Birds of a Feather ... Float through Life Together

Taxes.... Does that adequately explain my writing silence for the past 10 days?

Yesterday I guided Ander and Lucy to the pond gathering liquid on the south side of our house. A backhoe scooped fresh earth and buried rock out of this ravine last fall. We hoped that spring thaw would create a natural pool cum swimming hole for our goldfish and geese. Perhaps someday a geothermal heat source could be harvested from these humble beginnings.

During the six years that we’ve lived here, our geese—water birds that they are—have survived in the woods with a small rubber bucket that holds two, maybe three gallons of water from which they drink and bathe themselves. In the hottest, most desperate days of summer Frances fills a small children’s swimming pool with water and one goose at a time floats serenely in its coolness.

But yesterday Lucy, then Ander, walked down the slight snow covered mud bank and glided into this small natural pool. Immediately the two began their water dance: dive, surface, turn, flap, and float. In the 14 years I’ve known these blue-eyed birds I have never seen them so intent on submerging their entire beings in watery wetness: unabashed splashing; long, silent dives beneath the water’s surface; then placid floating.

After I re-entered the house I peeked out to observe their lively bathing. In time Lucy hauled herself out of the water and onto the snowy edge where she spread her wings and groomed her back with fresh-washed beak. Soon Ander joined her. He, too, began to groom, wings rising up and down, beak traveling along feathers that carried a winter’s worth of accumulated grime. In short order both geese were back in the pond, floating and basking in chill spring waters.

When we lived in the Twin Cities, on several hot summer days Frances and I loaded Ander and Lucy into the cab of our old red Dodge pickup. We drove to a small nearby lake where we unloaded geese and inflatable kayaks. Soon we formed an unlikely chain of water traffic: Frances in her inflatable boat, then Steph, followed closely by Ander, then Lucy.

We paddled into water lilies and stopped while the geese explored the water and weeds around us. Slowly the four of us paddled back to shore where we reloaded boats and geese for our return. In those days the geese seemed nervous about their truck ride and, suspicious of our destination, stayed within arms’ reach. Though they enjoyed their water outing they seemed relieved to return home to their swampy suburban wetland.

But yesterday was a special treat for us all. What a wonderful, wet, fleeting-flapping-floating celebration of life!

Spring is a long time coming ...

These days, everywhere I go, everyone I talk to sings the same refrain: "Oh, I can't wait for spring! This winter ... I'm so over it!" I feel that way, too, and I was gone to Central America for seven weeks this winter.

On Monday Frances, Namaste, and I drove down to the Twin Cities to visit with my sister, Mel. She flew to Minnesota to meet staff and conduct business for her new job in Baltimore, MD. We spent just a few hours visiting over several evenings but it was a golden opportunity. Even though she and I talk by phone most weekends, two years is a long time to not have face-to-face time with one of your best friends.

During our stay "down south" another winter storm flashed through the area leaving snow and subzero temps in its wake. On Thursday we left Minneapolis at 4:00am. Departing temps in Minneapolis were -3 but as we traveled further north they dropped to -9, -14, -18, and finally bottomed out at -24. The inch or two of new snow lining the streets of Minneapolis shrank in comparison to the eight plus that lay in our woodsy backyard.

Everyone's ready for spring. Our geese were more than happy to stay in their heat-lamp-heated barn during this most recent cold spell. Frances wondered aloud about our neighborhood wild turkey. "Can he dig into the snow?" she asked, "How does he keep warm when these temps are so cold?"

At the end of our road trip we discovered "our" turkey sitting in a tree next to the road about a half-mile from our house. "Oh, that's what he does," Frances commented when she spotted him. She'd imagined that he'd find someplace warmer than his traditional roosting spot.

Today the sky is blue beautiful. The sun glances off heaps of white that stretch off into the woods. In recent weeks squirrels race around our house tempting Namaste into hide and chase games. And, no, Namaste never wins.

Spring signals her return in longer days of sunshine and increasing animal activity. Next weekend it will be official ... Spring Equinox. Soon black bear will emerge from hibernation and knock down bird feeders. Then migrating birds will chirp familiar songs as they flash brilliant colors from tree branches. And, finally, finally, the snow and ice will begin to thaw.

Our first spring in Bayfield--2003--my brother and his girlfriend visited. On one of our outings we rode the Madeline Island ferry. Huge chunks of ice bobbed around the ferry, bumping up against its sides as we made our 20 minute journey across the bay. It was Memorial Day Weekend, the last weekend in May. What, I wonder, will this year bring?

Where Attention/Intention Goes, Energy Flows

My intention for our trip to Mexico and Central America was put in place before we caught our plane from the Twin Cities. Its elements were simple: Keep yourself open to the people and situations you encounter. Treat everyone you meet with warmth and generosity.

