One Moment in a Rich & Busy Forest
How Eagle and Raven showed me a path forward
Most mornings I step onto the deck in my backyard and turn to the coming light of the new day. I acknowledge the vibrant forest that surrounds my house, opening myself to the powerful energy of the East and the growing dawn.
Lately, my morning prayers have centered on my need for help in seeing a vision for myself as I move into my mid-70s and beyond. I’m not who I was, and not who I thought I would be. I don’t know where I’m going. Daily meditation has been my routine for over 50 years. In addition, I’ve studied with gurus and shamans, and have been blessed with the experiences of two Vision Quests. I’ve acquired an M.A. in Psychology and have spent over 30 years exploring the varied facets of human suffering and redemption. I’ve spent a lifetime exploring inner realities. And yet, these mornings I acknowledge that I can’t see my way forward.
When I was younger, I believed I knew what my later years would be like. My healthy lifestyle would keep me strong. I looked forward to reading all the books I never had time to read. I’d have more time to write. I would focus on my artistic interests. And I would be physically active, still doing yoga, hiking, biking. I believed I would keep myself strong enough that I would be able to continue backpacking into my 70s. But now I’m not so interested in many of those books. I fear I don’t have the creative passion I used to have. Numerous injuries and aggressive arthritis make yoga and hiking painful. Breast cancer slowed me down a bit. Backpacking is a wistful memory.
But here, on these five acres of mature Pacific Northwest forest, on an idyllic island, much touches my soul. A small piece of forest can be a rich and busy place. I share this space with so many different beings; woodpeckers, dragonflies, owls, snakes, rabbits, deer, coyote, quail, and hummingbirds, to name just a very few.
And the ravens. I think of them as my nearest neighbors. As with any neighbor that is near me, but that I don’t interact with closely, I’m curious about them. I want to know where their nest is. Do they have chicks this year, have they fledged yet? Last year I watched, with amusement, as they taught their chicks how to fly.
Yesterday afternoon, I heard a strident ruckus erupt from them. I haven’t been able to locate which tree their nest is located in, but every day I’m aware of the lively conversation that goes on between the two of them as they move busily through the high tree canopy. This new brouhaha was unusual. They are normally calm, enchanting me with their creative repertoire of raven sounds. Today they were both squawking urgently, angrily.
Raven is dark, and, to me, mysterious. Their comings and goings seem so purposeful, so focused; but it’s not clear to me exactly what they’re doing. I hear them throughout the day, but I often can’t see them. They’re hidden by the tree canopy.
The tribal myths in the Pacific Northwest speak of a Trickster who brings magic. In myths, Raven is frequently there at the beginning of the world. He created the sun so that the people that lived in this land would have light. Some say he gifted the gift of fire, and water, as well. He has a deep creative power and ancient wisdom.
It had been a warm summer afternoon, I was alone in the house. Stepping outside, I noticed an eagle circling overhead in the clear blue sky. I could hear the high piping of the eagle’s call; then there was an eruption of rapid, loud piping, escalating into piercing shrieks.
Walking down the path into the forest, moving towards the cries, the eagle’s shrieking and raven’s squawking continued to grow. I was alarmed now. Something terrible must be happening. I wanted to know what was going on. It felt like my help was needed.
As I moved into the trees, a flicker of rapid movement to my left caught my eye. There was a blur of black and a flash of white. The dark, lumpy shape seemed odd. At first glance, I couldn’t tell what it was. Then I realized that an eagle was caught in the brushy lower branches of a Douglas Fir. She was hanging upside down, flapping her wings, twisting and struggling, shrieking loudly. On the branch above her, hunched down and staying close, was her smaller mate, loudly screeching encouragement. The path I was standing on was on the edge of a steep ravine carved out by a glacier in the last ice age. The tree in which she was caught was several feet down the side of the ravine. It was about 20 feet away from me, on a steep slant.
Eagle is a transcendent being, flying high, close to Spirit. Some believe that Eagle has Power to help us connect to Spirit. In Native American mythology, Eagle often represents the East and new beginnings.
I watched from the path, feeling helpless. If she couldn’t be freed, she could die. She could easily be injured. And how were the ravens, who didn’t want eagles hanging around on their patch, going to deal with this? When I stepped a few feet closer to her, she began to flail even more wildly, so I backed off — worried and unsure. I needed help. I was concerned that the ravens might attack if she got weaker.
Eagles regularly raid the nests of ravens. Ravens will eat unguarded eagle eggs. They are adversaries. Ravens become agitated and defensive whenever an eagle glides into their nesting area.
There was nothing I could do, so I returned to the house. I had no close human neighbors, and it was obvious that a couple of people with a ladder approaching her would only make things worse.
Wanting skilled help and advice, I called 911. I knew there was only one animal control person in the county, and her response would likely be slow. I thought 911 would be a faster response. But I wasn’t sure how 911 would be able to respond to a non-human emergency.
As I explained the situation to the operator, I noticed that quiet had descended on the forest. The eagle shrieks had stopped and the raven ruckus was gone. Still on the phone, I walked up the path to the tree to see what was happening. I found that the eagles had gone. All was quiet. The ravens also seemed to have left the spot.
The 911 responder assured me that it was fine to call them for an eagle emergency, but she was glad that it had resolved itself. I hung up.
This morning I went out on the deck to once again welcome the new day. My sleep had been restless, and I’d woken early. The image of the eagle, caught and trapped, was troubling me. I wished I’d stayed there to witness her escape. I would have enjoyed witnessing that moment of liberation: seeing how she’d done it.
As I faced the East and opened again to the Dawn energy, welcoming the gifts the day might bring, I reflected on what that experience might mean for me. Eagle is free and transcends earthly realities. Raven carries the energy of the West. The West is where the day closes, and darkness opens.
Mystery, the unknown, this is what lies before us with life’s endings. It’s what’s before me now. Is there something in me that is trapped, and shrieking to be free? Something that needs to be closer to Spirit, to fly wild and free, high above the earth? And what are the ravens saying about me? Is there another part of me that’s angry about this caged energy? Or is it fearful, or both?
Something hidden, something mysterious, may be challenging that sense of being trapped and helpless. A part of me that, within its darkness, carries light.
I remember how the eagle struggled desperately for a time, but she did free herself. Raven’s strident voice was part of that liberation. This gives me hope and points a way forward. I want to hold both Eagle and Raven within me close, to breathe peace into their hearts, and to tell them that there is nothing to fear. I will be able to fly free once again and I will move into the mysteries that lie before me with some amount of courage and trust. They’ve shown me what I need to know, and I’m grateful.
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