experience

by

She Sings to Vultures

It’s another hot but dry day, without humidity for the first time in weeks. I am so grateful for the respite from the oppressive, thick air that makes it hard to breathe. And so I am outside, having wandered the hills and down the forest ridge to the middle of the valley below. The wildflowers are blooming all around me, the bees buzzing and the brilliant blue sky stretching out all around me.

I notice a bird, circling over the edge of the valley. I study its flight, and see that it is a turkey vulture. These birds have been moving northwards into Canada for the last 50 years, as the climate changes and the mass use of pesticides has been banned. Their silent, lazy, teetering circles on the thermals and the breeze are now a common sight in the area. But for many they are still an enigma, a threat, or even mistaken for eagles.

I have always welcomed these birds, though they are feared and mistrusted by others. I spent a long time in that valley, watching the flight of the bird, thinking about how it teaches us of the things that we would rather ignore in our lives. As carrion feeders, they teach us first and foremost about death.

In Canada, there aren’t any First Nations stories about these birds, as they are a recent addition to our landscape. There are a few from further south in the US, both positive and negative. But anyone with a little time can do some research to find out how they fit into the landscape, and how they can teach us their knowledge and wisdom of being.

They aren’t pretty birds, though in flight they are certainly imposing, and even majestic, with their long wingspans. They eat the flesh of animals that have died, and so are like nature’s clean-up crew, saving the spread of bacteria and disease by disposing of rotting corpses. The acid in their stomachs is strong enough to kill harmful bacteria, and so they are very much an important part of the ecosystem by taking care of things that would be harmful to other living creatures, ourselves included.

Their bald, red heads can look menacing, but are well-adapted to eating rotting corpses. Feathers would get in the way and be difficult to clean of harmful bacteria, and so their featherless heads make it much easier to get in and eat the flesh and then be cleaned afterwards, in rivers, lakes or streams as they drink, or in the rain. They defecate on their legs, which for many people is quite disgusting, however they are not the only birds who do so. The reason that vultures specifically defecate on their legs (bird poo and pee comes out together from one orifice, by the way, which saves water loss) is so that they can kill bacteria on their legs with ammonia after feeding on corpses and walking over them.

Their sense of smell is what alerts them to food. They have the largest olfactory system of any bird. They can smell carrion from over a mile away! Very handy to mother nature’s clean-up crew. They can also spot carcasses from up to a mile away, though they have trouble seeing in the dark and so are daytime flyers. Incredible birds.

And yet they are feared, or mistrusted, or reviled. I stand in the middle of the valley, watching the vulture’s flight. A chant bubbles up in my mind, one that I had created early this year. The tune seemed to reflect the soaring freedom of the bird’s flight, and my happiness at its existence. I sang, watching the circles it made in the sky, willing the bird to hear my voice and my songs of praise.

And it came nearer. Immediately responding, it heard me and came, following the notes of my song. I felt that it could feel the love that I had for it, the wonder and joy of its existence and the freedom of its flight. I poured my emotion into my song, letting it know of my joy in its flight. Closer and closer it came, lower and lower, listening to me and drinking in my love. Over my head it came low, and circled beneath the sun, in a dance of light and darkness that reflected its very being. I raised a hand to my eyes, sheltering them from the light of the sun to watch the bird glide in the white brightness of the sky right overhead. The long, dark wingspan stretched over me, and my heart touched that bird with joy and love and peace, and that emotion was returned to me from this incredible bird.

It made one final low circle around me as I stopped my song. It then bid me farewell, and thanked me for the song as it moved over to the other side of the valley, find new thermals and a new vista. The experience of the vulture is something that I will cherish and carry me throughout my lifetime.

As the bird flew off, I spoke these words from my heart:

Your flight is my inspiration

And the knowledge that upon my death,

You will take care of my body

Is my sanctuary

For in death there is life,

In life there is death

So has it always been

So shall it always be

I will always sing to the vultures.

by

The Deer’s Secret

The fallow deer stags have shed their antlers on the heath and in the forest in the last few weeks. As I found one atop a small rise next to ancient Celtic tumuli (burial mounds), dropped on the grassy tuft of a half sunken oak stump, I was gifted with this beautiful reminder that we all need to let go of certain things in our life.

