4. Blending In - Incidents of Invisibility

Listening to Life is a holistic experience that utilizes every fiber of your being. Using all of your senses in the manner for which they were intended (for communication, rather than the stimulation of the earthly body), you will not only be more receptive, you can become almost invisible when you also suspend all thought. Impartial observation clears the "airway" of noisy mental vibrations, opens up a channel for incoming messages, and also creates a reliable camouflage effect. Nature can hear your mental dialogs and intent as clearly as it can your body thrashing through the bushes. A silent, listening mind and heart sounds no different from the trees, bees, or the stars, so you blend right in.

A good example of this can be found in a story that many deer-hunters tell. After a long, fruitless morning of intense stalking, the impeccably equipped expert sets his gun down under one tree and consumes his lunch beneath another. Perhaps he drinks a beer or two, and he begins to get drowsy. At the moment that conscious thought ends and dreaming might begin, the Father of All Deer steps out into the clearing next to the gun -- about 6 feet away!

Whenever I hear this story -- told with frustration, wonder, and reverence -- I have to grin. Deer must have a wonderful sense of timing, humor, and nuance, since their message to the hunter seems very clear: "Who is stalking whom? Had you been listening for me instead of broadcasting your desire to find me, our positions would be reversed right now!"

With his intent nullified by fatigue, a full belly (and a beer?), and the peace of the woods, the man sits in stunned awe, almost hypnotized by the direct contact established by the deer. Massive, majestic, and deadly himself with his hooves, teeth, and multi-pointed antlers, the buck calmly turns his back on the world's worst predator -- and walks away. His final, parting quip to the hunter might be, "You worry me less than a deer-fly...," spoken with a subtle twitch of his disappearing, white-bottomed tail.

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When the mind becomes quiet the human form seems to disappear, and rare opportunities for communication with Life and Nature present themselves.

At camp one summer, when I was about thirteen years old, I was the last person out of the tent area for the evening Girl Scout ceremonies. Having made many unauthorized side-trips through that area of the woods over two years, I was confident when I took a little-used short-cut that led directly to the fire-circle.

Twilight was fast fading into darkness, so the game trail I had chosen to follow quickly became hard to discern from the surrounding plant growth. Mentally, I switched to "receive," so that all sensory input from the terrain could be utilized to keep the path in sight.

Listening ahead for the parting impressed upon the long grasses by many passing creatures, I spotted a fluffy-tailed kitty moving in the same direction as myself. I thought it was unusual for a cat to be wandering about in the deep woods, but I was very pleased. Moving quietly, I quickened my step and caught up with the unsuspecting feline.

Bent over with my hand about to pet the base of the bushy tail, it occurred to me that I might scare the dickens out of the poor animal, unless I made my presence known first. I hesitated, then gently said, "Hi Kitty!" Casually, the creature pivoted its head, and I was looking straight into the face of a fox!

Startled, my brain screamed, "Fox!" At that moment, I became visible -- you could see it in his face. I pulled my hand back and stood up, showing my true size against the backdrop of grass we were navigating through. My body must have appeared to manifest out of thin air, yet I sensed no fear from the wide-eyed carnivore -- only amazement. My own wonder and joy at being able to get close enough to touch a live, wild fox overrode all other thoughts.

When we made and held eye contact, I sensed a question floating on the air between us: "May I help you?" Smiling, I nodded once and mentally bid a good-evening to the unmoving predator. As if I had met up with a friend, I chuckled in my heart and sent a message for him to go on about his business -- I had somewhere to go, myself! Without a backwards glance, the fox turned his head and strode off up the path.

Because of my listening attitude, I had blended in so well that -- until I thought, "Fox!" and had a moment of panic -- I had been indiscernible. Yet when I did come into focus, I was not defensively threatened with snarling teeth, nor did the fox flee in fear. Instead, the creature listened to my open, joyous attitude of comradeship and recognized the situation for what it was -- a case of mistaken identity! Like a human being under the same circumstances, he politely acknowledged my greeting and then ignored me as he walked off into the gloaming. I suspect that the fox's final thought about our encounter was an exasperated, "Silly girl! I wonder where she thought she knew me from!"

