A Familiar Presence ~ a refined version of this story appeared in Spirit of Change Magazine a while back. I've presented the original version here for it's raw immediacy, for the spontaneity of the writing.

Simply put - the cat came back. Garf died almost two months ago, at age 17. She was an old friend, and I was with her at her birth. A week ago Sunday, I was up during the night. The house was silent. While in the kitchen, without the light on, I smelled a familiar aroma. It stopped me in my tracks, leaving me forgetting what I was doing. I began to work my nostrils like a cat does, and the smell intensified. I followed it to determine if it was a physical manifestation, and found that the dispersal pattern was indeed physically correct. The aroma was that of Garf's breath. I felt her presense strongly. I knew that smell intimately from countless times I had rubbed noses with the cat. It was not just a cat smell, it was distinctly her respiration. In analyzing it, I instantly realized that if she had brushed up against my leg, or had meowed, my innate skepticism would have passed it off as imagination. But the aroma of her respiration was unmistakeable.

Garf was a familiar to me, in the magickal sense. So when I realized that she was visiting me in spirit, I wanted to see why she was there at that time. I walked into the living room, still in the dark, and asked her to allow me to see as she sees now, in her noncorporeal state. The request arose intuitively without decision on my part. Instantly, I felt huge.

The perspective of the room morphed in my vision until I felt myself as larger than the room. The room looked tiny, and I was still aware of my body's actual physical size. A feeling of awe enveloped me. I can honestly say that I felt more real than I usually do. All of the items in the room had a faint glow to them. But the most amazing thing was the feeling of gentleness I was experiencing. I felt that I was so large, and so powerful, that I had no need to be anything other than gentle! In gentleness, grace, and confidence, I had nothing to fear, there in the dark room.

Our fears live in the dark places in our lives. Cats are at home in the dark, because they have more rods in the retinas of their eyes than humans do. At my behest, Garf showed me how it feels to be powerful. This leads me to speculate on the archetypal significance of my spirit encouter. Garf's sense of smell carried her through when her blindness set in. She appealed to my sense of smell when she came to me that night.

Her blindness was a result of a degenerative heart condition. When we are not fully centered in the love that flows through our hearts we experience fear. And in fear we cannot see clearly. Garf showed me how much power is present when one rises above doubts, and then above fears. The darkness is still here, but gentleness opens the heart to a place that is larger than the fears. So the fears need not be banished nor extinguished. They can stay.

While she was still alive, toward the end of her life, Garf would often howl in the night. It was a soul-wrenching sound that I now know was a vocalization of the fear she had from her weak heart and blind eyes. But beyond that howling, she was as gentle and as peaceful as could be. I know now that she chose the love instead of the fear; and that she only howled to let the fear out, and to keep it from consuming her.

These are lessons that I learned from the spirit of a beautiful being.

Seeing with Chickadee - from 11/3/02

I walked today. Going up into the mountain wilderness is something I have adored doing for a long time now. But I recently came upon the Celtic idea of hillwalking. From the description of the practice, I realized that I have been doing it all along, but I had been unaware of the power that such a focus can bring forth. So today I walked in the same old way, yet added a new awareness.

The trail head of the Rio Grande de Ranchos Trail is less than a five minute drive from the house, south along NM State Highway 518. The maintained part of the trail is short; maybe a quarter mile, where it joins a forest service road. I crossed that road and headed up toward the ridge. I stopped after a brief while to "loosen the soul", as Frank MacEowen calls it. To the Celts, the soul surrounds the body; and it contracts from the toxins and stresses of daily life. Closed eyes and a few deep breaths expands it to open to the mirroring qualities of nature. In doing this I found that I had no expectations other than encountering chickadees on the ridge.

The climb was strenuous and heart-pounding. But I found a difference this time; perhaps due to my new focus. I did not have the urge to rest. Although there is no trail on those slopes, the trail seemed to arise from the earth, much in the same way that Junah saw the path of his golf light up before him when he "found the field" (The Legend of Bagger Vance). I followed that trail, with all of its twists and switchbacks. But soon I stopped when I found myself surrounded by chickadees.

None came near, but I was delighted to see them and hear them. As soon as I resumed climbing I came upon prints in the moist soil ~ cougars. Walking on, I found that the cougar tracks were all along, although I was not literally "tracking" the cat.

Reaching the crest of the ridge I was winded and my heart was racing. The mucky smell of cigarette smoke in my throat and sinuses had gone to a metallic taste. The air was sweet and moist, as these ridges have been shrouded in fog for most of the last three days. I climbed a ways more until I found a gathering of stones to sit on. Here was a view of Taos Mountain to the north, and of the dramatic peaks in the Pecos Wilderness far to the south. I sat in this place for quite some time. The sky was a hazy gray from high, thick clouds. The clouds buffered the sun enough to view it directly. But the chill was increasing so I headed back down, along a different path. I steeled myself to the "fact" that the trip would be uneventful.

