What It's Like

The question that I'm asked most often is "what's talking to an animal actually like?" People want to know how it feels to talk to another creature who doesn't speak English - or "speak" at all in the way we understand. If you talk to different communicators you will quickly discover that we all "hear" a bit differently. Often this is due to each person having particular strengths in their own way of connecting with the world. Some of us hear words quite literally and clearly, others have sensations or feelings, others are visual and get complex pictures. I find I get a combination of these, depending on the information being given, and it seems the animal knows what I need to understand what they are trying to say. While visualization has always come easily to me, sometimes understanding what a cat or dog is trying to show me isn't so easy, since their perspective is quite different from mine. I most often hear words - much like a conversation with a human. Combined with these will come sensations, feelings in my body based on what the animal is saying. Sometimes its an emotion like joy, sadness, anger, sometimes a physical feeling like pain, stiffness, tingling, etc. There have been smells and sounds, and there have been tactile sensations. For example, a human once asked me to find out where in the house was her dog's favorite place to sleep, as they were moving some furniture and wanted him to be comfortable. I saw the color blue, and felt something soft and furry against my face. Sure enough, he had a cushion with a blue fake fur cover. It was actually being washed and he was annoyed it had disappeared and wanted to be sure it would be in the new decorating scheme!

Talking to me must be for them a bit like speaking to someone who is just learning a language you have spoken all your life. A bit like me trying to use my pitiful college German, dictionary in hand. Sometimes they deliver concepts all in one bunch, or speak in rapid-fire words and picture, and I have to pick through and try to sort it out, asking for clarification and to slooow it down. A wonderful communicator I know always say "give it to me like I'm a kindergardener". While this can be challenging, especially when talking to a human at the same time and trying to translate between the two, plus connect to the animal, the three-way conversation style of session does give the owner a chance to get a feeling for what it's like to talk to their animal directly. As I go back and forth, they hear me translate their animal's sense of humor, irony, sadness, etc and they can see that often when they ask a question the animal is answering even before the words are all out of their mouth. Or, if they ask me to tell their animal something such as that they love them, the animal will often reply with, "yes, I know that already." This helps us really get that our animals are communicating with us all the time, and we with them. Also, if an animal tells me something that makes no sense, in describing it to the human companion we can often determine together what to ask for clarification. A blue furry bed, for example, meant nothing to me but that owner knew right away what I was being shown.

The most important piece is to know that everyone has the ability to talk to the animals in their lives - domestic, wild, or somewhere in between. For me, I choose to spend more time learning the language than some of us do, but that's ok - by partnering with animals and their human friends we can all get an idea of what it's like to talk to the animals, and to feel closer to our furry family members.

What

I admit I find it hard to explain animal communication, especially in your average day-to-day settings. It's just doesn't strike people as an "everyday" sort of thing, and yet it is as much everyday as breathing. What has been most surprising to me, is the number of people that begin nodding in some semblance of understanding as I bumble my way through an explanation. If you have an animal friend whom you love very dearly then of course you speak with them, and if you are little bit open to possibility, of course they answer back.

As a child I had no problem imagining that a cat, a deer, a bumblebee or a blade of grass for that matter might speak to me and have something profound (or not!) to say. Why not? As children we sense the world, we do not forge through it like a crusading army. The world unfolds around us and we are quite close to that veil beyond which communication is a vibration, a heartbeat, and much more than words. So what happened? So much. Today we are bombarded with information, our intellectual brains are the size of melons and our intuitive brains struggle for any attention at all. Women often find themselves re-attuned to their intuition through motherhood. Ask any mother for a time when she has just "known" where her children are, what they are doing, if something is wrong, etc. There is a cord of electricity that binds us all, and we have only to flick the switch to ignite it.

When I first heard an animal speak to me as an adult, in a "how to communicate with animals" class, there was shock, but also familiarity. A sense of "I've been here before, but I've forgotten the where, when, and how." Of course my little cat and I communicated constantly, but I didn't recognize this as something interesting or unique, it just was. Likewise with the various horse friends I'd had over the years - and their communication could be quite loud, as in when I'd find myself lying on the ground after having been told in no uncertain terms, "no I do not wish to jump this fence you silly girl."

The thing that is hard for us as humans is recognizing the difference between cerebral communication, our spoken language, and heart communication. Having a conversation with an animal, or any being in nature, is like turning on your 6th sense and letting it drive the car. Possibly a bit unnerving for those of the intellectual persuasion. It is beyond "thinking" and ALL feeling.

I'll explain that all more someday, but for now, the easiest thing is to just take a deep breath, and feel what is around you. Close your eyes - they tend to be tricky and give you a false sense of reality. Just sense what is, and let it in. If your animal friend or your wee child is being particularly nice, or particularly nudge-y at the moment, just be quiet, and see what comes. Don't judge it, and for goodness sake, don't judge yourself.

Beginning

Wis-dom (n.)

1. The ability to discern what is true, right, or lasting. 

I like this definition of wisdom.  I'd always thought of wisdom as something elderly people achieved at some unspecified point in life.  Sometime between turning the corner on middle age and becoming truly old you get a certified document in the mail noting that you are now, officially, Wise and authorized to dispense wisdom to the young and foolish at any moment, solicited or non.  If you have a long flowing beard and live on a remote mountain top somewhere this potentially ups your wisdom factor quite a bit.

As it turns out, wisdom is possibly something one could possess at any age, and in fact, I am privileged to count among my friends a number of children with wisdom beyond anything I can hope to acquire.  When I began communicating with animals a few years ago, I was introduced to the mind-blowing realization that all I'd ever suspected about the inherent wisdom, or "knowingness", of the world around us was, in fact, quite true and then some.  The wisdom that animals possess, that all of nature possesses, is the knowing that we are one and the same lump of stuff, all created from the same microscopic specs of matter, just molded in quite different forms.  Knowing this, it seems, changes everything.  Suddenly what is "true, right, or lasting" becomes much more obvious, and all else falls away like a tawdry side show gimmick.  

Still, the gimmicks are pretty powerful stuff, and it's hard not to get sucked in and forget all the wisdom one just spent a good deal of spiritual effort and several lovely, sunny weekend days acquiring.  It reminds me a bit of playing "Candy Land" with a small friend not long ago.  The absolute worst luck, in my opinion, is almost reaching the end only to wind up in the molasses swamp, where you have to wait out a turn mired in molasses goo with your goal - the coveted candy cottage - in full view.  While everyone else gleefully overtakes you, there you sit, thanks to one poor spin of the little wheel.  Rats.  All that effort, only to be passed by a 4-year-old with better finger dexterity and a possible (albeit unsubstantiated) penchant for manipulating the wheel.  So you wait it out, and despite the setback, you get the chance to learn a little about your game-mate, and then you go on.  Stickier, yes, but possibly a little wiser about the pitfalls of the game and the nature of your companions.

Maybe that's not the best visual, but the thing is, the wisdom we need to get to our goal is all around us, all we have to do is stay open to it, not fight it, and watch out for sticky spots on the way.  Sounds easy right?  Yeah, not always.  The great thing about wisdom is, it's there for us in the sticky spots too.