It can be hard to let go. Whether it is past experiences, trauma, emotions or loved ones, eventually we will have to let go at some point. If we don’t, we will hinder ourselves as we travel through life on our own personal journeys. Just as a deer must shed his antlers in order to grow new ones, so must we shed that which no longer serves us in our lives. If the deer doesn’t shed his antlers properly, fully and completely, complications arise when the new ones begin to form. When the time is right, the stag knows when to let go. Sometimes it is with a simple, gentle shake; other times the antlers need to be knocked off purposefully on low trees branches or stumps. Either way, the setting is created for new growth.

The stag’s antlers grow throughout the summer, enabling him to display them proudly come the autumn rut. When growing, the antlers are covered in a beautiful, soft velvet to protect them and allow for room to grow into the shapes destined for that year. When the antlers are full grown the velvet begins to fall off, and the deer helps this process by rubbing it on trees to shed the last of the strips and allow the antlers to fully dry out and harden in the early autumn sunshine. The older the deer, the more points on the antler appear. There are some majestic old King Stags on the heath, whose great strong necks hold up a crown that is almost impossible to imagine. These antlers will help fight off any challengers to the does that have chosen to be with a certain stag, and are both an aggressive and defensive means, one tool of many for the continuation of the herd. When the antlers are no longer needed they are shed, demonstrating the cycle of life, death and rebirth, and the need to let go of that which no longer serves.

Though many in the Pagan community use the festival of Samhain to reflect on what no longer serves them in their lives, for me here living with the local deer community it is the month of May where I find this inspiration. Closely observing the deer, hauling buckets of water out onto the heath for them in the last two years as we have had so little rainfall, leaving offerings of seeds and song, I have established a relationship with them that is so beautiful and inspiring. They know me now, and I have watched as young prickets have matured into stags, and lead does hand over the power to a younger female as their reign over the herd comes to a natural close. I have spent an amazing three years with a white doe, always catching her watching me as I roam the heathland and knowing that she carries messages from the Otherworld in her spiritual capacity. Though she is now gone from us, her spirit lives on in the dappled light of the beech wood and the gentle breeze that blows the heather bells, ringing the faery bells in both this world and the Otherworld.

If we are unable to let go, we cannot move forward with health, vitality and authenticity. We will hinder our progress, sabotage our current situation and be mere shadows of who we could be. The deer remind us that letting go is not a one-time affair, but a process that happens again and again as we work our way through the spirals of life. Every year they must shed their antlers, this cyclic dance of the Antlered God reminding us of the process, and how to move through it.

Some of what holds us back are shadow aspects that no longer serve us in the present moment. While they may have been necessary coping mechanisms in their time, in this present moment they only stop us from being our true, authentic selves. We may have been hurt in the past, but that hurt lies in the past, and carrying it always into the present moment is a burdensome thing to bear. Instead, letting go again and again is the way to move forward, to develop the skills necessary to cope with what life is doing at this very moment in time. We must learn to shed that which no longer serves, and grow into our antlers of sovereignty. And when the time comes, we shed those antlers too.

From “Stories of the Knights of the Round Table” by Henry Gilbert, first edition, 1911.

The sword Excalibur that was given to King Arthur needed to be returned to the Lady of Lake upon Arthur’s death. We return that which no longer serves to the earth, to the waters of the subconscious, to the Otherworld and the Goddess in order for it to be transformed and wrought anew when the time is come. This cyclic myth may have been created through observation of the natural world, and the cycles of the flora and fauna that inspire Pagan mythology. We wield our swords of sovereignty, and then return the power to the land when the time is right, ready to forge anew what it is that we need in the next cycle, like a stag shedding his antlers and then growing anew.

As I look out over my laptop and out into the verdant green of the garden, the beech, ash and birch trees swaying in the light breeze, I am filled with the beauty and mystery of this earthly life and its cycles. We have come out of a long, difficult winter and now the summer is in full swing. The world has turned soft and lush, the bare branches of the trees now heavy and singing in full voice of the songs of summer. The blackbirds join in the song all day long, and the house martins beep beep overhead as they dive and glide to feed their young. That all important Mystery that lies at the heart of Pagan traditions is so abundant all around me, and I am so grateful for this journey. I know what it is that needs letting go, and I do it each and every day, until I find that I am no longer carrying it but have instead stored it away neatly on the shelves of life experience. I walk forward free, able to grow and be in my full, sovereign self.

Thanks to the Deer’s Secret.