Category: Focusing with Sentient Beings

The energy of animals, plants and other living things can be part of what helps us group and support our own connection with self and with the universe.

The Squirrel and the Chicken Bone

 

While walking through my complex, I offered a squirrel a walnut but she already had a chicken’s thigh bone in her mouth.  We both stopped to notice each other and we made a pact to connect. I wanted to know what a squirrel would do with a chicken bone and she knew I had more walnuts. So there we were, she was working the bone with an eye on me and the walnut and I was standing motionless studying her chewing on a chicken thigh.  

Connecting to a Squirrel

Squirrels are like that. They size you up for the potential of being a provider of food. If you meet the requirements, motionless with something in your hand, they will hold your gaze, partly anticipating danger and partly as boldness to hold space for their hunger. I decided to watch her transform the thigh bone into food.

What Happened Next?

I used my body to block her from others’ view so they would not break the spell. She chewed and chewed on the bone until it began to dissolve. Soon, the squirrel cast off small flakes of bone —first from the center, where I could see some dried-out marrow, and then from the ends.

I wondered how this chicken thigh bone had gotten into her hands. Perhaps, there was a chicken that laid an egg, and that egg became a chicken grew up somewhere eating chicken food.  

Eventually, a factory process transformed the chicken into an edible product that someone cooked at a fast food store. Someone bought the chicken and ate lunch on the grass. Then, the bone was left behind and found its way into that lucky squirrel’s mouth.

What a journey! By this time, all the squirrel had left was the bone’s knuckle, which she was making smaller and smaller. She was a recycling machine.

I was reminded of  having fried chicken with the leader of a national union. We were organizing the largest anti-Apartheid demonstration ever in New York City.  We stopped to eat our fried chicken. I noticed the difference between how I ate my piece of  chicken and how he did. For him there was nothing left on the bones.  I had selectively only eaten the meat and left everything else. I mentioned that we had a different way of eating a piece of chicken.  He explained he grew up in a low-income family and he never left anything behind.  He still loved to eat this way. I always had the luxury to be fussy about food and still only eat the parts that that I like.  

Grounded Presence

When the squirrel finished demolishing her bone, she walked over to the walnut and ate that, too! I gave her a few more pieces of walnut and went back home. Watching a squirrel consume a chicken bone stimulated many thoughts about life.

Stop, connect to a squirrel, a bird, a flower, a tree and  wait, notice one’s environment and wait some more. 

Take a look at Kevin McEvenue’s Me and Planet Earth

Mr. Deer and Me

Mr Deer

I offer a moment-to-moment description of a grounded presence experience that I had with a deer as we both walked through the woods. This example highlights an important Wholebody Focusing practice–holding a “we” space for partners.  It also shows how we can have a “we” space with any other sentient being and how both of us are impacted by the relational space they create together.

There he was, Mr. Deer, quietly but unexpectedly just over there. In fact, he was just beyond the clearing of the forest as I began my own walk. I was taking a break from a training that wasn’t going well for me. I wanted to enjoy a walk in the forest to find a grounded sense of myself again.

That is when it happened, that encounter with Mr. Deer. It seemed to startle both of us so unexpectedly. It was a surprise, yes, and startling? Maybe for a split second we both knew that something felt different here and so we seemed to pause and take in the moment with curiosity. It was that pause that seemed to change everything because we both took some space to take in what might be happening that felt so different from what we were used to. What was that? What made us stop and take a moment to become aware of the something that felt new here?

I can’t speak for Mr. Deer. He has his own sense of what was happening in him. For me, as a reflective human creature that I am, I realized I was in a good place. Usually I walk through a forest without really taking much in. But this time I felt differently. I was enjoying this moment of peace and enjoying myself in this wooded environment.

Continue reading “Mr. Deer and Me”

Oceans of Benevolence

Mr Deer

 

…You offer me Space for that encounter a couple years ago with the two does. As I have your words here it comes back so palpably, so viscerally that moment of going out the front door and finding the deer just across and up on the high side of the driveway.

We all stopped.

And from somewhere there was a becoming more as I somehow knew or it came to just meet them wordlessly yes but also deeply from my heart as though it were a sending and receiving directly.

