The Call of the Eagle

Many moons ago, a woman healer was on her way to a sweat lodge ceremony. She stopped at the river, as she often does, and this time, she saw an eagle. She hadn’t seen one there before. She knew this meant a great trial was ahead.

The eagle is a symbol of strength, power, wisdom, and freedom and represents the sun.

Cherokee Wisdom Keeper, Yona FrenchHawk, tells of eagles appearing during rituals and ceremonies.

“And so with us…the eagle was the one whenever the people would come out to offer their prayers, their salutations, and their hopes and dreams, and they would come out as a tribe, the eagle would come to dance, and they would sing, and the eagle would dance, and while the eagle danced, it was scooping up the blessings and the prayers on its wings.  And as the people sang, they would sing as the eagle flew toward the sun and beyond the sun to offer our prayers to the creator. And that's why the Cherokee believe that the eagle's feathers are singed at the edges because the eagle gives so that we might be heard. So it flies so close to the sun that it has to give sacrifice, if you will, so that our prayers might be heard.”

Rich in symbolism across cultures, with its ability to fly close to the heavens, the eagle represents divine protection and spiritual guidance as well.

As for the sweat lodge ceremony, where the healing was to take place, I was there too. My Mohegan elder friend had arranged for me to join a group of nine women healers. He surprised me, and dedicated the third round to my healing – many feathers were waved over me and energy released from my body in equal measure. I remain grateful to all who were present that day, including our Great Mother, Earth.

This is a story about listening to the call of the eagle.

This summer I found myself in Maine again, an annual tradition and ritual when it comes to swimming in the freshwater pools. I couldn’t wait to dip my body into the waters, yet day after day I found myself promising to make it there instead.

Eventually, I got the message.

 Only, I didn’t know it was a message — that frequency that taps you and invites you to follow and so you do. No questions asked. It’s beyond your ability to make a decision; it is a calling.

 The call was strong, magnetic, and quickened my heart. As I readied myself to get up the next morning and brave the cold, I could hear the loons and owls claim the moonlit sky. I set out my suit, cap, goggles, buoy, towel, and flip-flops — the usual gear — not expecting anything other than to walk down a long hill, across a rural highway, and down another hill, to where the water waited.

 I arrived at the dock shortly after sunrise. I was the sole human witnessing the morning, calm and quiet. The water faintly sloshed against the planks as I made my way to the ladder. Putting my cap and goggles on, I looked up to the trees along the shore and there sat two eagles. I could do nothing but pause in reverence.

I gently lowered myself into the water and swam over to the tree where they were and took a few photos while treading water. Eventually one flew off, then the other, across the pond and to a place I could no longer see. I continued with my swim back and forth along the shoreline, flanked by the sun and moon at once. Floating between the celestial bodies, I measured time as the sun lifted from the trees.

 When I took my breath to the left side, that’s when I saw it, just behind my shoulder, flying in the space between me and the trees that lined the shore. I flipped onto my back and floated, watching as the eagle slightly adjusted its course only to fly over me – wings spread wide, drifting on air, the eastern side of its body set aglow by the sunrise, its face turned towards the west and moon, in perfect profile, the sharpness of its yellow beak, the sharpness of its eye meeting mine, every feather in place, I was washed over — again.

The next morning, no eagles — anywhere. Also, no “call.” I enjoyed my swim and woke the following morning for a last dip before heading home. This time I felt called to write about the eagle and decided to hop in a kayak with my journal and head out to my favorite little island. About halfway there, I noticed the surface of the water was scattered with feathers as the night sky might be in stars. I suspect an eagle got a goose, but I’m not really sure. The sheer spread of feathers sailing across the surface was mesmerizing – the sheer beauty of what might have been a tragic end to one life for the sake of another. There wasn’t anywhere I could see and not see a feather.

I paddled around on this mirror, each feather a double image, the reflected clouds placing the feathers in the sky again.

Feather, clouds, and moon (just to the right of the feather).

I paused and took a close look around, studying the feathers and the way they meet the surface, the cup of their shape, both a sail to receive the wind and an open hand to receive the sky. I was astonished when I looked down and saw the moon staring back at me, its place next to a feather. There was no separation between Earth and Sky, what was above was below in physical and reflected form. Time and space merged. I lost orientation and was reminded again of this kayak, this body, this water, this Earth, this air that travels in and out of my body, this is only one dimension. Afloat in boat and mind, suspended in awe, in the touching in of this life, that really isn’t mine at all.