Lessons from the Pond

Does the heron worry about its life? Not a bit. I took a three-minute video of this heron catching its breakfast and couldn't help admiring its determination, focus, and skill. This heron caught this morsel easily, but my mind raced past this bucolic scene to the significance of the pond for Heron and Human. Aren't we doing the same thing in this pond we call our world? We focus on what's important, achieve success, then digest and learn what worked and what didn't, advancing our skill level. Humans are the only ones who get caught up in worrying about tomorrow's food or we don't like the food in front of us and pine for something else to eat. Let's also consider how the 'pond' is significant in our lives.

A few years ago, I left my job as a real estate agent to become a writer. I didn't know I wanted to be a writer until I spent a good deal of time agonizing over what I wanted to do next. There were revealing clues in my "agonizing". I learned it meant my mind had taken over and was going around in circles like a dryer tumbling clothes. It meant I had so many ideas to whittle down before I could even start researching and comparing. The other clue was being aware of the pond. The heron knows what the pond is and goes directly about its purpose to fly, look for food, preen its feathers, eat, and mate. It's present to the pond. Humans do the same basic things but prefer to default to the whys of life in the pond, which can lead to stress or play, doubt or accomplishment, worry or calm.

A book-writing class sparked my interest in becoming an author. How hard could it be? I'd done a fair amount of writing for work, in blogs, social media and as a realtor. In six months, I had a 60,000 word manuscript and thought, again, that was easy. It became clear after a few more courses that my jumbled thoughts and feelings needed serious restructuring and editing. In the last two years, I've re-written and reorganized my book three times, each time getting clearer in structure, story arc, and purpose. This heron grew up learning how to fish, how to keep itself buoyant in the pond, how to build its nest, and how to have baby chicks. It knew the ponds where the fish were, too.

The pond is a metaphor for being at the place and time, knowing what's calling you. For humans, that calling isn't just an instantaneous passage into the pond, either. There's prep work involved. Flying by the seat of your pants with a wing and a prayer is not a great way to write a book or live your life. Lessons from the pond took me two years to unravel, but I don't begrudge the time spent. I'd just bruised my ego and I may have spent too much time sitting and not exercising, raising my blood pressure and alarming my doctor. My editors and readers may have not liked the process after I called a halt to reading and editing twice while I reread and self-edited again and again.

The pond and the heron taught me to take the time I needed to get to the heart of my book. Find the pond, hunt for food, eat, digest and repeat. Those are simple but crucial steps. Sometimes, though, life happens around us like me struggling to live in the pond, not even knowing the pond was there. I didn't know how to truly inhabit it or what personal power was. Skill is a great thing to develop and over time, I developed a lot of skills. However, nothing can replace the wise counsel of your soul or the guidance of your spirit. Those are the essential elements for humans to have in the pond.

If I am living from the place of my soul, then I am tenanting my true place in the world. If I am not living from that place, then not only am I out of my soul but I might also be out of my mind. If I am not living from the place of my soul — if, in fact, I don’t know what that place is — then I have lost my soul or I have never found it, but, by soul, I mean a place, not an object.

Plotkin, Bill. Nature and the Human Soul (p. 36). New World Library. Kindle Edition.

I could get caught up in envying the herons. They don't need to learn to be present or to meditate, but then, doing those very things brings me closer to "tenanting my true place in the world", or "pond". The herons do what they do and know their place in the pond without having to struggle with what it is and why they're there. As children, we're kind of like herons. We live in the present and just do what we do. As we grow, we learn and by the time we're adults, we've hopefully connected with our soul and spirit, and have arrived...at our own centre, as Bill Plotkin explains:

The first time you consciously inhabit your ultimate place and act from your soul is the first time you can say, 'Here' and really know what it means. You’ve arrived, at last, at your own center. As long as you stay Here, everywhere you go, geographically or socially, feels like home. Every place becomes Here. This is the power of place, the power of Here. Plotkin, Bill. p. 40.

We need both spirit and soul to be aware of and thrive in the pond as mature adults. I submit a lot of us haven't even reached mature adulthood and the bulk of us aren't even aware of maturing beyond leaving home, going to trade school or a university, landing that perfect job, getting married, and having a house and 2.5 children. Even herons can do that in their heron ways.

Lessons from the pond teach us to figure out what's important in life as mature humans for the well-being of all of us through relationship with our soul and spirit. Indeed, a mature human is one who lives from their soul and connects to spirit. Nurturing ideas, exploring and seeing patterns, listening and acting with your soul, and being present with your spirit all take time and are the foundations of a well-written story and a well-lived life. Yet it is in the present, the "Here", that we become like herons. Herons live moment by moment in their ponds, already connected to their being.