Once I set this intention, of course, I WAS more open. This "go with the flow" attitude helped us through innumerable situations. When we missed our bus stop at Tela, Honduras and continued on to La Ceiba, we did so with relative ease. When we arrived in Placencia, Belize after dark, we found lodging quickly through the aid of a local gas station owner. When we deplaned in Guanaja, Honduras, we located our own private island with the help of Simeon, a local water taxi, despite the fact that we had no knowledge of this island and no advance reservations.

Wayne Dyer's translation of the Tao Te Ching, Verse 27, says, in part:

"A knower of the truth
travels without leaving a trace,
speaks without causing harm,
gives without keeping an account....

"Be wise and help all beings impartially,
abandoning none.
Waste no opportunities.
This is called following the light."

Dyer explains further: " ... live more spontaneously--you don't need to neatly wrap up each detail of your life. Understand this and you can travel without being attached to a plan that covers every possible scenario. Your inner light is more trustworthy than a guidebook, and it will point you in the direction that's most beneficial to you and everyone you encounter..... have faith in yourself to go on a trip with a minimal amount of planning. Allow yourself to trust in the energy of the Tao to guide you ..."

Of course, during our travels Frances and I relied on Lonely Planet guidebooks to provide information on local customs, transportation options, directions, and lodging recommendations. But we often made decisions based on what "felt" right to us. This allowed us to design each day centered on our energy levels, our interests, and our moods. Anxiety levels were kept to a minimum because we had no pre-set agenda to follow, no reservations to keep. That allowed us an amazing amount of freedom. And, most days we varied our route and even our tentative plan for that day based on the circumstances that presented themselves from moment to moment.

Frances often doused to determine what lodging might suit us best and we were never disappointed. On only one occasion throughout our entire seven week trip did we make lodging reservations in advance. Cerros Beach Resort was located across the bay from the town of Corozal, Belize and we phoned Jenny and Bill, the owners, to discover whether they had an opening--over Christmas Eve and Christmas--before we arranged transportation across the bay to their resort. We then discovered that Bill provided boat transport to any clients who wished it.

Our own private island in Guanaja, Honduras was another example of trusting the Universe to deliver us to the just-right location. And, after we'd spent five nights on our own private island, we discovered that the Caye where we stayed was, indeed, the Caye Frances doused out and highlighted on a map in our guidebook prior to our arrival.

This willingness to be open to the Universe was not always easy but it taught me one all-important lesson: Practice, practice, practice.

Zeke, Zeker, Zeker the Sneaker, Hiziki-san, Zukeroo, Zukermann ...

"If we are honest with ourselves, all of us will admit to yearning for a connection with animals. What we see in them is a living reminder of what we have lost--a certain innocence of spirit, freedom of action, and an ability to love unconditionally.

"We want to be part of this world of theirs, to throb with the rhythm of life that flows within them. Deep down we sense that if we can only make a connection with another species, in some powerful, mysterious way the bond will strengthen and affirm us both."
--Allen M. Schoen, D.V.M, "Love, Miracles, and Animal Healing"

It's time for me to write about the death of my beloved cat, Hiziki. I didn't have the courage to post an entry to my blog immediately after his death though I wrote innumerable pages in my journal. I feared my overwhelming grief might transmit itself through the keyboard and into the vastness of cyberspace; it was too intimate to share with others.

Yet, in several days it will be six months since Zeke died. It is time to account for his passing. Perhaps it's even time to remove his name from the introduction to this blog, though I'm not sure that I'm ready.

Zeker the Sneaker was my friend and companion--my family--for almost 19 years. In the early years of our relationship he positioned himself on my keyboard in a never-ending effort to claim my attention while I tried to write. Years later he merely climbed atop my desk and sat quietly observing me from behind my computer screen.

Zukeroo offered companionship during months of lonliness when I lived by myself in a South Minneapolis apartment. He comforted me during times of grief and loss following the death of both of my parents and both of Frances' parents too. He often positioned himself at my feet during my t'ai chi ch'uan and t'ai chi chih practices stealing some of the chi energy for himself. And he continually inspired me with his skillful hunting, his wild nature, his deep loyalty.

Though his contributions were subtle, Hiziki-san was one of the founding members of Same Spirit. When bodywork clients arrived--rushed, stressed out, ill at ease--they often found him lying belly-up on the living room floor, centered in a sunbeam. He modeled ultimate relaxation and peaceful contemplation for all of us, clients AND practitioners.

Mr. Zukermann died on September 10, 2008. The day before, Frances and I made lunch for three clients visiting from the Twin Cities. Midway through our meal I heard a rustle and saw Zeker the Sneaker emerge from the innards of a woven basket resting in the corner of our dining room. The basket was our recycling bin for paper products. Zeker, paper lover that he was, had evidentally recruited it for his own private escape. How he fit inside I'll never know. He squeezed himself between handle and narrow edge to drop into a tight ball of fur; unexpected and, therefore, undisturbed.

