Wild Joy

A couple of nights ago, in the wee hours of the morning, I was gently pulled from dreams of clear night skies and a bonfire by the singing yips of a pack of coyotes very close by. As I lay in my bed in the dark and listened to the songs, I felt the wildness of the coyotes. It was a feeling deep inside my cells. Part of me was resonating with the tones of the coyotes. We were all vibrating together. It was magic. It was a rush, but the gentle kind that sweeps through you and lifts you up in a floaty way. It didn't make me want to run outside and run with the coyotes. It made me smile from the inside. It made me content. This is the kind of feeling that I revel in and try to experience in full and then tuck it into my body somewhere, not just into the recesses of my mind. This is a feeling I want to be able to call on when I need it. Sometimes when I need something from my mind, it becomes a bit too much like housework to find whatever it is I'm searching for. I'm a very physical person and I'm very aware of my physical body. While I've found it is not always easier for me to find what I tuck into my body for keepsake, the task of finding that keepsake is one that makes more sense to me. Knowing what I can't do is sometimes easier to figure out than what I can do. And knowing both is rather key to knowing myself.

The more I work with different multispecies families in finding a balance, the clearer I become on the different ways of saying what I'm doing. By bringing a human's awareness to the energetic level of connection between humans and their other animal companions, I am helping to find a balance in the web of light that joins us all together. Quantum physicists can give you a scientific perspective on just this and they call it quantum entanglement. Just by being aware of this level of connection, there is a change in the balance. The nonhuman animals know when a human opens up to something new, and everyone can find a comfortable rhythm in this new place. Everyone can feel their way into a new balance.

Yesterday afternoon Laurens, my feline pal, let me know fairly clearly that he wanted me to go on a walk with him. So out the door we trooped. It was blustery with strong west winds bringing in cold air and the sun was slanting in from the west, too. As I set off down the path, Laurens sat down. So I went back to him and squatted down to talk to him. He immediately came over to head butt and body check me, his usual forms of communication with me. He had to take his time with all the smells on the wind, all the noises created by the wind, and listening for what the wind might be covering up--namely a creature out to eat him. This is the existence of a cat. Accordingly, I strolled a few feet and then stood and took in everything, waiting for him to tell me it was okay to keep moving. In this way, we got down to the dip between the cedars and there we stopped. This time to turn around after careful investigation by Laurens. On our way back up across the field, I got a little farther ahead of Laurens. I looked back and whistled for him, one of my usual forms of communication with him, and he came thundering up the path with his long hair flying. As he flew past me and we continued up the hill, a swelling grew in my heart. It was a physical link to the feeling of love I have for this cat of mine. And by "cat of mine" I mean we are connected so strongly that we are one. As he flew by, he sent me his joy and love of life straight from his heart to mine. That is what I felt. My heart grew from his joy and love. That, too, has been tucked into my physical body for future remembering.