The Osprey's Den: A Spirit Journey

All the while I was spending time with my son the plesiosaur, and straightening my osprey's feathers, I was wondering what spirit animal form my husband takes.

I had seen his mindscape but once, while we were dating. He is a highly private person, and, I'm betting, never would have allowed such a thing in full consciousness. But he was sleeping in my lap...a thing that hasn't happened in seven years. Now we have been married almost eight years, and my two-year-old daughter is usually in my lap. So I hang onto that memory of my husband's secret place with a grip fit for treasure. In that original split second, the glimpse I received of the inner him was of a great, cold sea shore, with the water stretching away without bird nor boat to disturb it. That water was Viking colored, being many hues melding into one wild, near-stormy expanse, with mist far out. It was dark blue, yet not; grey, yet not; deep green, yet not. It was like a gemstone that never appears the same twice, and the waves seemed to have bits of glitter in them - red, and black, and silver. I never felt cold standing there, though it looked like the water would have frozen, had it been still enough, and the sand would have crunched like ice under my feet.

Along the shore were shields, placed upright in the sand, stretching beyond me as far as I could see. They were black and royal blue, with a pattern or device which I could not discern, save to say that it was not a typical coat-of-arms. These shields were evenly spaced, with perhaps a foot or 18" between them. I was standing at such a vantage point that I could see either along the line of shields, or behind them, across the water, without moving.

That was it.

So what kind of animal, I wondered, would make his home here? Scott's ancestors had come from Denmark, so the Viking-colored water made sense, but what was he?

I first cast about asking the osprey if she knew what form her husband takes. She admitted that she did, but wouldn't speak the description I so wanted to hear.

Next, I tried asking the LORD God Himself in what form I should find my husband. He, too, kept mum. So, nothing daunted, I changed topics and asked the osprey where she lived.

She flew to the grove near my large Relationship House, then landed in the grass and ducked into a hole in the ground. Upon following her, I discovered a sort of den, low and smooth and of dark brown earth, with an alcove slanting leftward as I entered.

We sat in this alcove, and I felt how very like my own house it was - low to the ground, simple, mostly one color (mine was white, though), and well-worn. I had often compared my physical home to a cave, explaining to my husband that I craved more light, and ceilings I couldn't touch without a step ladder. He didn't seem to understand, and also seemed happy with the flat white paint coating most of the interior. This paint had grown dull over time, accumlating cookstove smoke and dirt which never quite washed off.

As the osprey and I sat in silence, contemplating, a shadow crossed the opening, and halted there, just beyond the turn of the alcove. I asked the opsrey what made it, as I could see nothing but a tangled pile of old grass which had somehow appeared there since our entering. She sat on my right, and never offered to move to widen my view. She said, as she had many times now, "Just wait; you'll see."

The feeling of the shadow was almost sinister, yet it did not feel exactly predatory. At last, I flew as the opsrey up into a nearby tree, and saw that the animal was - a badger. It was clearly Scott, and he seemed to be sunning himself before the entrance, content as a honeybee in a garden.

I asked the osprey (who seemed to have come down from her tree and come with me to a patch of grass outside the den), "Why does he block the entrance that way?"

"He wants to protect you," she said.

"From what?" I asked. "What is out there?"

"He doesn't exactly know," she said quietly, watching the badger with keen eyes. "Only that there are things to protect you from."

I looked about with new eyes, wondering at the stillness everywhere. There was no wind, and no sun, though light fell in plenty. I could see no other animals besides a few song birds and insects. It was very quiet.

Was the badger delusional, imagining danger where there was none? Or did I live in the midst of a danger that would not show itself?

Also, where was my family? If I lived here, didn't they? Yet, not even the badger seemed inclined to come within the den. Clearly, my son the plesiosaur had never ventured there, and I had seen his water bordering my park land several hundred yards from where I stood, in what I could only think of as East...or to the right of where I usually entered my land.

I had yet to find my daughter, though I suspected she was something about 18 inches long, and fiery red - perhaps, a fox, or a corgi dog. Neither seemed just right, however.

I tried to picture raising a family here. Surely, an osprey and a badger were an odd combination, if ever there was one, yet...yet he was the only creature whose company I had craved enough to commit my lifetime to him.

And he had taken the thought to build me a den. I felt sure it was a very large gesture, straight from the badger's heart, and the osprey obviously had tried to appreciate the gift. Yet, she would have preferred a high, stark tree, or at least, a space big enough to properly share with her love.