How strange is it that I can talk to a Jungian analyst in Zurich from a mud hut in Taos, New Mexico? By this point, not so much, actually, and sitting in my late mother-in-law’s comfy chair in the chilly end of our rented 105-year-old adobe, I dialed the long number to Switzerland the way I always do.
The framework suits me very well. Things happen inside the intuitive field of a session that aren’t likely to occur anyplace else. Today I had a list of 10 things to talk about but never got past the first.
When I got off the phone, I wanted to keep going and extend the openness. Instead of walking over to my computer and diving back into the Great Distraction the way I usually do, I poured a cup of coffee and took my notes outside. It was a cold, bright, windy day but plenty warm in the sun. When the northwest wind curled around the back of the house, it felt like someone pouring icewater on my arms and face. (I was almost too hot in the calm stretches.) After about an hour of reading and dozing on and off, I heard the thrumming wings of a hummingbird, a black-chinned or a rufous by the sound of it. Sure enough, a largish hummer flew past the patio table umbrella and then did something strange: instead of heading straight for the feeder hanging 20 feet away, it landed in the spindly dry branches of a dead chamisa only half that distant and just sat there about two feet off the ground, cocking its head this way and that, for a long, long time. In all my years of observing hummingbirds, I’d hardly ever seen one act like this, and never one that looked like this…
I couldn’t tell the gender, but the green feathers on its back were extraordinarily irridescent. Flashes of blue and red mingled with the green and made me lean forward to get a closer look. Still the bird didn’t move, except to tip its head one way and then the other, over and over again. I had the oddest feeling it was there for me and looked away for a moment. When I returned my gaze, he or she was gone. About a minute later, I suddenly heard the thrumming once again and looked up to see the same hummingbird flying right at my face! It stopped barely an arm’s length away, hovered for a second, and then flew up to perch on a nearby utility wire, where it sat and eyed me for a good long minute before taking off and buzzing out of sight.
I turned back to my notes. All at once a merlin (falcon) flew by at a high rate of speed, diving low to fly around the corner of the house and disappear. There was a bird feeder in front, where I couldn’t see, which the raptor obviously knew.
Back in the house, my computer sat there gleaming. The last thing I wanted was to touch the Internet, however, so I changed my clothes and took a two-mile walk up the mesa. When I returned, I took a nap, hoping for a dream. I don’t remember having one, but when my wife got home, we had a drink, told a few stories, and then went out for dinner. Afterwards back inside the old adobe, I built a fire, and we did what happens when I think of smooth, warm skin on certain curves. Proximity helps, but timing is everything, as smart old married guys can tell you, and yes, you need to take them out, even after 30 years!
When I sat down to write this, I’d been offline for almost 12 hours. No foxes there, just traps.
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