“The most difficult subjects can be explained to the most slow-witted man if he has not formed any idea of them already; but the simplest thing cannot be made clear to the most intelligent man if he is firmly persuaded that he knows already, without a shadow of doubt, what is laid before him.” -Tolstoy
Once in awhile, a “nature show” will go beyond the cold mechanics of survival and reproduction and take the risk of offering a nod to the personality or soul of the flora and fauna. There was one show in recent memory that stood out for me. It was Nature’s “Christmas in Yellowstone.” The high points for me were the brief accounts and their associated delightful footage of the comings and goings of a small red fox, and also those of a lost and injured otter seeking to be reunited with his loved ones. The many gracious references to the little fox’s, or the otters’, personality and awareness were highly enjoyable and pleasing. There’s a fun video clip of that fox hunting mice here.
As a kid, my imagination was perhaps more free-roaming and “creative,” shall we say, which, I think, allowed me to see something more personal and lyrical in nature shows. I especially enjoyed the Disney programs about racoons and other animals reeking havoc in someone’s house or forest cabin. I’ve always enjoyed the stories of native peoples, or so-called “folk tales,” which often seem very insightful about the reality of nature and those who dwell in it. “Natives” lived within nature every day, and this is really the only way to catch the subtleties of spirit that are present and which manifest in often little, nearly invisible ways. Of course, we still live within nature, whether we know it or not, but our culture and artifice have succeeded in creating the illusion of separation and an ability to live in ignorance of nature’s ways without dying outright. But the point is that as one becomes acquainted with these small ways of the soul manifesting in nature, they magnify, and one begins to see that they are from the real force at work in Nature and not merely a grace-note or accoutrement of the raw mechanics of survival.
There is a larger view, not a mystical view (though one may be inclined, understandably, to call it that), but a perception of Nature from a more whole perspective, with larger more generous conception and insight, that can liberate one from mere dining, dating and battling habits.
In the larger view, everything that transpires in Nature is a lesson, an instruction, and a line in a vast poem, like the Kalevala. Nature is speaking to consciousness in every act. The lion may not know or intend that he is instructing his fellow souls by hunting and by roaring, or by his remarkable grandeur, yet he is nevertheless doing so. In his old age, as his majesty wanes and his color dims, he still provides a virtual Shakespearean soliloquy or sonnet to the condition of those who live in the world. He is both an instrument of Nature’s loving instruction, even though it may seem violent from a particular point of view, and also a subject of it. He learns as he instructs because the greater part of him which lies beyond his own present awareness is in perfect harmony with the larger teaching that Nature is engaged in. Aspects of that greater self shine through his eyes and his poise. And the same is true of all the other peoples populating the globe, from fireflies, to fleas, from roses to turnips, from mice to man. For those whom he hunts, or to those who observe his excursions, there are profound teachings about mortality and transience, about the meaning of investing all in the temporary stuff of the physical body, or in the grass of the plane, while simultaneously imbuing a sense of great appreciation for the mundane, not only as a support for life, but as precious and fleeting in its beauty and hidden, mysterious source — what sustains all life, and why? Most importantly, the Lion, through his magnificent presence, speaks powerfully about the subtle yet incredibly mighty and beautiful “life force,” or soul, behind all appearances.
I’ve written here before about the wanton destruction which bears often inflict upon our orchards during the post-lughnasadh season up into October or so. I’ve expressed amazement that they would render destruction apparently without purpose, even making the very trees from which they draw nourishment incapable of providing anything in the future. Or the fact that they sometimes rip apart trees carelessly in their efforts to get to the fruits on another branch which they could have reached without such destruction. Perhaps one of the lessons here is not to go too far in the other direction and see some ideological perfection in nature. Also, bears don’t much care what anyone thinks and aren’t really afraid of much. They revel in their own physical power. Their autonomy and fearlessness are admirable, but their greed and destructiveness are offensive. I suppose you could say that bears kind of destroy any kind of black and white clear evolutionary or functional structures one might want to build around nature, and perhaps this is the real gift they offer. They are perhaps an aspect of the coyote force, or the natural powers which are the destroyers of formulaic chains one might wish to wrap around the world so that it may be made to serve one’s own individual expectations.
An earlier post on Flowerwatch Journal quoted a letter from Loren Eisley to his friend W.H. Auden. In it he reveals so much about the “hidden” spirit of nature, the “human” qualities, those qualities which we most often attribute to Man. It’s what gives not only pleasure to his account of his encounter with a fox cub, it is what gives meaning to it, and a profound and gratifying sense of reality. Please read it if you can spare a moment. In that same book, “The Star Catcher,” Mr. Eisley lovingly recounts a fascinating encounter with a crow in his own neighborhood. I heartily recommend reading that wonderful account. I also invite you to read a personal account, interspersed with quotes form other sources, of thoughts and experiences with the personality of animals, in another article on Flowerwatch.
