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Menagerie of Great Souls.

September 30, 2016 by Exangel

by Tamra Lucid.

 

I was in my one bedroom Hollywood apartment sleeping peacefully around six in the morning.  I was having the most peculiar dream.  A hummingbird looked directly at me and said several times in excellent English: “Tamra, help me!”  I woke up startled.  The dream troubled me.  I decided I needed a drink of water.  I walked across the living room past stacks of books.

All four cats were staring at the corner stack.  I got my water.  The cats were still there.  They weren’t begging for food.  I knew something was amiss.  I stared with them.  I got closer to get a better look.  Still no acknowledgement of my presence from the felines.  Then in a small space between two stacks of books I saw on the carpet a hummingbird looking up at me.  I reached down and picked the bird up; the first but not the last time I’ve held a hummingbird.  Bird in hand I walked out on my tiny balcony, and closed the screen behind me.  When I opened my hand the hummingbird flew away cheeping.  Landing on a nearby  tree branch the bird loudly displayed the full array of hummingbird vocalizations.  Then he flew back to look me over.  After that he  visited me on the balcony many times.  He would always buzz up close to me, tweeting at me.  I’d say: “you’re welcome, glad it worked out.”

What happened there?  Why did I dream of that hummingbird asking me for help?  Could I have heard the hummingbird in another room through a closed door?  If I heard the cats scuffling how did I know a hummingbird was involved?  Or was it one consciousness communicating with another?

Tiny was a Bluebelly lizard. One summer morning I opened the front door of my house and there he was on my front step, nearly newborn, he was still pink, fresh out of the egg, an impossibly tiny baby lizard.

Tiny was curious about me and I was curious about him.  He hung around to see what was up, because we were being cordial.  Apparently he recognized that he had enchanted me with his easy going charm.  So I sat there with him for half an hour.  We observed each other.  I talked to him about how smart he looked, chatting him up.  I warned him about the gardeners and the mockingbirds.  I had the idea that I must pet him.  I expected him to run away.  But he let me pet his tiny head.  Then I gently picked him up and put him out of harm’s way.  I thought that was the last time I’d see him.  But he was there every day for over a year expecting to get pet.  As he became a full grown lizard his visits were less frequent.  I’ve saved several of his descendants from yard hazards like duct tape and hunting cats.

My koi fish would pout if I didn’t pet them at least once a day.  When pouting failed they would use their tails to knock the top off the fish tank, splashing water everywhere.

My well fed black formerly feral boy cat slept on a cat tree in a corner of floor to ceiling windows in the hills of Los Angeles.  Four in the morning.  All the way upstairs I hear a thump I know is something hitting the window.  A freaked out cat?  A freaky neighbor?  I must investigate.  The boy cat sleeps, completely unperturbed.  Something isn’t making sense here.  On a hunch I stand just behind the Chinese screen partially blocking the sliding glass door.  About a minute later a coyote skulks over.  He pokes his nose around.  He’s eyeballing the boy cat like he’s the main event on display at a buffet.  I see the coyote but he doesn’t see me.  So I step out and say: “What do you think you’re doing?”  His jaw drops.  Literally, his lower jaw went slack.  He can’t believe that a human could sneak up on him.  “Don’t you ever fuck with my cat!” I warn him.  He picks his jaw back up and runs behind the furthest potted plant.  When he takes a peek around that big black ceramic pot I’m pointing right at him.  “That’s right!” I say.  He runs all the way down the driveway.  Never saw him again.  But I did hear a pack of coyotes on the hill behind my yard last night yipping and whining so loudly all the domestic dogs in the canyon went silent.

One spring a baby mockingbird took a stroll in my garden. The bird had a punk rock hair do with straight up spikes.  With what obvious pleasure this bird explored the wonders of nature.   He didn’t see us behind the window pane in the shadows that populate the insides of houses.  With open hearts we silently adored this happy little bird.  As if sensing love the baby bird looked right at us and then ran toward us with his little wings out, as though he ran arms outstretched.  You know the run, if you have or had a child, a dog, a cat, a horse that would run up happy to see you.  The bird stood there with about as close to a smile as a mockingbird can get.  He seemed to be saying something like: “You guys!  I’m a mockingbird!” We just grinned at each other stupidly, amazed by the beautiful mystery of it all.   Then he happily went on with his explorations.  It didn’t take long for him to outgrow my garden.

One Autumn afternoon over kitchen racket  I heard the blue jays going berserk in the backyard.  A mockingbird squawked at the jays.  I had to find out why they were rioting in my garden under the old peach tree.  In the bougainvillea I saw blue feathers.  Then I saw a parakeet’s bright green feathers and that unmistakable shape.  The poor bird looked terrified.  She had bald spots all over.  She looked weak.  I said: “You know he’s going to kill you.  Come to me.”  The mockingbird fluttered its wings, hissing at the rest of us.  “Come to me,” I repeated, “I’m your best option.”  The parakeet flew over, not at my feet, but at the feet of my black cat.  Suicide by cat.  Fortunately the cat looked on helplessly from  behind a screen door.  His name should have been Bodhidharma, for that stare of misgiving he had fixed on me since he was a rescued feral kitten.  I fed that parakeet like an empress.  I got her companion birds.  I could never get her to stop plucking her feathers.  She doomed me to several years of visitors demanding to know what I was doing to that poor bird.  She’d bite me any chance she got, but she was happy to the point of zaniness.  She looked quite mad.  Too happy, really.  She began making eggs, and that was her undoing.

