Chicana Dreamer

I went for a walk along the water near sundown as is customary for me. I was feeling discouraged with the Dream Circle; I’d gotten a cancellation from a new student, and so far, I wasn’t sure it was going to fly this session–one of my students moved away, another is out of town due to her mother’s death . . .

The water was agitated with white caps and short choppy waves beating against the rocks, but there was a calm with light still reflecting the blue sky into the bay. At the tip of the peninsula in Tiburon, California, there’s a rock a short distance from shore around which a platform was built and a foot bridge connects it to land; this is Elephant Rock. I like to go there to let the wind clean my aura, and get a new perspective on things. Sky, and the setting sun behind Mt. Tamalpais create a stunning serene atmosphere at that time of day. As I approached the bridge, I was puzzled by a persistent worried sound of a bird, and thought perhaps a baby was waiting for its mother to return to the nest with food. When I got to the platform, I looked for the source of concern. My own desperation and helplessness mounted as I saw the waves toss about a poor little creature furiously. I’m not sure what type of bird it was, but it could have been a black heron, birds I’ve seen in the area. He was out of his element under the deck of a three-story house that extended over the water, definitely not accessible if there could be any help. Twice he tried to lift himself out, but he kept falling back. As I darted my eyes around looking for a solution, the thought came to mind: Give it Reiki. I began with the first symbol. My efforts seemed so futile standing on that platform. So, I said to it, “Come on. Fly, you can do it.” To my amazement, he began to rise out of the water, wobbly, looking surprised himself. With mouth agape, I observed as his feeble attempts to rise seemed about to fail, and gradually, he got the wind under his wings. He began to rise. He flew toward me, tenuously rising higher, wavering, still squawking with alarm. He turned his direction and flew above the house, and out of sight. Soon his peep faded, and he was gone.

I stood there for several minutes unable to take in what I had just witnessed. A part of me wanted to deny this little wonder of nature had just happened, but the memory of my emotional response to the heron’s cry for help was testament in itself to me that something extraordinary had indeed just occurred. I looked in the direction of the setting sun, the blue was darker and deeper, the evening stars were slowly appearing, and the quiet of the area was marked by the absence of the sound of a black heron in distress.