A wild ancient stirring rippled through the flock of blue herons standing at the river's edge. Compelled into flight by an irresistible calling, the restless flock of birds rose into the air on their elegant wings, beginning their migration south. They flew for many days and many moons and many miles, following an instinctual knowing imprinted deep within. As they crossed the great waters, a storm blew into their migratory path. Winds raced in from the north. Lightning flickered and flashed. Thunder rumbled and rolled across the sky. A strong gust of wind knocked a heron from the sky. She plummeted toward the ground. 
  

The heron awoke some time later, disoriented. She ruffled her feathers, stretched out her wings, and came to stand on her long spindly legs. Looking around with her piercing gold eyes, she was startled to find herself in a strange land. The landscape and plants looked oddly familiar, yet she sensed something very different from the ways of the world that she knew. 
  

The heron began exploring her surroundings, curious and intent upon finding her way back to her flock. She took slow graceful steps, poking her long beak here and there, sensing and seeking as she walked the land. She headed up a hillside, hoping the expansive view would help her get her bearings. 
  

Along the way, she discovered two ant hills, sandy pyramids towering above the grass. One ant hill was covered with black ants quickly marching in crisscrossing lines. The other ant hill was vigilantly guarded by blue ants. On the ground between the pyramids, the black ants and blue ants were engaged in what appeared to be a vicious fight. 
   

"Hello!" called out the heron. No one seemed to hear her. "Hello!" she called again, louder this time. A blue ant scurried by. "There's no time to talk," the ant shouted to the heron. "We're fighting for our lives. And you're standing in enemy territory. Better get out of the way." 
  

A black ant ran toward the heron, shoving the blue ant aside. "Don't get too close to them," the black ant shouted to the heron. "They're dangerous and despicable, those blues." 
   

"What are you fighting about?" asked the heron. 
  

All movement on the ant hills abruptly came to a halt. All the ants stood still at attention, stunned and silent. The blue ants stared at the black ants, trying to remember why the fighting had started in the first place. The black ants glared back at the blues, struggling to recall what they all were so angry about. Then a large black ant crawled toward the feet of the heron and turned to face the black and blue crowd. "No time for soul-searching, comrades," he shouted. "Don't ever let down your guard. Never look into the enemy's eyes. There are battles to be won. We've got to fight the good fight, no matter what the cost. Remember, this is war!" 
   

"That's right!" yelled a black ant from the back of the crowd. He shook his fist toward the blues. "You don't have a chance. Just surrender, you fools." 
  

"We're not afraid of you!" a blue ant shouted back defiantly. 
  

Tensions increased as insults were fired back and forth between the two sides. The black ant standing in front of the heron looked up at the inquisitive bird. "What can I tell you? We can't help it. It's in our blood. We've always been fighting and we probably always will." 
  

The black ant turned back toward the rumbling crowd. "Let's have more war!" he shouted, raising his fist triumphantly into the air. A thundering roar rose up from the black and blue crowd and the violent skirmish instantly resumed. The heron took slow careful steps, backing away. 
  

She continued up the hillside, hoping to meet up with someone who could help her figure out where she was and how to get back to her flock. She soon crossed paths with a caterpillar crawling through the grass. "Where are you going?" asked the heron, noticing how malnourished and weary the caterpillar looked. 
  

"My dear friend, can't you see?" replied the caterpillar, pulling himself up to the top of a rock. He stood on his back legs and peered down at the heron. "I'm walking a spiritual path. I'm heading toward enlightenment." The caterpillar closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He bowed slightly forward and opened wide his many arms. "Come join me, my friend. I can show you the way." 
   

"But, Caterpillar, I'm surprised to see you out walking about," the heron said, intrigued. "Isn't this the season when you're usually inside a cocoon?" 
   

"Oh, no, no, no, no, not me," the caterpillar scoffed, shaking his head. "All those caterpillars who retreat inside cocoons? It's trickery, my friend. They've been bamboozled." He leaned toward the heron to make sure he got his point across. "Those other caterpillars truly believe that once they're inside a cocoon everything will change. Without any fears. Without any struggle. They say it's a natural thing. And they really think they'll manifest butterfly wings just because it's their destiny, or something ridiculous like that." 
      

The caterpillar beckoned the heron to come even closer so he could whisper directly in her ear. "They believe in magic," he divulged, rolling his eyes. "Oh, no, no, no, no, not me," he asserted emphatically. "I'm not that kind of caterpillar. I'm taking the high road. I'm seeking enlightenment. And, trust me on this, not just anybody can get there." 
  

The caterpillar stared down at the heron from his rocky pulpit, looking the bird over from head to toe. "You're kind of big and gangly," the caterpillar reported with a frown. "And I can see you've lost your way." The caterpillar closed his eyes and meditated for a few moments. "Well, you're sure lucky I came along," he announced, smiling charismatically. "I can help you. You'll see, things will be better. If you do as I do and do as I say, there might be a chance - granted it's remote - but there still could be a chance - it's a slight one I must admit - but maybe, if you're worthy, if you're humble enough, you can get holy like me." 
  

