigger tree.”

I didn’t know what they meant but suddenly a loud sound erupted and I heard a big tree moan as it fell. “What happened?” I asked my friends but they didn’t know. Softly, as we listened closely, a message was passed to us from bigger trees. They said they would share the secret of our power. That captured my curiosity so I listened and this is what I heard:

“You are born for a very special purpose. You were planted on this beautiful mountainside and you grow and take in Earth’s love and care, starlight’s magic, rain’s cleansing power, wind’s song, and the passion and fire of the sun. These elements build in you and grow as you grow. Then, when the time is right, you are taken and put in a home and decorated with lights like stars and shiny things that are most wondrous. And as you stand tall in your best splendor, you slowly die. But as you do you give off your life force and all the energy of stars, sun, Earth, rain and wind that you took in is released into the human home, and maybe into the human hearts. You are a blessing and remind the people who take you, of the light and love available to them.”

It sounded wonderful yet questions bubbled up through my sap. Would it hurt? Wouldn’t I miss the mountains and birds and sun and snow?

But there was only silence.

And so I let it go and simply observed it all. Seasons of warm and cold came and went and I witnessed it all.

As I grew, every year people would come and look at me and touch me but passed me by. I wondered if I would ever fulfill my destiny.

And then one beautiful, sunny, crisp day, two people walked among our section of the mountain. One touched me and I shivered. “Take me, take me! I am ready!” They walked on. But after a while she came back and touched my strong trunk and placed her warm hand around it and I felt the most amazing sensation flow into me. I heard her words, “Thankful…grateful…welcome…I love you.”

And then I heard the saw motor and for a moment it hurt and I shivered from pain. But as I began to fall, I let go and thought, “Oh–now is my time, my purpose will be fulfilled.” And such joy I had never known.

I was wrapped tight and laid on top of a fast-moving thing and before long I was standing in water, drinking deeply for I was very thirsty. I was placed in a huge room with big windows where I can look out over the mountains.

I have sparkling white stars resting on my branches and beautiful shiny things adorning me. There are all manner of special things hanging from my branches and they feel full of memories from long ago and I hear their stories.I have heard beautiful music and singing and although it’s different than the music of the spheres, it is quite lovely. And now, it is dark outside and the woman sits below me writing down my story so others can know what I know, what I’ve learned from being a tree–a tree destined to be a magnificent Christmas tree. And so my purpose is fulfilled. And I am happy.

To learn more about my work please visit Turtle Island Adventures. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays! May we continue to learn from all that nature teaches us.