As I “remember” this and re-feel this I am in there again and wonder what/how this relates with your experience.

My heart comes more alive. Yes that sounds right, the activity of my heart comes more alive to itself in this stopping in this way. I see/feel/give from my heart. And the piece that comes more to know itself is the receiving part.

I have to pause here. There are oceans of Benevolence to receive that I have been letting in by the dropper full. OMG

OK This one can go on the blog.

As I reread this having typed it here, a reticent bit comes, this is wide open and something worries about its safety.

It comes to me to pause back at the words that seemed to describe or point to something – oceans of Benevolence.

Letting this In.

A word comes further as I have the whole of this experience – Reception. Something satisfying in there, to have these words come. Oceans of Benevolence. Reception.

Laura Dickinson

 

The Pine and I

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Photo Credit: Ana Simeon

Maybe it has happened to you, too, that small secret moment of intimacy with a non-human creature. It’s a powerful experience yet easily dismissed by the mind. The one I want to tell you about happened on a trail in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada in northern California. It is a rocky, spare place, steep and windswept and intensely alive. High on a ridge above a mountain lake, the trail weaves among pines and Douglas Fir growing singly or in small groups, huddled around granite boulders. On a hot late September afternoon, their combined scent rose like incense; the air was charged with it. I walked briskly, enjoying the vigorous motion and the give of the trail surface, changing from rock to needles to bare earth to patches of coarse grasses. I became keenly aware of an added dimension, the arrangement of bodies in the middle distance, so often lost in our habitual focus on panoramic views. I mean by that the sense of my body mass relative to trees and boulders, the way trees stood in twos or threes or alone; a pine and boulder together; or the way the boughs formed a screen so that only slivers of blue were visible, and then suddenly parted to allow a full view of distant peaks. My steps slowed to a walk as I absorbed this new pleasure. My hand reached to touch the furry patch of lichen on a granite boulder, the deep furrow of Douglas Fir bark. I put my arms around a Jeffrey Pine, maybe my age in pine years, glowing deep red in the late afternoon light. I laid my cheek against the bark and was enveloped in a light, sweet aroma, like vanilla, very different from the more pungent “conifer” fragrance that rose from the forest as a whole. (I read later that pines, and especially Jeffrey Pines, are unique among North American conifers in distilling this vanilla-like scent.) There we stood for a long while, the pine and I, in a timeless embrace of arms and branches, skin and bark, one breath.

In her book, “The Legacy of Luna”, activist Julia Butterfly Hill describes her relationship with the giant redwood in whose canopy she lived for more than two years in order to save it from being logged. Hill is positive that Luna knew Hill was there to save it, and gave her support in its tree-ish way. Similarly, with my arms around the pine, I felt very strongly, from the tree, a wave of –  encouragement? Support? Was the pine hugging me back? These are human terms and they don’t quite fit. I felt that the pine and the land it sprang from were holding me up, wanted me to continue my work to save the Peace Valley in my home province of British Columbia from being dammed. I was being offered a gift – an experience of joy and unity, and something more: confirmation, confidence and strength to persevere in my work. Joy and gratitude buoyed me as I walked back to the cabin.

Looking back, a year and a half later, I see how this moment marked a turn in my work on the Peace River campaign. I felt invigorated, emboldened and supported. My health and energy improved and I was able to take on tasks that would have daunted me before. At the same time, I remained very much aware that the ultimate outcome is beyond my control. I was not “saving” the Peace – not by myself, not even all of us together. We cannot save anyone or anything. The Peace river has its own path. That path, like the path of other beings, may include wounding and suffering. All any of us can do is allow the land to become alive in us, and then act from that place.

In a culture less rigidly dualistic than the one that dominates our time, I believe experiences like this would be accepted by the society at large as valid and true. I feel gratitude that moments like these are still able to shine through the cultural conditioning that has been instilled in western peoples over generations, dividing nature from spirit and denying spirit to other creatures. What an impoverishment! Experiences like these bring incredible abundance and depth to our lives. They are our true birthright.

@Ana Simeon

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