Animals of night

I have to get away; I need to make sense of this. My mind needs quiet. My lungs need fresh air. My soul needs to connect with something other than people and things that beep. I find myself pulling into one of my favorite places to hike. A Marsh and nature preserve outside of the moving town. I don’t remember the drive and don’t think twice about it. I put the vehicle into park, warm my hands on the vents one last time, take a few deep intentional breaths and open the door. Almost symbolic of the storm inside my mind, the cold winter wind hits my face along with pelts of snow. The snow hits, sticks, then slides off my face before it has a chance to melt from my body temperature completely. My whole body shudders. I throw my coat on as I trek away from the Jeep, hat, and gloves to follow. Even in the winter storm, the trail is easy to spot. Smooth Snow illuminates the worn path. I move along the route, tucking my hands into the warmest spot I can find. The snow is too deep for the boots I slipped on; I feel ice against the back of my legs. I’ll walk until I can’t feel my feet; I shrug. I suddenly realized the winter storm had stopped. I stop and look around. There is no chance of complete darkness with all of this snow. The rattle of prairie grasses and expired flowers is loud as the wind blows. The soft subtle whisper from freshly fallen snow is here. I stand still with winter and listen to what it is saying. I close my eyes, and flashes of the tiger come back into the front of my thoughts.

She is walking toward me; the closer she gets, the more real she becomes. The texture of her coat stands out to me. I can feel it by looking at it. The yellow-green of her eyes are the color of the wild. She circles me rubs up against my leg like a domestic house cat. She then starts walking along the path with me. I look around, and it’s night, but we are in a jungle. The wet, thick, damp air is unmistakable. I’m not at all afraid with her at my side. She lets me know she is here to guide me. I am safe. She has a message for me; I’m not sure how to hear it. Perfectly on cue, I hear the deepest, loudest roar; as I jump back, I look at her. Her vampire’s teeth bear a message of strength. Part of my lesson with her is strength.

As I walk through the jungle with this Cat, I quiet my mind. I find gratitude for how strong I feel with her as my guide in the quiet. Can I remember this and carry it over into every day? I understand why animals are assigned to characters in movies; animals are medicine and symbolic. They are a gift. I also realize I am in an exaggerated state of awareness. So awareness is part two of my lesson with her. It hits me “awaken to your power,” a voice so clear and loud resonates throughout the jungle in my head. We arrive at a small lake; I follow her into the water. I submerge, and I’m back, back in the winter night’s air.

What is happening, I ask myself. I wonder if I’m going crazy but quickly recoil from that possibility. It feels right what’s happening. I decide not to be afraid of what has been happening to me. I choose to settle into my experiences with animals. Or spirits of animals. Essence? Maybe if I use the word essence, it will sound saner. I realize I’m very far into this hike; the back of my legs are numb from where the ice and snow have collected in my boots. I turn around to head for my Jeep. I appreciate the winter night sky, a contrast of light peeking through shadow clouds. There is more color to the night sky than any summer night. It’s beautiful.

By the time I arrive home, the shivering has stopped. I don’t feel warm, however. Then I remember I started a fire before I left. I go inside to find warmth from the fire; embers are all that remain. I stack the wood and enjoy the decent amount of heat the embers are putting off. My body feels light, but my mind is heavy, even more so are my eyes. Suddenly I’m too tired to make it up a flight of stairs to my bed. I lay down on the couch next to the fire.

I thrash and flinch out of sleep. What was that? I look around for what just woke me up. The room is dark, but the light from the fire dances around. Was that real? It felt so real. I replay what flashed in front of my face. Wings a large wingspan. White with dark coloring, Eagle comes to mind, but that doesn’t sit right. A bird was thrusting its wings right in front of my face. What?! Well, it got my attention in the middle of the night. Wake up pay attention is a clear and direct message. A shrill, raspy screech sounds off. That’s when the face of the bird comes back to me. It was a barn owl, no mistaking that heart-shaped face. The night eagle, as my great-grandmother used to say. Her face flashes through my mind. Her hair, what she smelled like. How her cooking tasted. She taught me many valuable lessons. Every cell is awake now. This must be important. What did she use to say about the night eagle? I sit in the dark with this bird who woke me up, nowhere to be found in the physical world. Be careful; she would say, as the owl could be a deceiver. Ok, stay alert to deception. But she also used to say that Owl medicine makes you bulletproof; nobody can fool you. Owl medicine brings truth and prophecy. Thank you, grandmother, I whisper.

The panic starts to rise in my stomach. I talk it back down. I choose to surrender. I will embrace this journey and these gifts. I will learn from the animals; I will travel with them.

Animals are a gift; they are here to teach. They all talk if you care to listen, to decipher their non linguistic messages. I carry that thought to bed with myself. Walking up the stairs, I try to remember the title of that animal medicine book my grandmother always referred to. I pull out my phone and find it on a used book site. Order placed. I crawl under the duvet, slightly anxious about what may wake me next time.