Because I care. And more people should.
AT THE MIDDLE PASSAGE
By Walter Mills
The Visit of the Great Blue Heron
In the early morning as my wife and I walked along Sinking Creek there was a loud flapping of wings over the water. Between the trees and bushes I could see a large bird rising.
“That must be the Great Blue Heron,” my wife said as the bird flapped its wings a single time and skimmed over the creek and out of sight. She had seen it once on a previous walk in about the same place and then
several of the kids had seen it on Sunday morning down by the church as they played by the creek after the service.
It is a creature that seems to belong on wide expanses of water, on lakes or large rivers and not on our little creek. It is almost as if a member of royalty has dropped by your house unannounced and is sitting in the second best parlor casting a cold eye on your everyday furnishings. This is too majestic a bird for our modest creek, and must have lost its way. At least that is why I assume the heron is here. There could be some less obvious explanation.
In a time that still remains in our distant memory, all types of birds and animals had mystical meanings that have disappeared from our mechanistic world. When I saw the bird floating over the creek I immediately thought of the old Arthurian legend of the Fisher King that was written down around 900 years ago. After the fall of Camelot the knights are sent off on quests to find the Holy Grail, the cup which Jesus Christ drank from at the Last Supper and which was said to have caught the last drops of His blood. The Grail is guarded by the Fisher King who lives in a castle that appears and disappears. The purpose of the knights’ quest is to find the Holy Grail and return the blighted land to life.
It is the castle, appearing and disappearing, that interests me most. The castle is a portal between the normal world and Avalon as the early Celts called their otherworld. Avalon is a spiritual realm, which will flow back into the wasteland and revive it.
It is easy to see the spiritual blight in others and in our society, but it is hard to see it within ourselves. When we are children the world seems filled with spirit, with freshness. The natural world is new, birds and animals sometimes speak, toys come alive. As we grow up we have to learn to discount our imaginations and live in the mundane world where nothing speaks to us and a bird is nothing but a bird.
When I was a college student living in a dorm on a campus set in a south Florida tomato field, I walked out one evening when the grounds were empty and the sky was clear and star filled. I had never used any
psychedelic drugs, but as I stood next to a tree I began to see a swirling of colors and a roaring noise filled my ears. It was like a whirlwind without the wind, and for a few moments I could see the
interior of the tree and the earth, catch glimpses of meaning. The stars seemed nearby, part of a larger pattern I could almost grasp. Far from feeling disoriented, I felt comforted by a sense of belonging, connected
to the physical world by spiritual ties.
From time to time since then I have felt echoes of that experience, but slowly the connections have frayed and the world has become more alien, flatter, less resonant. Everyday activities crowd in to close the
connection to the world that mystics like William Blake and Jakob Boehme have told us about and that the Romantic poets longed for. “There hath passed away a glory from the earth,” Wordsworth wrote. “The things that I have seen I now can see no more.”
And then the Fisher King flies out of the spirit world in the form of a Great Blue Heron and swoops past me as we walk along Sinking Creek. Somewhere a portal to the spirit world has opened, but soon it will
close again.
Read more of Walt's writing at his blog:
http://americanimpressionist.wordpress.com/
(The above column originally appeared in the Centre Daily Times and is
copyright © 2011 by Walter Mills. All rights reserved worldwide. To
contact Walt, address your emails to awmills@verizon.net ).