Tuesday, January 19, 2010
More Woodpecker Medicine.
Another very windy night, and tree boughs and limbs lay scattered inside the deer fence.
Gathering an armload, I made for the gate, out into the forest, to scatter the boughs on my debris-fence.
As I reached for the loosely draped chain that holds the gate closed, I realized the same woodpecker was clinging to the gatepost, right where the chain was.
I decided I would have to put down the armful of boughs, in order to move the woodpecker, that was clearly not going to move by itself.
I did this, walked up to the little bird, and spoke to it for a moment, before reaching out and lifting it gently from the post.
It did not move, nor resist.
Its little clawed feet came away from the rough cedar post without a struggle.
Nestling perfectly in the palm of my hand, the bird seemed almost unaware of what was happening to it:
This unlikely event caused no visible reaction at all.
I placed the bird on the horizontal fence brace and went about my debris cleanup.
It watched me each time I passed through the gate, bearing more boughs, before scrambling up a Balsam, and pecking away at the bark.
What is going on here?
How can a monstrous human walk right up to a woodpecker and pick it up?
How can this be?
I see it like this:
Creatures react to being observed.
Non-predators notice without observing.
Gazelle may wander a few feet from sated lions, without concern.
They know the lions are not hungry.
Having learned how to be without allowing my eyesight to remove me from the event,
the woodpecker no longer knew where it ended and I began.
I became the woodpecker, and the woodpecker continued doing what it had always done:
being a part of everything around it, including me.