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Becoming invisible has now become second nature to me. When I sit in the woods by the lake to eat my lunch, I empty my mind of all personal thought. Instead of mentally chattering, I become like a mirror and reflect the nature that surrounds me. I project myself into, or "remember" myself as, all that I see. When I do this, my relaxation, joy, thankfulness for my lunch and the gift of a fine day all harmonize to make my humanity vanish.

One such afternoon, I sat just off the main path to the water, on a bunny-trail that crosses the well-worn track. Snugly shaded by tall grasses and low branches, and with a small rise behind me to guard my back, I felt very peaceful and secure.

As I munched my way through my sandwich, a slight, gentle rustling from the rear drew my attention. Looking over my shoulder, I was surprised to see a small, brown rabbit with short ears, heading down the little hill straight towards me! Afraid that any movement would scare the timid animal away, I followed the bunny with my eyes, as it calmly hopped over and sat next to me -- about two inches away!

Raising up to sit on its haunches, the curious creature leaned forward and sniffed me quite thoroughly. I was dressed in a bright yellow outfit that was overlaid with a pattern of many-colored violets, so perhaps I appeared to be a colony of flowers that were sunbathing. After deciding I wasn't edible after all, the wee rabbit sat back down, then proceeded on along the trail and out of sight.

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On another day, sitting in the same spot, I heard a faint hissing sound issuing from the area behind the ridge. A yard-cleaning service at a neighboring home had been shattering the peace and silence of the day with their loud, exhaust-spewing machines, clearing away undergrowth that was infringing from the woods. I expected a frightened and indignant rabbit to appear, like the time before. Instead, the slight but steady "Sssssssss..." grew louder and spread out behind me in a fan, to the left and to the right.

As I watched, a tide of water moccasins rolled in across the top of the bushes, grasses, and low-lying tree limbs, never touching the ground! Side by side in a line -- about a foot apart from each other and extending as far as I could see -- they sinuously flowed around and past me like a wave, and then they were gone.

What I found intriguing (and was thankful for!), was the fact that they had broken their linear formation to avoid using me as a stepping stone. There had been no time to run, so my only hope of avoiding a confrontation with those possibly aggravated and aggressive snakes was to blend in with the scenery. But I had immediately realized that by doing so, I would be putting myself at risk of being slithered over! With this one thought, my objectivity, courage, and camouflage all flew away like a covey of quail. The best I could muster was a quick, "Oh Lord!" and then (to myself), "Think "tree'!"

Did the initial spike of fear screaming in my mind, and my determination not to move, alert those water moccasins to my presence? Or was it my cowardice? The only part of me that wasn't frozen was my eyeballs (which, of course, grew so big that my brows became one with my hairline). Whichever it might have been, the snakes delicately wove around me -- close enough for us to touch, mere inches from my face -- and coolly looked me straight in the eye as I sat there pretending in vain to be just another tree.

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My last notable encounter with a wild creature at this place was initiated by a loud racket coming down the main path to the lake. Again, I was wearing my brightly-flowered outfit, sitting a few feet from the water at the end of the bunny-trail.

With enough noise to scare off the wildlife for the next three years, a young man burst forth from the trace into the small clearing across from where I was seated. With a deep sigh, he visibly relaxed as he looked through and past me, to the shimmer of the lake. I thought for sure he must have seen me, but obviously he hadn't, because as I watched, he took out and lit a marijuana cigarette.

After his third deep drag, I began to feel embarrassed at being an unknown witness to his private moment. I opened my mouth to speak, but Sneaky Pete's mind must have switched from transmit to receive, because he suddenly noticed me. Jumping as if he had been electrified, sparks flew as he dashed the lit cigarette out against the leg of his pants. "I'm sorry!" he blurted, and then ran back up the path, like a startled deer. How sad: the only creature I had met in this special place that had run from me in fear, was one of my own species!

I wondered: did my intention to make my presence known draw the young man's attention to me? Or had his newly acquired, drug-induced lack of thought allow him to perceive the world as it really was? Regardless of whichever it was, until that moment, I was truly invisible -- blended into the woods and the day, just listening to the Universal Language of Life.