I have a good friend who once told me if I found an eagle
feather not to pick it up or touch it because in his Native American spiritual
beliefs it has sacred qualities. I understood that it would be disrespectful to
alter it, sort of like desecrating a church, I suppose. So later, as I mowed
the trail near the giant, old red pine in our yard, I looked up at the eagle’s nest which has been
there for as long as I can remember and again admired its massive size and position atop the last thick limbs of the tree before it begins to taper off. This time, however, there was a feather on the
ground in the path ahead of me. Heeding my friend’s request, I stopped the
mower, got off, and gently pushed the feather into the tall grass at the edge
of the trail and continued on with my mowing.
Later I looked up the significance of the eagle feather and
read that it symbolized great strength, courage, leadership and prestige and
that the bald and golden eagles are considered sacred birds. They only have two
eggs and this is a reminder of both the dichotymous and binary relationships in
our world.
I turned off the computer and thought, it is a story, no different
than those told to me during Sunday school and in church when I was younger.
But that was not the point. This story, like all of them, is only meaningful because
of what the hearer or reader brings to it. To the story of the eagle feather, I
bring the love I have for my friend and so when I moved that feather from my
path, I respectfully acknowledged his path and was glad.
