This excerpt of Soul External: Rediscovering the Great Blue Heron

by Steve Semken is reprinted with the permission of the author and Ice Cube Press. 

 

The only thing necessary was a shard of evidence. I just needed some tiny hint or clue to reveal what was happening, needed something turned in my imaginary favor to tilt and better explain the magical amalgam so coiled in my head as I sat gawking and marveling during my first excursion to a rookery of great blue herons. I wanted some proof that the birds and their habitat were real.

 

Following the rough directions given to me from a friend, I journeyed to a spot so obscured, well-concealed, and safe I trembled with the feeling of immensity. The directions involved a faint line drawing on the back side of a deposit slip. I was told to follow a series of gravel roads until I reached a “no trespassing” sign. Finally, I was instructed, “If anyone asks what you're doing, just tell them you're with the Kansas Bird and Game Division.” No one ever asked.

 

Over the years, the journey to the rookery took on many meanings. Parking in front of the no trespassing sign, I even convinced myself I was with the Kansas Bird and Game Division. I slowly turned this journey to the herons into a ritual; it was a calling, a pilgrimage. But, on this first trip to the rookery, my grips on sanity and reality were erased. When I arrived at the heart of the rookery, I became frazzled and lost as above me drifted ninety, perhaps more than a hundred great blue herons. 

 

The herons were so close I could hear their wings flap, see the raspy vibrations of feathers ruffling in flight, noticed how they rocked gently up and down in the air with each flap of their wings. When I first arrived, maybe fifty of them rose and drifted in different directions, then slowly, ever so slowly, each relaxed in my presence, resettling on its nest. At one time or another, there were at least fifteen or so of the birds rising, flying, coming to and from a nest.

 

As I watched in awe, fully enraptured, these tall birds were engaged in a multitude of activities. Some were perched on the limbs of the ghostly, tall, old-growth sycamore trees. Others landed on the earth beside a narrow woodland creek to stare, heads slightly tilted and at odd angles, at the slowly moving creek water, whilst others circled wide and high overhead. Watching them so intently, my eyes were busy darting back and forth, and I am convinced I hypnotized myself. I do know I began whispering semi-nonsense under my breath—amazing, wow, holy crap, my God—no doubt time stood absolutely still. I couldn't believe it when a couple of the birds began puffing out their long, plume feathers, and then, in further amazement, I observed each of them wrapping their wings around themselves as though dressing in robes. I was so enamored, so intrigued, it wouldn't have surprised me if I had looked up and noticed a colony of herons hanging upside down in the trees like giant bats. As the crescendo of activity caused by my initial arrival wore off, I observed the males offering their female companions sticks to build nests.

 

I noticed the small heads of fledgling herons peaking just above the rim of nests, and then, lightly, I made out the slightest peeps of these babies calling for food. Such hospitality and trust before me. I wondered if I had been invited or was intruding. Either way, my blood was rushing, and my mind had taken on an irrational way of thinking. Gravity was gushing in all directions, and I had never felt more alive, more mystic, more spiritual, more engaged in the world at one moment. I was amazed, illuminated, and frightened with immensity all at once. There was no question at that moment I had truly found the center of the world.