Later that afternoon Zeke began to howl inconsolably. Eventually he found a hiding spot in the basement. That night, I carried a quiet, desperately ill Zeke from the basement to the upstairs bedroom floor. I placed an air mattress beside him and slept next to him all night, waking often to place my hands on his body or near him, sending him reiki energy, hoping to comfort him and ease his pain.

The next morning I called the vet. The time had come to say goodbye. Before leaving home, I carried Zeke out onto the deck and we sat, as we'd often done together, immersing ourselves in nature. Though he'd spent the previous afternoon and evening in misery, his breathing shallow, his body cold and unmoving, he soon lifted his nose into the air, nostrils expanding to draw in the smells around us. Without hesitation he dropped from my lap to the deck and walked toward the stairs. His gait was weak and wobbly, stumbling. Then he sank to the deck to rest.

Eventually he descended the stairs and ventured onto the narrow path that led through tall grasses and weeds to the bird feeders. I followed him and found him lying on the rich, dark earth under the tall sweep of vegetation. Bird song and conversation rode the airwaves above his head. Oh, this was indeed Zeke's little bit of heaven! When we returned from the veterinary hospital several hours later, we dug a hole and placed Zeke's body into this, his final resting spot.

After Zeke's death I searched for words of consolation. I felt so lost and alone. Soon I found myself between the pages of "Earth Prayers" in the chapter, Benediction for the Animals. Here I read and was comforted by these words of James Koller:

My paw is holy
herbs are everywhere
my paw
herbs are everywhere

My paw is holy
everything is holy
my paw
everything is holy.

Inquiring Minds Want to Know ...

How did we dare undertake a journey to Mexico and Central America by ourselves? Lest anyone think otherwise let me make it abundantly clear: We felt the fear and did it anyway. Luckily, Frances and I have different fear tolerances. So, when Frances felt fearful I usually felt OK, and vice versa. Consequently, we were never totally stopped--only slowed down and sometimes slightly detoured--by our trepidations.

One of the most difficult times during our trip was when we first arrived in Cancun. It was Frances' first time on her own in a Spanish-speaking country. My Spanish--last spoken in college and a brief foray to Cancun--was 30+ years old. Everything was unknown; we were total neophytes. Thus, we were suckers for the man who told us his sad tale about being mugged. As the story went ... He stopped to give money to a beggar and another man came up behind him and held a knife to his throat. He'd lost everything, he told us, including his shoes. He needed to pay his hostel for another night's lodging in order to receive a call from his parents who were arriving the next day. With no money or ID, he was homeless and helpless.

Later, of course, we heard from others that this was a common fiction created by young Americans not ready to return to the United States. At the time we heard this story, we sat on the steps outside a grocery store in Cancun. I was in an insulin reaction and we were both eating to raise blood sugars so that we could continue our adventures. Giving Mike money seemed like the easiest way to cope with the situation.

Border crossings were another fear-inducing time. When we reached a border, we never knew what hoops we might have to jump through, what fees we might have to pay, how long the crossing might take.

Public transportation was another unknown. Just how well-maintained were those water taxis we took? Our first high-speed water taxi from Corozal to San Pedro, Belize had engine trouble midway through our trip; our speed declined considerably as we motored slowly toward our destination.

Bus drivers, too, drove like race car drivers. We survived best when thoroughly engaged in the scenery so that we could ignore the honking horns, the dangerous passing, and the rapid stops. Flash, our pickup truck taxi driver from Puerto Cortes, Honduras to Guatemala, had a leak in his gas tank. The gas station attendant had to rock the truck from side to side to allow gas to flow through the neck of the tank. Heck, Flash wasn't totally honest with us from the beginning. We were 15 miles down the road before he told us that we were crossing the border into Guatemala to find another water taxi.

In Honduras and Guatemala we were often surrounded by men holding rifles. They stood outside our hotels, outside banks, and along city streets. That took some getting used to as did the razor wire, barbed wire, iron gates, and iron bars skirting fascades, windows, and doors of various hotels along our route.

Later, we found ourselves taking risks that others may not have taken. Still, we could usually sense when a situation or person felt reasonably safe. Often seemingly risky situations were no more than one person's creative way to make money. And I have to say that people were very creative. Rather than become annoyed or disturbed by this I was impressed with people's cleverness.

Of course, some money-making strategies involved telling lies or half-truths or misleading a potential client in order to get a desired outcome. The taxi drivers at the Cancun airport were one example. When they mobbed us at the exit and we told them that we were waiting for a city bus, they responded, "Oh, you just missed a bus. There won't be another for an hour ... oh, no, two hours." We persisted and stepped onto a city bus a mere 20 minutes later.

When traveling, you realize how much your safety and success depend upon the assistance of others. And, of course, traveling--like anything else--takes practice. I'm more knowledgeable than I was at the beginning of our trip. I'm not sure whether that means I'll be any less fearful the next time around, but I'm willing to try ...