Thursday, October 11, 2007 at 2:02am
Becoming a bird of prey
Column: Our Place in the Universe
This past weekend I walked a Chartres-style labyrinth. Instead of the simple seven-tier design like the one in my backyard, this one has four cloverleaf sections with intertwining branches of labyrinth within each leaf. At the center are five small petals, and a seat for contemplation.
These past months have been stressful ones for me, so I had a lot to lay down at the doorstep of the Beloved on the way in. On the way out, I opened for the message. I was ready. "Become a bird of prey," He said. "What does that mean?" I queried. At that moment a hawk circled overhead, intent, focused on the ground below.
A bird of prey must plan and execute a goal, with both purpose and meaning, arriving at a meeting point with the object of its desire. With both grace and a casualness that belied the fierceness of the hunt, the hawk suddenly swooped down from above. A bird of prey must be graceful, even elegant in its actions, always portraying the dignity of its position with a relaxed air of poise and confidence.
Deliberately, it dove into the woods nearby, disrupting a gaggle of crows. A bird of prey must be assertive, making decisions consciously. It must allow for others to assert themselves as well, by either working together or getting out of the way. The crows flew off into the trees complaining loudly, but allowed the hawk the right of way.
With an air of intentional design the hawk embraced its destiny. A bird of prey must radiate peace and security. With a calmness underlying its fierce, focused intent, it achieves its goal. With an assurance that others find comforting, the prize can be won. By the time I had left the labyrinth, I was walking calmly and confidently.
I am a bird of prey, I thought — until the following day, when I walked the labyrinth again. On the way in, the same difficulties presented themselves, but this time they did not lay themselves down so eagerly. They became burdens rather than blessings. By the time I reached the center, I was a wreck.
Like the rock in the middle of the path. Yesterday I had used it to lift myself up and see beyond the next hill; today that rock was only a stumbling block landing me face down in the middle of the path. What do I do now? How do I handle this situation? What would the bird of prey do?
I looked up. There was the moon shining brightly in the reflected light of the sun. Today, swallows were swooping back and forth across the sky. I wondered if they ever thought about trying to get to that bright spot so far away, yet seemingly so near. The sun was just rising and bathed the treetops.
If I was 20 feet tall, or could fly like the birds, the sun would be shining now on my shoulders. Instead I'm face down in the dirt. But, no, wait, I'm not face down, but face up looking at the sky and the sun's rays. I am seeing how truly spectacular the moon is revealing the brilliance of a sun as yet unseen.
The hawk reappeared before I finished my meditations. Quiet, calm, with barely a flick of a wingtip to stay aloft, it floated above me. Present, aware, it would stay for hours noticing everything and yet doing nothing. Isn't that life? So many things happen, both uplifting and difficult, that we have no control over at all.
Sometimes the goal is within reach of a quick swoop and strike. Many times we try to make things happen, figure things out, or try to fix things. Most times the healing moment is in a calm, yet assertive presence that persists in seeing an invitation to live, rather than in an inducement to only exist.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.
These past months have been stressful ones for me, so I had a lot to lay down at the doorstep of the Beloved on the way in. On the way out, I opened for the message. I was ready. "Become a bird of prey," He said. "What does that mean?" I queried. At that moment a hawk circled overhead, intent, focused on the ground below.
A bird of prey must plan and execute a goal, with both purpose and meaning, arriving at a meeting point with the object of its desire. With both grace and a casualness that belied the fierceness of the hunt, the hawk suddenly swooped down from above. A bird of prey must be graceful, even elegant in its actions, always portraying the dignity of its position with a relaxed air of poise and confidence.
Deliberately, it dove into the woods nearby, disrupting a gaggle of crows. A bird of prey must be assertive, making decisions consciously. It must allow for others to assert themselves as well, by either working together or getting out of the way. The crows flew off into the trees complaining loudly, but allowed the hawk the right of way.
With an air of intentional design the hawk embraced its destiny. A bird of prey must radiate peace and security. With a calmness underlying its fierce, focused intent, it achieves its goal. With an assurance that others find comforting, the prize can be won. By the time I had left the labyrinth, I was walking calmly and confidently.
I am a bird of prey, I thought — until the following day, when I walked the labyrinth again. On the way in, the same difficulties presented themselves, but this time they did not lay themselves down so eagerly. They became burdens rather than blessings. By the time I reached the center, I was a wreck.
Like the rock in the middle of the path. Yesterday I had used it to lift myself up and see beyond the next hill; today that rock was only a stumbling block landing me face down in the middle of the path. What do I do now? How do I handle this situation? What would the bird of prey do?
I looked up. There was the moon shining brightly in the reflected light of the sun. Today, swallows were swooping back and forth across the sky. I wondered if they ever thought about trying to get to that bright spot so far away, yet seemingly so near. The sun was just rising and bathed the treetops.
If I was 20 feet tall, or could fly like the birds, the sun would be shining now on my shoulders. Instead I'm face down in the dirt. But, no, wait, I'm not face down, but face up looking at the sky and the sun's rays. I am seeing how truly spectacular the moon is revealing the brilliance of a sun as yet unseen.
The hawk reappeared before I finished my meditations. Quiet, calm, with barely a flick of a wingtip to stay aloft, it floated above me. Present, aware, it would stay for hours noticing everything and yet doing nothing. Isn't that life? So many things happen, both uplifting and difficult, that we have no control over at all.
Sometimes the goal is within reach of a quick swoop and strike. Many times we try to make things happen, figure things out, or try to fix things. Most times the healing moment is in a calm, yet assertive presence that persists in seeing an invitation to live, rather than in an inducement to only exist.
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © Copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad.