Liminal Guide Through Stillness and Anger

At dusk, carrying more than I could release, I sat motionless at my living room window. Camera in hand. Behind my small apartment there lies a bubbling brook. Just past the wake of the water is a small, marshy area. Pale gold skimmed the water; mist clung to reeds. I almost missed her getting lost in the beauty of such a landscape. A great blue heron, still as stone in the shallows, looking at something I can’t see. Air and water held together by silence, left me breathless. Her single golden eye glinted. I softened my gaze and tightened the focus to get a better shot. Something in her patience spoke to the storm in my chest. Something, I wanted to be able to look back on forever. Herons live where elements meet water, earth, air. Wading for long minutes, not idle but vividly present, waiting for the right moment to strike. I envy her self-control. So, I waited, too. We shared the quiet, both of us in the muddy margin between solid ground and deep water. More than a fitting metaphor for my life between a traumatic past and an uncertain future. The marsh’s rhythm slowed my thoughts. We stayed like that for what felt like a small eternity until a sudden ripple in the water broke the spell. A slimy catfish fish, darting near her feet. In a blink, the heron struck. The blur of blue-gray motion and lethal grace. I could see her spear-like beak impaled the fish with one clean stab. It looked like a slimy catfish, ready for the picking. Gasping quietly at the speed and accuracy, I wonder how she even saw the fish in the first place. Then, just as quickly as she swallowed her catch and resumed her statue-like pose, ripples fading around her. It happened in an instant, but it wasn’t luck. This results from results of hours of attention distilled into one perfect action. I sat up, marveling at how present and deliberate she was. It made me reflect on my own behavior. How often had I lashed out blindly, or made rash choices in the grip of anger and fear? The answer is something I hold guilt over tightly. cPTSD can trigger internal fight-or-flight responses at the slightest provocation. Leading to external behaviors. Anger cooled from wildfire to ember. The lesson arrived without words; be here, patience, observation, then precise response. You are all right at this moment. She was alone but not lonelier, her solitude a choice and power. She did not deny her predatory nature; when the time was right, she acted swiftly and effectively, while she also didn’t waste energy flailing at every minor ripple. Not everything is an enemy or a crisis. This is the hard truth I needed to learn in my trauma recovery. As sunlight burned away, and the mist cleared, she spread her wide wings and lifted on a low whoosh. She crossed the pond toward the darkening sky, silhouette of self-trust.