Magic and Mystery
"It is the secret of the world that all things subsist
and do not die, but retire a little from sight and afterwards return again."— Ralph Waldo Emerson
I would like to share a mysterious and magical story from our recent Exploring Death to Liberate Life retreat…
On our drive up to Drala Mountain Center, located in Colorado at 8,000 ft, Margie and I experienced some potent encounters with life and death. The weather was, in typical Colorado fashion, wild. The sky held every weather pattern simultaneously—it was a full-spectrum display, from black to sunlit blue. The winds were howling, along with periodic rain, snow, and hailstorms.
Midway up, we encountered a devastating accident that had just happened. People were attempting to remove bodies from an overturned SUV. We both recognized that stopping would not help the situation, as there were already cars and emergency vehicles on the scene. I said a silent prayer for those experiencing this tragedy.
As we got closer to the center, the wind knocked a Peregrine Falcon onto our windshield, and we both knew instantly it was dead. My friend and co-facilitator Margie, who is quite experienced with tending to fallen birds of prey, immediately turned the car around in the hopes that we could care for its body before it was run over.
I got out of the car to pick up the bird, as Margie was unable to get out due to the fierce winds and oncoming traffic. Somewhat in a daze, I placed the bird in a sweatshirt we had in the car.
I have always loved raptor birds. To me, they seem not fully of this world, but ancient creatures very close to the Spirit realm. Holding this newly dead wild bird in my hands, many thoughts and feelings passed through me.
Falcons—particularly Peregrine Falcons—are considered the fastest animals on earth, with flying speeds of over 200 mph. Although it was clearly dead, I could still feel its aliveness, its presence and power, as I stroked its incredibly soft feathers. I even had the fleeting, fantastical thought that it could come back to life—that I could bring it back to life.
After checking into our rooms at the center, I placed him by my bedside table. We both felt very protective of him and knew he was somehow an integral part of our weekend journey of exploring the great mystery of death.
As I fell asleep that night, I could feel the potency of his presence. I woke up in the middle of the night as if in another world, wondering why this creature had come to us in such a shocking way.
After sharing the story with the group, he (although I'm not sure it was a he) became an integral part of our retreat. We placed his still very intact body on the altar, where we all deeply felt his presence. It seemed he had shown up for each of us in a particular way.
One woman, with tears streaming, shared that her 10-year-old daughter told her she wanted to be a Peregrine Falcon. Margie has a beautiful Peregrine Falcon photograph at the entrance of her home, and I had used a homeopathic Peregrine Falcon remedy as part of my own healing journey.
“What did this mean?” I asked myself, my mind trying to make sense of this tragic encounter.
Perhaps he came to give us all a visceral reminder of the immediacy and the often unexpected nature of death. I was deeply struck by the potent aliveness I felt in him—even in death. His presence seemed to express how life and death are deeply intertwined, and how our energy lives on in mysterious ways.
Mostly, he was a clear reminder that this life we live is precious because it is impermanent. This doesn’t make it sad—it makes it sacred.
We kept him with us for a day and a night, each of us stroking his feathers. As a nurse, Margie reminded us that there was nothing to fear in holding a dead, but healthy wild creature. And as a ceremonialist, she led a ritual of blessing and release—clipping his wings and tail feathers and recycling his body by placing it in a bush as food for the natural world.
Nature is an ever-present teacher of the birth, death, and rebirth cycle of life. Its wildness continually reminds us to stay awake.
Or in poet Mary Oliver’s words:
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
