How to See in the Dark

by Emma Laurence

When you’re in a time of darkness and can’t clearly see the path ahead, how do you make your way? 

Many times in life, I’ve inched forward when I cannot see.  I followed the sound.  As an example, I saved myself during devastating teenage years by writing songs.  Later, I learned to chant sacred words that had the power to pierce the dark fabric of my thoughts, bringing peace and comfort.

What I try to do now is help others illuminate confusion, fear, doubt or lethargy, which means I have to keep learning how to do so myself.  Enter the owl.

Owls first appeared last summer when I moved to Minneapolis.  They perched on nearby treetops like dark sentinels, visible through the windows to our backyard.  Their cry pierced the darkness and, shrill as it was, I loved the sound.  Familiar.

But owls also see in the dark.  They have large eyes with far more rods than human eyes.  They have a tapetum lucidum, a layer of flattened cells covered with doubly refracting crystals.  This functions like a mirror behind the retina, reflecting light back through the photoreceptors. 

That’s like having a second chance to see.  

We humans typically call our second chance to see 20/20 hindsight.  Once time has passed, a challenging experience may be seen in a different light.

We may recognize spiritual tests for what they are—opportunities to know what we’re truly made of, to build strength and courage and compassion, to focus on appreciating the love that’s real here and now, moment by moment. 

But there’s another way to see that doesn’t require time, only practice.  That’s to gather all of our attention and focus it on the very best within and around us.  It may sound simplistic or mystical, but it actually brings light. 

And the quickest way I know to do that is to serve life. 

As we enter the holiday season, many join loved ones in laughter and thanksgiving.  Others experience deeper darkness and isolation.   

Do we want to be on the lookout for anyone—person or animal—who could use our help?  Or follow through on a nudge to reach out? What about quieting our own heart so that our presence is one of comfort and healing?

From an act of love, we may learn how to see in the dark.

A true heart blazes its own path.

The Goose, the Crows, and the Dog Walker

by Emma Laurence

I’m delighted to write to you from the new platform, lifeiscoachingyou.com. Welcome.

The wind had died down enough for me to walk the paved path round a nearby pond.  I bundled up in my scarf and sweater coat and headed towards the cornfields.

Shortly after beginning the first loop, I was jostled from my thoughts by the sound of a goose. I peered through the brush to find a solitary bird floating on the water, honking in distress. 

I wondered about the goose’s story.  Was it lost, injured, or left behind?  I began quietly singing a sacred word that brings me peace and silence. This allows me to perceive inner guidance and surrender the outcome of a situation at the same time. If any action were necessary on my part, I’d know. 

As I rounded the far end of the park, the goose’s cries subsided. Its voice sounded tired.  I kept walking and singing softly with a compassionate heart.

On the third loop, a flock of loudly cawing crows passed overhead, landing across the pond by the parking lot.  Perhaps two dozen birds peppered the grassy area.  They didn’t land for long, but flew upwards again, together. 

The goose was quiet.  The distress call had been heard.

The landscape took on a slow motion quality that I notice when I’m experiencing a gift moment. I registered the response from the crows who’d come to help a member of their community.  Time stood still.  Gazing further skyward, I saw a singular hawk circling.

The crows flew back across the pond, continuing southwest over the field and calling out as they departed.  Would their cries alert another flock to come pick up the lone goose?

As I ended my third lap ready to cross the street to my neighborhood, I heard the goose honk again. I wondered if my part in the story was complete.

At that moment, a man approached walking a dog.  Fit and slim, in athletic wear with a woolen hat, he smiled warmly at me. 

I stopped him to ask, “Do you know anything about geese?”

I realized how ridiculous that sounded—coming from out of the blue—once I’d heard the question aloud.

“Not much more than seeing them around a lot,” he answered somewhat warily. “Why do you ask?” 

I told him of the lone goose and my concern that it might be separated from its flock.  He assured me that flocks come through this area all the time. 

“My family calls this Goose Poop Pond,” he admitted wryly. “I’m sure he’ll have company soon.” 

I felt complete—and as heard as the goose’s distress call.

Walking home, I was struck by how well Life cares for us all.  The crows came to help the goose; the dog walker came to assist me.  The hawk circled.

When we’re in service to one another, does our interconnectedness become more visible? 

I invite your insights or experiences below.