Awakening an Ally

July 14. Soon after I awaken, Mary animatedly describes how, on her morning walk, she caught sight of a mother moose along with a precious little newborn and another young one, slightly larger, but too small to be a yearling. It’s likely they will stick close by for now, given all the traffic this summer on our dirt road from city folk desperate to escape pandemic confinement.

Although I have a phone session scheduled at 11, and it’s now 10:45, I feel inspired to find this trio. Now. So I walk down into the forest at a good pace, yet cautiously—for this could become a dangerous situation if I overstep my bounds. I go a short distance further until voila, there they are, moving through the dark forest, mother beside and a tad ahead of the precious little one, and a grownup moose length or so ahead of the larger young one. It’s everything the little one can do to keep up with her mother. As for the slightly larger one, he is faring a bit more easily, scampering along. 

Simply witnessing them will transform my day—I so admire how they know and honor who they are, limitations included.

Mama moose remains ever vigilant for any hint of danger. That she does not spot me tells me I am not perceived to be a threat, although upon my seeing them I took not one step nearer. Besides keeping her kin out of harm’s way, mother is concerned with finding enough food, water, and good shelter over the next year, until her next baby arrives, whereupon she will start over by telling her yearling(s) they must go out on their own. 

July 15. That the two little ones are twins will get verified this day. In the early evening, I set out for a walk around our land. As I descend into the forest, I hear a sound—startled movement from a large critter—a sound I came to know when we owned horses. Turning in the direction of the sound, I see a moose, a yearling male, his first set of antlers just sprouting. He has been startled by my sound and is seeking a hiding place. Unlike elder males, who do not startle easily and by their attitude sink their energy down, thereby conveying to me I am trespassing and must leave, this guy is cowering.

I feel from his trepidation at being out here alone that he was only recently forced out by his mother, now fully occupied in caring for her newborns. His aloneness strikes a chord within me concerning living in a world of extreme separation. I turn back, providing him space, and telepathically welcome him to sleep on our land tonight.

Territory is a fascinating matter where such animals as elk and moose are concerned. Living in their midst for twenty years now, I have found these creatures to be constantly exercising what in my medicine is called their shinpo capacities, so as to respect one another’s territory, the precise boundaries of which are ever-changing in the world of nomadic creatures. 

I, too, was exercising my shinpo capacity yesterday, and again just now. For me, one’s shinpo meridian defines the appropriate extent of one’s reach. Technically, my shinpo is my body’s envelope, without which my territory would extend infinitely, thereby setting up clashes with others over whose territory it was and what belonged to whom. Hard to believe that we humans possess such a capacity?

Our shinpos are our indispensable feelers wherever we may be. One’s shinpo can alert a person to a possible danger well in advance of its becoming manifest, provided that person is tuned in and not greedy to push on in that direction. 

Our body’s envelope resides just outside our skin, a wonderful ally for informing us when and where COVID 19 may be lurking. An invisible ally to counter an invisible devil. But there is a catch: we need to be willing to feel what’s in our environment, and what we feel may not feel good.

A human being’s shinpo alarm point is centered on the chest, approximately between the nipples. That alarm actually goes off, transmitting a feeling of danger, in time for a person to safely change course. If a person were to persist on the same course, the feeling would intensify until . . . . This feeling is different from fear. Fear arises from our thoughts, whereas shinpo alarm point goes off all on its own. 

If you would like to find your alarm point, lie on your back and, with your index finger,  palpate along the vertical center line of your chest for the most sensitive point between or slightly higher or lower than your nipples. Rest assured you will find the point, and it will be sensitive.

It may require practice to reawaken your shinpo capacity because upon embarking on our exploration of materiality, we human beings relegated our shinpo capacities into dormancy. Why? Because the nature of our exploration is founded upon cutting. Without shinpo’s warning, we can forge headlong into the cutting without the knowledge that it will hurt. We also relegated shinpo to dormancy because having the alarm go off may interfere with our desires, our desires being what called us to make this exploration in the first place.

The time has clearly come to bring our shinpo capacity out of dormancy. So when the alarm goes off, honor it, no matter how much you may desire to keep heading in that danger-fraught direction. Returning to our fuller capacity in this way will be a giant step in healing our lives and our world.

July 16. This afternoon, while watering the wildest reach of our secret garden, I discover a patch of tall mountain wild grass matted down from someone who slept there last night, its size the perfect fit for a yearling. A smile spontaneously comes to my face, a rarity of recent. It’s when I am in nature that magic occurs these days.

July 17. Our daughter is due to go into labor with her first child at any moment. What a profound time to be bringing a newborn into the world. This reality, along with my recent experience with the moose, have reminded me of a question my teacher posed early on, a question that has taken me years to begin to grasp: 

“Can you tell me please, what is a human being?” 

If you choose to consider this question, reawakening your shinpo dimension will be extremely helpful.

We welcome your response. 

Thank you,

Stuart Bernstein