How Shall We Interpret This?
January 8, 2023
I’m just going to warn you upfront, this post will have way too many photos and probably won’t all show up in your email (you may have to click through to see them all) but I couldn't help myself! It’s also not the most…er…peaceful post I’ve ever sent. If you are hoping for peace, light, and unicorns, perhaps wait until next week?
Last year started with a river of feathers. It felt soft, warm, loving, welcoming and full of promise. This year started with…well…see for yourself…
It was a frigid morning with temperatures down near 0 Fahrenheit and the lake was completely frozen. In the marina, they run bubblers which keep the area right around the docks unfrozen. This area is popular with the birds as one of the few fishing spots available on these cold winter days. I watched the sunrise and then turned around to see two great blue herons.
Heron #1 was standing near the main dock where the boats are anchored. Heron #2 was standing near the smaller dock, the one that holds the gas pumps (and where I had been sitting to watch the sunrise). Both herons assumed the posture I call “asserting dominance”, with their wings held slightly out from their body and bills pointed up to the sky. They moved slowly, like a tai chi dance, both herons pretending not to look at each other. They moved towards each other, then away, then with nonchalance as if they had all the time in the world and nothing was more important than this little dance. Sun salutation, heron style.
Heron #1 was right at the waters edge and slipped on the ice a few times, disturbing his show of control. I thought he was going to fall in the the water but he righted himself. Wings are useful! “Nothing to see here, just a little ice skating - I meant to do that, yeah, yeah, I meant to do that!”
Finally heron #1 jumped up and positioned himself on a boat - definitely taking the high ground.
Heron #2 had been walking away but he slowly turned and without ever looking at heron #1 began ambling in the general direction of the boats. This slow, almost meditative walk they do is so dance-like it makes me wonder what a Qi Gong practitioner would think? Are they building their inner power?
Then it happened. Heron #1 jumped towards heron #2. Heron #2 jumped as well and then an actual feathers flying, bodies intertwined WWF-esque fight ensued. Even looking at the photos I can’t always tell which head belongs to which heron.
Finally, one of them had had enough. I don’t even know which one, but I think it was heron #2.
The victor hopped back on up on the boat and assumed the watch, ensuring his rival would not return. He didn’t take advantage of the fishing available, he just made sure everyone knew this was his little pond.
I had watched the pre-fight dance for about 15 minutes. The actually fight only lasted 1 minute according to the time stamps on my photos.
I have witnessed this dance twice before. The first time was in August 2013, at sunrise, on Whidbey Island, Washington where the two herons appeared to dance a waltz in perfect symmetry and at the end they went back to fishing as if nothing had occurred. The second time was the fall of 2014, at this lake, when three herons engaged in the dance portion of the theatrics for several minutes before one flew away. I have seen herons posture, lunge and squawk at each other plenty of times. Until this day, I had never seen an actual all-out fight. Let alone, right in front of me.
I walked down around the corner onto the main dock where the boats were anchored and where the victorious heron now sat, perched on the end of a pontoon boat. I walked out between the first two boats to see if I could get a nicer photo of our champion. I guess he was still in a territorial mood, because he stood up, jumped in my direction, landed in the water, then jumped up on the boat in front of me.
He shook himself off, getting rid of the water and perhaps expelling the aggressive energy from his body. Then he sat there, letting me know perhaps it would be wise to move in another direction.
I moved away, back to the center of the long dock. I was looking at the photos on my camera - still surprised at what I had just seen - to see if either of the birds was the old heron who is a regular at this dock. The heron the locals call “Rick James”1, who is smart enough to let the fishermen share their spoils with him, identifiable because he is missing a few toes. Both of the birds in the fight had all their toes. Now, as I looked to the far end of the main dock, a third heron was standing there as quiet and calm as could be. Sure enough, it was “Rick James”.
I’m still trying to imagine what this energy implies for what I need to embody this year. Lots of thoughts are swirling in my head. It surely feels a lot like the energies of anxiety and fear I struggle with, so how does this fit with my desire for more peace? How does it fit with the other things I want to cultivate in 2023 - fluidity, playfulness, kindness and resiliency? I’m eager - and afraid - to find out. As usual, the only way to find out is to live into it each day.
What kind of energies are you walking into as we start this new year?
The old heron is nicknamed “Rick James” after the legendary singer. I didn’t know much about Rick James the singer, but on googling him it seems he knows a thing or two about fights and chaotic energies.
It seems as though Rick James has been through several dust-ups of his own, with the loss of digits to prove it. His wisdom stance seems to be, "Pick your battles, boys, pick your battles." Some things are worth fighting for and suffering the consequences. But ego preservation isn't one of them. And in the end, who's getting the free fish? RJ! :-)
Wow--you say this isn't a piece about peace. But sometimes, to feel "peace" we might need to feel the edge of the alternative! Presence and absence.
So glad you shared this. And love the third piece, about Rick James :)