Newsletter Articles written by Tera Thomas
Issue 26
Merlin’s Magic
by Tera Thomas
Nearly three years ago I brought home three baby goats to bottle feed. I was “mom” to Moon, Merlin, and Oreo and often called them my three sons. If you’ve ever had goats then you know how smart and how mischievous they can be. If you haven’t, like I hadn’t, it’s a shock to learn that they are always one step ahead of you. They can turn lights on and off, unplug electrical cords, scoot under electric fences, hang themselves in hay racks, break into the feed shed and eat enough grain to kill any other animal, all with great sense of fun.
My boys are loyal, affectionate, and follow me everywhere I go. When people come to visit the farm, the goats are first to step forward to greet them. Merlin greeted me each day with a kiss on the lips. He loved having workmen here and he followed them around, watching, and often “helping” them with their work. Merlin was also incredibly sensitive to people’s emotions, and opened the hearts of many people who met him. His ability to sense what was needed and to provide it was like magic to me.
On December 23rd I came home to find that dogs had broken through my electric fence. Oreo and my smallest llama, Shanti, were injured, and my precious Merlin was dead. My barn, normally so peaceful and calm looked like a crime scene. I wanted to die myself as I had not been here to protect my friends. Before anyone jumps to conclusions, I want to say that these were not vicious dogs, just dogs in a pack out for a lark. I live in a rural area where many people feel that dogs should run free. I love dogs, but I don’t agree that they should be free to roam. At any rate, this is not a story about dogs or Merlin’s death. It is a celebration of Merlin’s life and all that he taught me. It is about the legacy of love and connection to the earth that Merlin gave to me and to Hummingbird Farm.
After Merlin had left his body he gave me many signs that he was present. Most notably, the barn lights would go on, Merlin’s old trick to get my attention. But deeper than that, I felt his spirit draped over the farm bringing a sense of deep peace and love to all of us. I learned the details of the attack and found that Merlin had made the decision to lead the dogs into the barn and to sacrifice himself so that the herd would not sustain greater injury. His explanation was simply that he did it because he could and he did not regret his decision.
I found myself filled with so many emotions that I thought I might burst. I had a deeper love and appreciation of Merlin and all of my animals than I had ever felt. At the same time, I felt the shock of the attack, the horror of it, the pain at the loss of my beloved Merlin, the wildness of the earth, the uncertainty in every day of living, and the powerful, unemotional nature of nature. All of this was in me, all at the same time. I hadn’t realized I could expand to feel so much and it gave me a deeper understanding of… well, everything.
There is uncertainty in all of life. We can lock doors, take out insurance, put up fences, surround ourselves with light, and nature will always do what nature does, without regard to anything but it’s own true nature. This is not a bad thing, or even a scary thing to me. It is just a truth. The only true safety we can have is inside of us, in our balance and cooperation with the energies of the planet.
When we are hit by a tsunami, a hurricane, or a pack of dogs breeching the fences, it is not a personal attack. If I had been home would things have been different? Possibly. Outcomes can shift in a split-second. But was the event orchestrated by all the players specifically to teach me a much needed lesson? No. There are, of course, lessons in every event that each participant can take to heart (or not), but to feel that every event is orchestrated specifically for us is really very egocentric. It denies the fact that others have choice, free will, intentions, spiritual paths, and lessons too. We do create our reality, but I think we often forget that we are not creating alone, that we are co-creators and many factors are involved—the collective consciousness, the consciousness of those we share our lives with, the needs of the earth herself, and the powerful forces of nature. If we are in balance within our own beings, knowing deeply that we are a part of All That Is, our capacity to respond, to restore, to continue to love no matter what is amazingly strong.
I’m not saying that we shouldn’t fix the levees, move to higher ground, build a better fence, or pray for protection. Of course we should do those things, we must do those things. But we must also remember that this moment, right now, is all that we have and in the next moment our outside, physical lives could be changed beyond recognition. (Remember that who we really are, the great being within us, is unchanged by any outside reality. It is always connected, balanced, and in a state of love.) It is difficult for us humans to embrace the moment in this way, and many of us will do anything to avoid change. We humans want so desperately to control everything and often feel that we actually do. Our attempts to make every event in our lives completely about ourselves is part of that need to feel we are in control, but denies the fact that we are a part of everything, subject to the ebb and flow of universal energy. Teacher, Caroline Myss has a great saying: “Want to see God laugh? Tell him your plans.” Animals naturally live in the moment, and do it with amazing grace and beauty. I aspire to live my life in the moment as they do.
Merlin said his life should not be measured by the length but by the love he gave and received which was immense. He asked me to bring home two more baby boys to bottle feed as it would give them an opportunity to share the preciousness of the life on this farm and the people who come here. I did get those boys, Frankie and Cosmo, who are now 8 weeks old and just amazing. I also brought home a 2-year old doe named Bella who has added her sweet female energy to the goat mix here. These wonderful beings have not taken Merlin’s place. When I taught a class last month I missed him so much that I cried all morning and wondered if I could even teach. Once again I was in that space of feeling the sadness, the pain of loss, and the love of what is here at the same time.
Last night I sat in the pasture to watch the full moon eclipse. It happened in this area as the moon was rising and the sun was setting. It was magical and I felt Merlin’s presence so strongly. The baby goats were asleep in their stall, and Moon, Oreo and Bella sat next to me chewing their cuds. The llamas grazed quietly a few feet away and it felt as if the whole earth was holding its breath, waiting for this magical event. When the moon rose over the trees, the shadow was covering her face and only a small strip of bright light could be seen on the edge. As she rose higher the shadow receded and the brilliant light showed itself. It seemed brighter than I had ever seen the moon, so bright that it hurt my eyes. I felt like the moon myself, stepping out of the shadows in my life, offering more of my light to the world, showering my own brilliance on everything I touch. At least, that was my intention: to show that light in every moment, to be present for all of it and to be in a space of love (or brilliance) in all I do. That is what Merlin taught me and he says it really is not magic at all. Just presence, he says. Just presence.