On my inaugural trip to Yosemite I was the first one to wake up in camp.  I wanted to go look at the nearby stream.  Fawns were grazing by the water under overhanging trees.  I heard a splash.  Then another.   And another splash, definitely at a steady rhythm.   As I neared the stream I saw a splash.  On a branch above a squirrel sat.  He pulled a nut off the tree, steadied himself,  then dropped it into the water below, observing carefully.  Then he grabbed another and did it again.  Clearly he was amusing himself, or he was the Isaac Newton of the squirrel kingdom.

Filed Under: EAP: The Magazine, Fall 2016: Animals Are Us.

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In This Issue.

  • Who Was Dorothy?
  • Those Evil Spirits.
  • The Screaming Baboon.
  • Her.
  • A Tale of Persistence.
  • A Conversation with Steve Hugh Westenra.
  • Person Number Twelve.
  • Dream Shapes.
  • Cannon Beach.
  • The Muse.
  • Spring.
  • The Greatness that was Greece.
  • 1966, NYC; nothing like it.
  • Sun Shower.
  • The Withering Weight of Being Perceived.
  • Broken Clock.
  • Confession.
  • Francis Coppola’s Apocalypse.
  • Sometimes you die, I mean that people do.
  • True (from “My Life with Dogs”).
  • Fragmentary musings on birds and bees.
  • 12 Baking Essentials to Always Have in Your Poetry.
  • Broad Street.
  • A Death in Alexandria.
  • My Forked Tongue.
  • Swan Lake.
  • Long Division.
  • Singing against the muses.
  • Aphorisms from “What Remains to Be Said”.

In The News.

That cult classic pirate/sci fi mash up GREENBEARD, by Richard James Bentley, is now a rollicking audiobook, available from Audible.com. Narrated and acted by Colby Elliott of Last Word Audio, you’ll be overwhelmed by the riches and hilarity within.

“Captain Sylvestre de Greybagges is your typical seventeenth-century Cambridge-educated lawyer turned Caribbean pirate, as comfortable debating the virtues of William Shakespeare, Isaac Newton, and compound interest as he is wielding a cutlass, needling archrival Henry Morgan, and parsing rum-soaked gossip for his next target. When a pepper monger’s loose tongue lets out a rumor about a fleet loaded with silver, the Captain sets sail only to find himself in a close encounter of a very different kind.

After escaping with his sanity barely intact and his beard transformed an alarming bright green, Greybagges rallies The Ark de Triomphe crew for a revenge-fueled, thrill-a-minute adventure to the ends of the earth and beyond.

This frolicsome tale of skullduggery, jiggery-pokery, and chicanery upon Ye High Seas is brimming with hilarious puns, masterful historical allusions, and nonstop literary hijinks. Including sly references to Thomas Pynchon, Treasure Island, 1940s cinema, and notable historical figures, this mélange of delights will captivate readers with its rollicking adventure, rich descriptions of food and fashion, and learned asides into scientific, philosophical, and colonial history.”

THE SUPERGIRLS is back, revised and updated!

supergirls-take-1

In The News.

Newport Public Library hosted a three part Zoom series on Visionary Fiction, led by Tod.  

And we love them for it, too.

The first discussion was a lively blast. You can watch it here. The second, Looking Back to Look Forward can be seen here.

The third was the best of all. Visions of the Future, with a cast of characters including poets, audiobook artists, historians, Starhawk, and Mary Shelley. Among others. Link is here.

In the News.

SNOTTY SAVES THE DAY is now an audiobook, narrated by Last Word Audio’s mellifluous Colby Elliott. It launched May 10th, but for a limited time, you can listen for free with an Audible trial membership. So what are you waiting for? Start listening to the wonders of how Arcadia was born from the worst section of the worst neighborhood in the worst empire of all the worlds since the universe began.

In The News.

If you love audio books, don’t miss the new release of REPORT TO MEGALOPOLIS, by Tod Davies, narrated by Colby Elliott of Last Word Audio. The tortured Aspern Grayling tries to rise above the truth of his own story, fighting with reality every step of the way, and Colby’s voice is the perfect match for our modern day Dr. Frankenstein.

In The News.

Mike Madrid dishes on Miss Fury to the BBC . . .

Tod on the Importance of Visionary Fiction

Check out this video of “Beyond Utopia: The Importance of Fantasy,” Tod’s recent talk at the tenth World-Ecology Research Network Conference, June 2019, in San Francisco. She covers everything from Wind in the Willows to the work of Kim Stanley Robinson, with a look at The History of Arcadia along the way. As usual, she’s going on about how visionary fiction has an important place in the formation of a world we want and need to have.

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