I don't usually enjoy doing things that I must do, like most people I prefer to do things that I want to do. I know the universe wants the story of the Philadelphia Zoo Fire Ceremony to be written, yet for years I have put off writing about it. The Zoo Ceremony took place in 1997, and was one of the single most powerful events I have ever participated in, or perhaps ever shall. It was a very sacred event and my part in it is something that I treasure greatly. Perhaps I never put the story on paper because the timing never felt right, maybe I was just not ready. I’m still not certain that I am ready, but the universe is telling me that ready or not now is the time.

To get motivated for writing about this monumental event I decided it would be a good idea to take a writing class given by a local editor. I mistakenly thought that it would give me incentive to write on a regular basis, especially since my seven-year writing career thus far has been comprised of composing articles written at one sitting—not the approach recommended for something book-length.

So far the class has not produced the desired results. I seem constitutionally incapable of adhering to homework instructions: I cannot write in five-minute increments, I cannot write just to be creative, I have to write something that has a purpose, and once I start I just seem to keep going until I reach some sort of natural pause. I have heard about artists that operate this way, painting non-stop and missing meals. It would be nice to equate that sort of drive with greatness, but I do not think it necessarily works that way. It appears that I cannot keep the “Wild Reiki” part out of anything I do, it just takes on a life all its own; heck, this article started out as an email to my teacher attempting to explore what she terms my “resistance” to doing the homework assignments!

To try to break the cycle of my writer's block I thought it would be a good idea to make a trip to the local Seattle zoo, Woodland Park, and check in on the animals there. I try to make this pilgrimage at regular intervals, both to check in and see if the animals need any healing work and to just “be” with them, a personal recharging and reconnection. Visiting the zoo would also give me the opportunity to practice at least one of my homework assignments--to eavesdrop on conversations in order to get a feel for the rhythm of dialogue.

As my friend Kim Kayoda and I meandered into the zoo our visit started off in a promising fashion; the birds in the aviary were happy, one brightly-colored fellow cheekily modeled for the camera, and the hippos were peacefully sleeping.

I stiffen as the energy in the enclosure shifts subtly to encompass “negative thought,” something that these dogs have to live with every day and cannot escape.

Trouble first began brewing at the painted dog enclosure. As part of my writing class homework assignment I was paying attention to the conversations around me which, due to the fact that schools were on break, consisted of a lot of parents pointing animals out to their children in what seemed more like monologues than dialogues. Suddenly the conversation next to me took a deja vu turn. Parent points out painted dogs to children and comments that they look like hyenas and are not very pretty. I stiffen as the energy in the enclosure shifts subtly to encompass “negative thought,” something that these dogs have to live with every day and cannot escape. That kind of energy “sticks” to the enclosure, and the animals. And the last time I encountered it was also at the Woodland Park Zoo (it occurs at any zoo) and it necessitated an unofficial energetic clearing of the hyena enclosure.

And if that result is not bad enough, what of these children who are being taught to be judgmental about any creature who does not fit our concept of beauty? (Yes, this does mutate into our judgments about our fellow humans, too.) I found myself wishing for about the thousandth time that zoos had more keepers who were available to make the animals displayed “real” as individuals rather than just as wildlife exhibits.

If parent and children had lingered to learn about the dogs they would have witnessed the incredible communication that took place after they had hurried on.

Painted dogs, or African wild dogs, live in social family units. The dog that had been declared unattractive was at one end of the enclosure and the other three were asleep in a line-up at the other. The lone dog communicated to the sleeping dogs in a fashion that I could not detect, yet two of them became alert. Lone dog clearly communicated a desire for the rest of the pack to come over. The two dogs complied and there was a frenzy of familial greeting, tail wagging, mouth licking, and just general happiness at being re-united. Our families should be so happy to see each other after short separations!

From there Kim and I traveled on to an enclosure where an angelic-looking little blonde girl was tapping repeatedly on the glass with a stick trying to get the attention of the animal inside. Everywhere there are signs saying “Do not tap on glass” but of course she can’t read, and her parent was either ignoring her or nowhere to be found. She stopped just before both Kim and I both leaned over and said something; hopefully it would have been something educational rather than angry!

In the past I have found the reptile house to be one place where most of the inhabitants have seemed fairly content. This time was different. Most of the inhabitants felt that their enclosures were too small and they were bored. Some were extremely disgruntled and that is not a good thing in a venomous snake. I wondered what was up. Had something happened at the zoo that I was unaware of? Was I projecting my feelings onto the animals, or had my sensitivity level gone up?

As we neared the Primate House I saw a Siamang ape sitting in the sunlight contemplating the delicate beauty of a leaf. The Woodland Park Zoo (like many modern zoos) makes a great effort to make the enclosures as natural and as stimulating as possible for the inhabitants. There is a delicate balance between giving the animals what they need, including some privacy, and still having the public able to see them. This primate, at least, was the picture of contentment.

As Kim and I watched a female orangutan in the Primate House enjoy some lunch I began thinking about the Philadelphia Zoo Primate House. I shared with Kim that while primates were not my favorite animals I was fond of orangutans and described how intelligent, strong, but gentle they are. They are also clever tool-users; somewhere I had read that if you wanted to make sure that an enclosure was escape-proof just put orangutans in it and see if they were still there when you got back!

