We sometimes get messages from nature – messages that require some interpretation on our part. Read Jim’s story about his nature encounters.
It’s been many years since my first encounter with a hawk. It occurred while I was sitting on top of a bunker in a firebase in Vietnam, stoned out of my gourd. The hawk, which was pure white, was hovering above a rice paddy outside the perimeter, letting the strong breeze hold him aloft like a kite. Every so often the hawk would fold its wings and drop like a stone toward the earth, only to come up empty. It could be that the hawk was young and inexperienced, and it took him a few tries until he finally caught his prey, and then casually flew off into the distance. I was mesmerized during the entire time that I watched this bird of prey, even though I had seen hawks before in the wild, back in the states. I was at the firebase for what was called a ‘stand down,’ which meant five days’ relief from humping the rice paddies and swamps of Vietnam as an infantryman. We still left the firebase at night, to set up ambushes, but it was nice to get hot meals in the mess tent during the day, and even see a movie at night. It also presented an opportunity to enjoy a brief sense of security, after experiencing all the worry stress in the field, which included firefights, booby traps, snipers and even poisonous snakes. In a state of calm, enhanced by the very potent Vietnam strain of marijuana, the hawk suddenly seemed to offer me a ‘message.’ I can’t describe the nature of this message, because of course it was not spoken, nor was it delivered in such a way that I’ve ever received a message before. Despite my inability to translate this message into words that anyone else can understand, it was very, very clear to me. The essence of the message was that I was going to be okay. The simplicity of that idea encompassed a myriad of feelings that I hadn’t experienced before. I instinctively knew that it referred to my remaining time in Vietnam, and that I would in fact return home to the states, unharmed – at least physically. Even as a new sense of calm arose in me, I understood that this ‘message’ didn’t mean that I could just sit back on my laurels and relax. I still had to do my job, and, strangely enough, I did my job with the same amount of fear and anxiety that I had experienced before whether during firefights, or while nearly stepping on a tripwire stretched across a trail, the wire connected to a grenade or other explosive device. I also continued to experience the emotional devastation of seeing people killed in action, whether it was a fellow platoon member, or an enemy combatant. I was still afraid, up until the time I left Vietnam, and the sense of relief while flying back to the states was very intense. I never mentioned the experience with the hawk to anyone, and basically just wrote it off as some weird ‘inner’ message that somehow spoke of perhaps a strange kind of telepathy that I was not normally privy to experiencing – and of course the pot. Jump forward many years, many beers, many joints and lines of cocaine, to a time when my life started to straighten out a little, and I was given the diagnosis of CLL – chronic lymphatic leukemia – as the result of having been exposed to Agent Orange in Vietnam. After the initial shock of that diagnosis, it took me awhile to adjust to the idea that this disease would probably kill me, eventually. I had since found a way of life for myself that centered around spiritual growth, and I had been practicing spiritual principles that enhanced my life in many ways. I was able to continue working for awhile, because despite the diagnosis, I never felt sick, or physically disabled, even after my first round of chemotherapy treatments. One day while sitting in my work truck eating lunch, in a rural area of farms and wooded areas, an eagle appeared right in front of me, flying in a tight circle over a small pond next to the dirt road I was parked on. Lo and behold, I was given the identical message that I was given on that bunker in Vietnam. It was very clear to me, but again unable to be translated into words. It was more a ‘feeling’ than a ‘message.’ I hadn’t really realized how very relaxed I had become with myself, after the cancer diagnosis, but the eagle sort of reinforced what I inherently knew by then – that I was going to be okay. I was reminded of my initial reaction when I was first diagnosed, which was stark fear. That fear lasted about one hour, and it gradually occurred to me that before the diagnosis, I felt fine. I didn’t know there was anything ‘wrong’ with me, so why should this new information make me feel any differently? When I talked to the first oncologist during my many treatments, he explained that ‘about’ thirty percent of the people with this stage of the disease die within six months to a year. Another thirty percent die within two years, another thirty percent within five years, and the other ten percent just get better, for reasons that we cannot understand. I never hesitated to acknowledge that I was of the ‘other’ ten percent. That was over ten years ago, and many treatments – still ongoing – and I still haven’t experienced any serious ill effects, other than some mild side effects from the chemotherapy, causing me to be very sensitive to the sun. I can’t claim to know the nature of the messenger, or the manner in which it communicates its thoughts to me. I only know that I put my trust in this life force unconditionally, and when I acknowledge that messenger’s presence, the unqualified response I am given is, “Hey, I told you I was going to take care of you.” When I’m on the river fishing, or just driving from one place to another, and I see any kind of hawk, osprey, or the occasional eagle, I’m inclined to say a silent ‘thanks’ to them, for doing such a good job of reminding me how fortunate I am to be enjoying this plane of existence. It’s important to me to acknowledge their influence in my life, and hope that they continue to carry that message back to its source on my behalf.
The hawk carried a definitive but unspoken message, and while I was in no condition to appreciate the nature of the message, way back then, I somehow ‘knew’ that the experience was important to me individually. I’ve since had similar messages from other birds of prey, and have come to regard them as distinct assurances that I’m on the right path, for me. While I basically just shrugged off the initial message while I was in Vietnam, I now try to decipher every little morsel of thought and feeling that they invoke, in my growing spiritual awareness.
How has your life been changed as a result of your ordeal?
A major change in the way my life has evolved since the hawk encounter in Vietnam is that I’ve not had any fear. The message that the hawk delivered – and continues to deliver – is that I’ve not only survived some of the worst experiences a human can have, but I’ve actually overcome the trauma of those experiences, through the help and miraculous wisdom of whatever power it is that keeps reminding me of who and what I am. I’ve already been through the worst of it, so what do I have left to fear?
What would you advise another facing similar circumstances based on what you have learned?
For anyone who has had an experience that feels strange, or ‘other-worldly,’ and who feels that the experience seems to have been directed personally to him or her, do not casually dismiss this experience. It is sent to you, and to you specifically, in an attempt of the power that guides the universe to acknowledge itself to you. This power must continually contend with the distractions in our heads that often times prevent us from acknowledging these messages. The ego tends to use these distractions as a way to avoid the inconvenience of new information trying to come into our consciousness. The new information, coming from this universal source, is ALWAYS presented to benefit our lives. I have found it a good practice to consciously listen for these new ‘messages,’ and as a result the distractions seem to become fewer. The REAL final frontier is inside your own mind.