Going down was a whole different story. The trail still lit up for me as I descended, but I soon found myself running; at a rather uncomfortable pace. But I allowed the fear to withdraw; finding that my feet knew where to fall. The slope was loose, with much shale and small rocks; with plenty of cactus spines as well. Scanning with my eyes in soft focus, I spied something brilliant white to my right. It was atop a huge cluster of boulders, across a small ravine. I headed toward it.

The caprock of that cluster was covered in salty white dried guano. Some large birds used that place to rest. But not just to rest. The view of the canyon from there is spectacular! I sat there next to the guano patch for a long while; scanning yonder ridge and the watershed canyon before me. I stood for a bit and tried to aquire an eagle's gaze; finding that to be easy to do. But when I sat back down and looked at the guano patch I felt the image of a raven perched there. Just then I noticed a raven soaring over the ridge on the other side of Highway 518. It was just to the left of the sun, but I watched it anyway, in spite of the glare. When I returned my gaze to my side of the highway I found that the forest before me was crystal clear. It was as if each individual pine needle connected with my eyes; the rocks, the cactus spines. It was all vivid and pulsing with energy.

When the astounding nature of my visual clarity struck my rational mind I suddenly heard a chirp nearby. I whipped my head around to see a lone chickadee about 20 yards away. I watched as it hopped from branch to branch, toward me. But as it got very close I turned and looked down the canyon toward the Pecos Range. Out of my right eye, with my peripheral vision, I saw Chickadee appear, so I slowly turned to look. I had gained his trust. He sat not three feet from my face! All ruffled against the cold, he chirped away as he looked straight at me.

Chickadee arrived just when my rational mind noticed the enhanced nature of my vision. The clarity and brilliance had been resonating with my heart. But when my brain caught wind of it, Chickadee appeared. Chickadee represents truth; and the uncovering of the mysteries of the mind. I read that in a book, but today Chickadee demonstrated it fully, in realtime, real life, and in a level of perception that I can only call magical.

I love reading Christian de Quincey when he writes of panpsychicism. But I love it more when Nature shows me just what that means.

Cactus Flower ~ This is not my usual style, but I like to write totem tales on rare occasion. Time only for a cut and paste this morning. This tale is a good one to start with......


Badger was restless, having just eaten, but he still felt like hunting. He stopped to have a drink of water at the river. As he shook the water from his muzzle he noticed that the river flowed in one way only. It had always been, for him, a matter of water being there. But he suddenly wondered where the water was going. So he followed it.

The water led him under bridges, and through many places. His journey had started early in the morning. The sun was nearly overhead when he came to the beaver ponds. Beaver was nowhere in sight. "Hey, friend!", he called. But no answer came; except from Jay, who scolded the noisy intrusion. No loss, Badger thought. Beaver is a dreamer; nothing more. Always building things, killing trees, and pushing the river to and fro. Beaver did not care where the river went, as long as he could use it as he pleased. So Badger walked on.

Not far beyond the beaver dams, the river flowed into a little gorge. Giant aspens grew in that gorge; towering up along the west face of the gorge. He considered where it was that the aspens were going, but he was well aware of his limitations, and relegated that wondering to Squirrel instead. "Hey, Squirrel", he called. "Where do the trees go?". Squirrel looked down from a blue spruce and huffed, "They go nowhere, foolish Badger! Part of them is here, and part of them is there. The part that is there is where I go". Badger was puzzled, so he asked, "What are you telling me, friend? I look up and see the trees going up there". To which Squirrel replied, "That is precisely what I am telling you! If you really want a mystery, go see the cactus flower. It is up the cliff; that way". A voice at Badger's side said, "I'll go with you". He looked to find Weasel there. So they began to climb the cliff.

They found the cactus flower, after a hard climb. Chickadee was there, and greeted them with good cheer. "Welcome my four-footed friends! You see the flower here. There is only one flower. It blooms only now". Weasel nudged Badger and said "We should take it to show to our friends". Badger protested, "It should stay here, Weasel. We should not take it". But Weasel winked and assured him, "Our friends would be well pleased at our efforts".

So they took the flower to Weasel's den. Weasel put it in a safe place, and they went to find Squirrel. Squirrel went with them, back to Weasel's den, to look at the flower. But the flower was not there. "I know where it is", said Squirrel, "Follow me". Weasel growled, "Someone stole the flower". "Nonsense", Squirrel scolded, "Just follow me".

He took them up the cliff face to where the flower grew. "That is not the same flower!", Badger said. "We took that flower". But Squirrel called out to Chickadee, "Badger says they took the flower". "No, they did not. There is only one flower", Chickadee replied. At which point, Squirrel ran off into the trees. Weasel again took the flower. He and Badger walked back to the den, and again he put the flower in a safe place. Then they went to find Skunk. Skunk went with them back to the den. "This is great!", he said, "I will be able to sniff the flower! Are there bugs on it? I could use a snack!". But when they got to the den, the flower was not there.