The caterpillar looked down at the heron. "But you'll have to fight against your natural instincts," he proclaimed. "You can't be seduced by earthy seasons and cycles. You must turn away from all creature comforts. Suffering builds character. Sacrifice is the key. Trust me, it's the only way." 
   

The caterpillar crawled down from the rock, excitedly waving his arms. "Follow me!" he called out, beckoning to the heron. "Come walk a spiritual path, my friend. I can show you the way." The caterpillar limped along, so absorbed in his monologue that he didn't notice the heron turn around and walk the other way. 
   

The blue heron headed back down the hillside to explore the riverbank, searching for clues to get back home. She heard cries coming from a pool of water near the shore. She poked her beak among the tall green reeds, wondering who was so distressed. An emerald fish slowly swam to the surface, looking up at the heron with sorrow-filled eyes. 
 

"What's troubling you, Fish?" asked the blue heron. 
 

"Oh, life is so hard. I'm miserable. And if you'd been through what I've been through, you'd be miserable too." The fish whimpered, her eyes filling with tears. "Look at you," she said to the the heron. "You'll never ever know how painful life can be. Because you've got it all. You're tall. You've got legs. You've got wings. And what about me?" 
  

The fish hoisted her body up out of the water. "I've got scales and gills and short stubby fins," she noted with disgust, assuming the heron would look down upon her the same way she looked down on herself. "I'm stuck here in all this water. All I do is swim and swim and swim, upstream and downstream, over and over again." The fish's emerald body shook with sobs. 
  

"I wish I could be more like you," said the fish, blinking back tears as she looked up at the heron. "I've tried to be more like them," she admitted sheepishly, pointing her yellow fins at the turtles on the shore. "Of course, I failed at that too. But I just can't go on being a fish. What am I going to do?" the fish cried, floating belly-up in her pool of tears. 
  

The heron stood by quietly listening and watching, feeling rather perplexed. "But, Fish," she said, with kindness in her eyes, "why would you ever want to be someone other than who you are?" 
   

The fish coughed, choking on some water she'd inadvertently swallowed. "Well, I want to BE somebody," she adamantly replied. "I want to be somebody special, someone who makes a difference. I want to be somebody who loves somebody. I want to be somebody who somebody loves. I wish I could be happy. I've really tried. But, mostly, I want to get free. But, you know, it's really a waste of time talking about all this. Because it'll never ever happen. It's too late. I'm just a fish. I'm just an old green scaly fish. Why me?" the fish wailed, floating listlessly below the water’s surface, eventually drifting out of sight, sinking into her sea of sorrow. 
  

The heron continued walking along the riverside, the callings for home growing stronger inside her. She thought about her flock, curious where they were and wondering how she would ever catch up. She dipped her long beak into the river for a drink and noticed lights shimmering in the water. With her piercing gold eyes, she looked underwater to see where the light was coming from, but the source didn't seem to be there. So she raised up from the water, looked overhead, and saw three full moons rising, glowing on the horizon. 
  

The blue heron stood at the riverside, reveling in the mystical beauty of the moons. Then without even thinking about it, she spontaneously started to hum, softly and discreetly at first. Then her humming grew louder, more bold and elaborate. The musical vibration inside her throat kept expanding and expanding until the blue heron's song could no longer be contained and held back. 
  

With joyful abandon, the heron exuberantly sang her blue heron song. She passionately danced her blue heron dance, splashing in the river and leaving playful tracks along the sandy shore. She sang to the moons, celebrating wildness and beauty. She danced rhythms of peace to the black and blue ants. She reached out to the emerald fish with her song, honoring the remarkable diversity of life. She sang to the caterpillar she’d met on the hill, weaving musical notes with fibers of trust in inner knowings. 
  

And there inside the rhythm of her blue heron song, she felt whispers of sweet rememberings - the soft rustling of feathers and the sensation of wind beneath her wings. She stepped to the river's edge, opened her wings, and lifted up into the air to fly. 
  

The blue heron flew for many days and many moons and many miles, following the instinctual knowing she carried deep within. As she crossed the great waters, a storm blew into her path. She soared with the winds racing in from the north and sang gratitude to the showering rains. She danced with the lightning and rolled with the thunder. When the dark storm clouds cleared away, there, just ahead, filling the sky, were blue herons as far as she could see. 
  

She joined up with her flock, naturally weaving her way into the flowing tapestry of hundreds of undulating wings. The blue herons flew side by side and song to song, their passions guiding their winged migration home.

Copyright © 2006 by JoAnne Dodgson
www.pathwaysforhealing.net