THE GREAT BLUE HERON

The great blue heron stands, stiller than a tree, at his post at the edge of the pond surrounded by ice and snow. The crest along his back is lifting and fluttering in the gale, the rest of him unmoving. I think of this as the embodiment of Heaven Unwearied as described in the I Ching, a piece of the heavens showing us what patience is.

Like a grounding wire, he holds the far end of an electrical current that is arcing from this half-frozen lake to its sister waters in West Africa. We do not know what he knows of such a thing as West Africa. He may or may not understand that there are featherless ones who have divided…everything.

He knows without knowing that he was made for standing at this place in this way, every cell recognizing his point in the circle. Others like him may feel the circle coming and know what to do. The circles shoot up off the earth like sparks that soar and momentarily linger before beginning their graceful arc downward, falling, falling, meeting earth again to continue the other half of the circle underground and back to its point of origin uninterrupted, until the points of beginning and completion are indistinguishable.

The old man by the embers sits on cooling sands as night completes itself, the heron on one leg in a far blizzard, one foot in his belly feathers, the other in icy reeds. Just as the heron’s foot can sense distant warmth, the man by the fire feels a hint of far away ice in the night air and knows that the circle is complete. He gives it a tug to be sure and it holds, flowing steady.

After the spark and the circle there is the tracery of sound. The old man opens his throat and releases the song that will travel the arc. The heron cocks a tiny ear into the wind so the song can find him then travel back down to where all things that grow have their beginning. These are the threads of music and light, circles that hold the world together and make the earth look like a tiny glowing ball of string to passersby in space.

When the song is complete, the old man sits for a long while. It is good to feel the cold wind at his neck. At his age, how many more circles will there be? Some of the people are already traveling. The Spirits are already there. He must ask permission of the wind to send for the featherless ones – those that stare at herons and wonder at their stillness, staring until they can see.