Hello Everyone,
Today is Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. All over Mexico people flock to cemeteries to commune with their dead relatives, leaving colorful flowers in their wake. Death is viewed as an end to physical existence here, while a person’s spiritual essence lives on eternally. In the spirit of the day, I’d like to share a deeply moving experience I had with a dying pelican after we left Puerto Don Juan.
We had anchored in a pristine bay below Punta Pescador (Fisherman’s Point.) Early in the morning I kayaked over to an intriguing little island to explore. Engrossed in collecting shells along the beach, I was startled to come upon a pelican resting in the sand. His long neck was thrown across his back at an awkward angle, so I thought he was dead and drew closer to investigate. His eyelids were shut but still intact, which surprised me since the sea gulls usually peck out the eyes first thing. Then I saw his breast move slightly. Oops, he was still alive. I backed away and left him alone. I hoped he was ok and continued on down the beach. On the way back, I saw that his head had flopped onto the sand. Occasionally he’d flap his immense wings in a fruitless attempt to move his head and body. My heart went out to the struggling bird. I prayed he’d pass on soon, before the gathering sea gulls began to peck at him. I began to walk away but just couldn’t leave him. I love pelicans and it felt as though a brother was in distress. I sat on the beach and with tears in my eyes, prayed the helpless bird be granted a measure of grace. I didn’t want to interfere with nature or frighten him, but it occurred to me that perhaps I could offer him a bit of grace by shading him from the blazing sun. I gently approached until my shadow fell across his body. I’d never been so close to a pelican before. His magnificent body was covered with beautiful feathers, every one perfect, from the tiny white head feathers to the long wing tip “fingers.” I could see no external injuries. Perhaps he’d eaten a fish poisoned with demoic acid and his neurological system was damaged internally.
I stood watch over him for a long time, protecting him from the gulls and the sun. I sent him all the soothing energy I could muster. Whenever the sea gulls would caw, he’d flap his wings weakly and I’d hum softly. It seemed to calm him a little. Occasionally I’d pour water from my water bottle into his long beak, but he never seemed able to swallow. The sun beat down. The waves lapped on the shore. A sense of timelessness set in. A dolphin swam by in the turquoise water and helped to ease some of the sadness I felt for the pelican’s plight. I closed my eyes and immediately an image of a smiling pelican appeared in my mind’s eye. So powerful was his joyous presence that my sorrow lifted palpably. Was I “seeing” the pelican’s spirit? By the nature of his presence, I felt he conveyed to me that though his body was dying, his spirit was without pain and gloriously free. In my mind’s eye, I snuggled up to his feathery breast, like a little girl snuggled in her grandfather’s lap, comforted by the feeling emanating from him that everything was fine. The cycle of life and death was just as it was meant to be. I even got the sense that the pelican was glad his body would soon be food for the waiting gulls. Glad also I’d come along to share this experience with him. I opened my eyes and looked at the pelican, still struggling physically, yet now I no longer felt the heavy burden of grief. I knew his spiritual essence was fine. My perception of death had changed irrevocably. I left the island with gratitude in my heart for the lesson in the nature of life and death the pelican had taught me.
With love,
Gina