And nature has provided us with a blueprint and the stories to find ourselves back home. All you need is a pair of wings and an unbroken connection to your ancestral knowledge. The intrepid wheatear is a fine example. This sparrow-sized bird, whose family heirloom consists of more than a genetically imprinted map of where home is, possesses homing instincts complete with a readiness equal to that of a great athlete and explorer combined. As the eastern Canadian population of wheatears heads off on their migration, they follow their internal map towards open water for a trans-Atlantic crossing to England and then on to home to Northern Africa.
Equally awesome is the blackpoll warbler. I first heard about this voyager from a talk given by the famous birder Ken Kaufman, who began following his own internal map as a teenager (his idea of adventure was to see more species of birds than anyone else, and so he has). According to Kaufman, the blackpoll warbler stuffs itself full with berries and insects until it suddenly decides that now is the time. Taking off from the coniferous forests of New England, the warbler heads out to the Atlantic and turns south, flying non-stop to Venezuela, over 2,500 miles away. This bird, which weighs about half an ounce, uses all of its energy reserves, flying for three days and two nights (on average) until it reaches its destination. This puts the stress of holiday travel in its place.
Especially for the juvenile birds that have never made this trip before, but are more than willing to give in to the instinct to fly thousands of miles to a place they have never been beforeŠblessed are those who have not seen, but believe.
It is not just the physiological prowess that makes this journey home so noteworthy; it is the fidelity to the ancestral routes, the homing instinct. It is the continuum of homing to ancestral feeding grounds, not just to the place where one was born or raised, but to the place where one belongs.
Scientists know so much about the homing instinct of animals: Bees orient to polarized light. Salamanders steer by lines of geomagnetic force. Garter snakes find their winter den by smelling out their bloodline, kin that they may not have ever met. Pigeons use the position of the sun. Songbirds follow stars. They are all drawn to a place proven to be safe by the hard, undeniable fact of their own existence. However, in this exploration of homing instincts, we have forgotten to look at our own. What will draw our own children home?
Do we have an internal map, which draws us unerringly to the place of our ancestors, to home? In his book The Spell of the Sensuous, David Abram describes the map or songline of the Aborigines of Australia, whose songline begins when the mother feels the first movement of the unborn in her womb. She knows that the spirit child of that specific place has worked its way into her womb. In this manner, every Aboriginal person at birth inherits a particular stretch of song that is his title to a stretch of land, which leads to his conception site from which his life comes. It is that place on earth where he most belongs, and his essence, his deepest self, is indistinguishable from that terrain. Even more inspiring is that the Aborigines' gods have left tracks and names across the landscape which aid the person to create his songline.
Outside of adopting the methods of the Aborigines and asking our mothers where they felt us kick first (which might lead us to the uninspiring place of a grocery store, a movie theater, or heaven help us, a fast food restaurant), how do we tap into the genetic and/or spiritual storyline written by our ancestors, our life essence, our god, that will lead us home?
Perhaps our children's homing instinct is driven by traditions: Thanksgiving dinner, family camping trips, a religious affiliation. Maybe it is driven by sensory input: the smell of warm bread in the oven, clean bed sheets, the wetness of the family dog, the sound of the ocean waves, or the safeness felt while sitting next to a hot fireplace while listening to the approach of a thunderstorm. It may manifest later as sundowner's syndrome, seen so often in convalescent homes, where displaced elders of various stages of mental capacity want to go home when the sun has set. They want to go home, the one that exists in the memories of their hearts.
While we don't necessarily need to find out the exact place where we first moved our bodies, maybe the Aborigines have it figured out--their culture has given them a place to begin, and a belief that we have a song to sing and a life to lead. The practices of the Yequana, an indigenous South American tribe, suggest that throughout our lives we need to develop a concept of a continuum, a natural mode of growing and learning which is fostered at the time of our birth. When our family, our community, and our culture as a whole support that ancestral lineage, our map, our songline then, becomes much clearer.
Fortunately for us, the tracks that may lead us home are still there. Is it a coincidence that the Aborigines used the term songline, and the songbirds still have their ancestral connection? Many intact, healthy cultures on this earth have demonstrated their close ties to the earth, as well as powerful elements of their specific cultures which have led their own children home for generations. Our myriad healthy cultures, our ties to the earth, can furnish us with an original spirit with which to tackle the big challenges; they should allow us to find values which will be our map. Our songline through life should make us spiritually rich, loving to live in the moment wherever we are, whomever we are with. It should teach us what is important: how to live and how to die.
Mark Batcheler is an educator and naturalist. He recently received his Masters degree at Prescott College in Arizona.
©2005 Talking Leaves
Spring 2005
Volume 15, Number 1
Family Values