I went round the corner of the inside enclosure, and discovered a female orangutan stretched out with her head up almost level with the glass. She was facing away from the viewing area and she had a straw sticking out of her mouth. Her eyes appeared closed and I thought she might be sleeping. Just as I finished that thought she turned her eyes upward and met mine. I smiled reflexively and waved “hi.” Since the floor of the enclosure was slightly sunken I felt as though I were looming over her, and not wanting to disturb her any further I stepped a little more to her right and crouched down to better see the male orangutan who was sleeping curled up.

The female orangutan gets up, and I feel disappointment that I might have disturbed her rest. With her long arm she clears the straw from an area directly in front of me, and then reaches over for a plastic barrel which she places in the cleared area. At this point I am feeling a little sad, wondering that perhaps she is putting the barrel between us so that she can have some privacy.

Her next move takes me totally by surprise, she climbs to the top of the barrel, grasps a simulated hanging vine which reaches to the floor, and sits down on the top of the barrel. Suddenly I am holding my breath, for she has deliberately positioned herself precisely head level with me; we are now eye-to-eye with less than two feet separating us. She holds the eye contact, allowing me to look deeply into her expressive eyes and in fairness I reciprocate and allow her to look into me. I feel my heart chakra slam wide open, and there is a flood of feeling I cannot put into words. Tears stream down my face, not in sorrow, but in awe of the moment because she chose to make full contact.

From time to time her lips widen in a slight smile and I catch a flash of humor, she is also playing with me, testing me. As she holds my gaze I think that I could never do this with another person for this long, but with her it seems both right and very important.

In the position that she has taken up on the barrel, with her rounded orange belly resting on her feet and her hand grasping the vine like a staff, she is a primate blending of queen/Buddha/Yoda.

In the position that she has taken up on the barrel, with her rounded orange belly resting on her feet and her hand grasping the vine like a staff, she is a primate blending of queen/Buddha/Yoda. I am flooded with feelings of being unworthy to accept this gift that she is offering and wishing that everyone could have this experience, because if they did their perception of the world and the other beings that we share it with would never be the same again. It is a communication without words from a gentle yet strong being who wants to be heard, who wants us to know that we need to change how we relate with the world. It is a meeting of same, not other, a stretching and the building of a bridge across what has begun to seem in this zoo visit like a very wide chasm between the animal world and the human world.

I have no idea how long we gaze into each others’ eyes. I do know that no one was present to witness our connnection; somehow it took place in a silent moment, and was just between the two of us. I also know that I will never be the same again AND that I was given a very strong message to get my butt in gear about writing the book.

The last time full connection such as this happened was in 1997 at the Philadelphia Zoo with the jaguar, Rain, who was instrumental in sponsoring the Fire Ceremony. Apparently I had just received my marching papers from the universe and the animals. While I may try to ignore the universe I can never ignore the animals; I will always answer their call, I will write for love of them, because I want to, not because I must.

Postscript
This article was originally written on February 23, 2007 and first posted on February 25, 2007 as part of this newsletter. Before my posting was finished I received a call from a fellow shaman who was part of my ayllu (shamanic community) at the time the Philadelphia Zoo Ceremony first took place back in 1997. One of the reasons that she was calling was because she had thought of me when she heard the news story about the tragedy at the Denver Zoo concerning the death of both the keeper and the jaguar, Jorge. In shock I read the story and mourned the passing of both jaguar and human, apparent victims of a cross-species misunderstanding. I also felt a certain amount of guilt, what if I had not dragged my heels on writing the story of the Philadelphia Zoo Fire Ceremony? Might it have made a difference?

I originally omitted a portion of this article due to length. Given the events at the Denver Zoo I wish to share what happened at the Woodland Park Zoo jaguar enclosure.

The jaguar paced back and forth and back and forth, despite having a fairly large enclosure in which to roam, his path a 10-foot track. Eyes unfocused on any of the people who pressed against the glass on one side in hopes of attracting his attention, the jaguar kept up his monotonous pacing. Try as I might I could not make connection with him, he was shut down and everyone and everything else was shut out. The last time I had seen a jaguar pace like this was Rain, the jaguar at the Philadelphia Zoo, and his pacing sparked a series of events culminating in the Fire Ceremony, so I struggled to understand what he needed, but could not get through. The woman next to me, a total stranger, eyes on the pacing jaguar, turned and asked me, “This is not good, is it?” Slightly startled by her question since I assumed she had no idea what I was trying to do, I responded, “No, it is not. It is agitation behavior and usually indicates stress.” I could sense her concern, and both of us shared a moment of mutual caring.

What happened at the Denver Zoo grieves me, what is happening in all the zoos saddens me. Zoo animals are ambassadors for their wild counterparts, bridging the great divide between people and nature, and assisting in the preservation of many species until we can figure out a better way. It is a sad fact that people don’t care about what they do not know about. A personal experience such as I had with the orangutan cannot be matched by a video. While conditions in zoos everywhere have improved vastly in the last 20 years, yet we still do not fully grasp the nature of the animals in our care, animals that are totally dependent on our goodwill. We need a better understanding; a better way of hearing the Unheard Voices and of bridging the gap between species.

We offer classes and workshops in Reiki and shamanism that offer training in ways to reconnect with animals.

This article, along with 44 others, is collected in "Tails of a Healer: Animals, Reiki & Shamanism."

Rose De Dan, Wild Reiki & Shamanic Healing, Reiki Master Teacher and mesa carrier in the Q’ero high Andes shamanic tradition, specializes in natural healing for all species (humans not excluded) at her private practice in Seattle, where she also teaches Reiki & shamanic classes. For individual sessions reach her at (206) 933-7877 or rose at reikishamanic.com, www.reikishamanic.com.