At some point in my spiritual journey, I came to realize that Goose had a special significance to my life.
Tradition has it that Goose
is a spirit connected to family, ancestors and home. As I look back at my life’s journey, I
see Goose as a prominent presence, certainly from the time I was ten years old
and I began to fully recognize my love for and connection to birds. As a youngster in the Midwest, the great vees
of migrating geese winging high overhead, calling so loudly that their voices
would reach me far below, always stirred in me something wild and free—yet connected,
somehow, to All There Is.
When I was in junior high, my family “discovered” Horicon Marsh—a wildlife reserve a couple hours’ drive from our home. There we experienced for the first time the wild melee of thousands of migrating Canada geese, hundreds-strong flocks rising, landing, circling calling… We would pile in the car, and go to this place, and all of the contractions and explosions of a young family coming of age in turbulent times would calm. It was a place you went to just BE in the presence of…we called it “Nature” then, but I know now it is so much more.
When I was in junior high, my family “discovered” Horicon Marsh—a wildlife reserve a couple hours’ drive from our home. There we experienced for the first time the wild melee of thousands of migrating Canada geese, hundreds-strong flocks rising, landing, circling calling… We would pile in the car, and go to this place, and all of the contractions and explosions of a young family coming of age in turbulent times would calm. It was a place you went to just BE in the presence of…we called it “Nature” then, but I know now it is so much more.
Family. Ours was complicated from the start…but whose
isn’t? We didn’t grow up “knowing” our
paternal grandparents, partly because they were 2000 miles away, and partly
because we had been brought up with a misty, non-specific knowledge that my
mother had some issue with her in-laws, or they with her…or both. Even so, in my eleventh year, my family made
the trek from suburban Chicago to Grants Pass, Oregon, where Dad’s parents
lived. Turns out my Grandfather was a
wonderful, gentle man, whom we could tell instantly had been saddened by the
fact of the extreme distance between him and his son’s family. He set out, in his quiet way, to let us know
this (without overtly trampling upon the prejudices of the Matriarch, to whom
he was selflessly devoted.)
By and by I came to
understand that my love of the outdoors was passed down to me through this
man. I was enchanted by the birds he drew to his
one-acre semi-rural property, and fascinated by his National Geographic “Song
and Garden Birds” book and its accompanying album of bird song. We left Oregon with that book, lovingly
inscribed “to the junior B’s” tucked carefully among our photos and souvenirs
of our trip.
Four years later, my
widowed Grandfather made the long cold trip to Illinois in November to spend
Thanksgiving with the family (and his first great-grandchild, who had been born
the previous spring.) We took him to
Horicon Marsh, where it was obvious that he, too, was awed—expanded and humbled
at the same time—by the pure enveloping cacophony of it all.
A decade would pass before I would be pierced by
the first message I remember receiving straight from the Almighty to me
personally. I was driving home from
work, and a vee of geese flew low overhead, silhouetted against the sunset. And a voice in my head said, “This is what
you are here for.” At the time, I was a
born-again fundamentalist Christian, so I didn’t fully understand the
message. Or I understood it to mean
something else, something in line with the spirituality of that time in my
life. But now, I know it was so much
more.
Some people go to a church to
find peace and connection to the Spirit.
Some people go to the tops of mountains, some make pilgrimages to sites
of religious significance.
When I want to feel the
presence of the Almighty, the pure frenzied joy and chaotic connectedness, this is
where I go:
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