"Somebody keeps moving the flower!", Weasel growled, as he ran in frustrated circles. "No", said Skunk, "I know where it is. Follow me!". They all walked back up to the cliff, and found the flower again, with Chickadee and Squirrel standing by. On a ledge, just above them, was Coyote's smiling face, hanging over the edge.

"You!!", cried Weasel. "You are the Trickster! It is you who moves the flower back here, when I take it home. You make me out to be a fool!!". Coyote howled with laughter, while Badger took a step away from Weasel. Badger feared that Coyote would choke from the laughter. He also sensed Weasel's rising anger; and he wanted no part of this confrontation. But Coyote finally ceased laughing and said, "No, Weasel! Next to me there is no greater fool. You have not the heart to be the fool that I am. Nor the pride. Being a fool takes the proper kind of magic. You have not that magic. Nobody moved the flower. Not you. Not me. It grows only here. It blooms only now".

"Riddles!", huffed Weasel; and he ran away. Now, it was Chickadee who laughed. Coyote joined him; howling like crazy. Badger turned his gaze from the retreating Weasel to Squirrel; who had a truly frightening look in his eyes. Badger began to speak, but got no chance to utter a word. Squirrel suddenly went from red to black; from fur to feathers. He sprouted wings, and swept them in a grand gesture that brought silence to them all. Squirrel had become Raven.

"Is there no privacy?", Raven cackled. "Once a year, I come to this place to make one flower bloom. I simply knew that nitwits would come and try to make it different. So I went to Squirrel, and Squirrel lent me his self for a while. Then sneaky Weasel gets under your skin, Badger, and you both act strange".

"I am truly sorry", said Badger. "I did not know that you were here with the flower. When Weasel and I took it, I did not know that you would be left without it. I am truly sorry". He hung his head in shame.

"Pick up your chin, Badger!!!", Raven commanded. "I was not left without the flower. No one moved the flower. I simply waited here, while the flower was not here. What do you, Badger, know of patience? Of creation? Of movement, or stealth? You are the keeper of stories. Take this story with you. Keep it with you. Tell it, when the time comes. Now, begone". Badger hesitated, but Coyote growled, so Badger moved on. Chickadee flew down and lit upon his shoulders as he walked. In the distance, they could hear Coyote and Raven laughing and singing; and they knew the flower was safe, and in good company.

When Badger and Chickadee got to the river, they found it was still there. "It is much like the flower", said Badger. They both smiled; then laughed. And laughter filled the whole canyon. Within the echoing laughter, many other flowers began to bloom. Raven never works alone.

Don't know why it took so long to get this started. I love to write, and enjoy knowing that the writing is being read - by someone. It's been a lifelong thing for me, starting at age 10. Kind of a spiritual adventure, it is. Squeezing my mind and drawing at random from the many and varied stories that I see every day. The weather. Rosie the cat. Music, heard or remembered. And things plucked from the endless flow of ideas that seem to accompany me throughout any given day.

Storytelling is the point of the exercise. Every time. Reworking the world into new ways of seeing, or just plain looking. Nature is always a prime mover, from which comes the patterns and flows that direct the words into place, with every given hope that they will mean more to the reader than they do to me. Alluding to beauty, and maybe even mystery, with any kind of luck at all.

Joe Baxter was my only true mentor. He was my high school journalism teacher. Kind of an odd man, but one who mostly smiled. His encouragement was guarded, and bloomed in me much later, long after he was gone.

As for inspiration, there's always Mark Twain, and Henry David Thoreau. James Blaylock and Whitley Streiber. Carl Hiaasen and Al Burt - from the old South Florida days. And the truly amazing prose of Neil Gaiman. Fabulists are usually my favorite writers. Writers who use imagination like a torch, to cut through the bars of reason and habit that keep the world in place on any given day. I should also mention Neil Young. His ability as a storyteller, in song rather than in prose, is eerie beyond description. The man knows magic and he is not afraid to use it!

For magic is what this is really about. That's one reason that dear Raven bears top billing in this blog. Shapeshifter and creator, his totem Medicine drives me when I cannot be driven. My writing flies best when Raven is on the wing. It's not a New Agey belief as much as it is a form of reverence born of experience. Also mentioned in the description of this blog is the Lady of the Lake. That spirit is a little more tricky to account for. I'll have to let her do that as we go along. She is the one who showed me how the bridge between dreams and waking is a solid and useful thing. Bringing new and fresh dreams into the real world is both a renewing and refreshing pastime. Why wouldn't it be? The words sorta make it so. And that's what I am on about in these pages. Should be fun.

I feel excitement, coming in to play. This adventure has been put off, swept aside, and basically left to wait. This morning's beginning is just that - a beginning. There will be more before too long.

The mind is not clear this morning, but clear enough to get things started. Such clarity can grow, given a chance. I like that. A simple chance, created, chosen, and set into motion.

It's a good beginning.