The Warning Call of Jungle Birds: A Signal to Stay Away

I walked into the jungle, and I mean into the jungle. Normally I would say that and mean that I was on a path. This time it was only a place where once, long enough ago for the spiky plants to grow back, someone had cut a narrow trail through them with a machete.

Ok, that is a lot of explaining, but I want you to feel like you were there.

I walked into the jungle, watching each step, being careful not to turn an ankle on the limestone rocks peeking out between the shin-poking botanicals that tried to prevent me from making any headway. And it was really only a few meters that I was hoping to go, because Roman was leading me (and my two friends) to the site of a meter-square opening in the ground, a hole into the river that runs to El Inframundo the Maya Underworld.

You see, the land there is rampant with such holes, and one must take care while making any headway through such unwelcoming undergrowth lest one should fall into such a hole.

I should have known that we weren’t welcome there just from the way the thorns held onto my Birkenstocks and scratched my already sunburned legs. But it seemed harmless, I mean after all, it was just one small hole, one tiny cenote-well offering a tiny peek into the world below.

I gingerly stepped along what was once the trail. I could see the black hole, oddly square even though it was not hewed by human hands. Black birds, the ones with lovely turquoise-blue wings, gathered overhead. At first, I mostly ignored their squawking, intent on the uncomfortable slapping of the undergrowth as I was. But as I came to rest at the edge of the hole, the noise began to grate on my nerves. It was unsettling in an odd way, and my friends were right behind me, trying to make their way through the nasty bits of plants while I watched out for their safety, not ONLY from the reaching plants and half-hidden rocks, but also from the possibility of the land giving way.

The land is unstable in the jungles of the Yucatan. Beneath the ground lie hundreds of kilometers of clear, mystical rivers. Their waters bring life to the denizens of the wild. Occasionally, the land gives way exposing the important waters below. It isn't necessarily safe to stand too close to the edge of one of said holes. A bit more of its edge may give way and you may find yourself deep in a cave with no way out except up…and up a long, long way!

NOTE: I am showing you a photo here of the opening into the underground river. It doesn't look like much and perhaps you should not even look at it.... you'll understand why in a few moments....

cenote

So, you can imagine, with all of this on my mind, that I began to feel a bit overwhelmed and the squawking of the birds… well it was increasing, rising almost to a feverish pitch until I could no longer consider the possibility of falling into the earth, and the birds had completely stolen my attention.

Than’s when Roman said, “The Gossipers (for that is their name in English) are telling on us.”

Only a few days prior, Rodi, the son of the family who owns the land, was pointing out the Chismosos (the name in Spanish). “They gossip,” he explained. “They tell all the animals what is happening in the jungle.”

The squawking grew to a feverish pitch about the same time we decided to vacate the area. And, to my amazement, the birds followed us. The farther we got away from the water hole--the portal into the Underworld and the source of life--the lower-pitched, softer, and less insistent their voices became.

I distinctly got the impression that we were not welcome at the tiny well. I had the feeling that it was best that we made it very apparent that we were leaving. The birds flew on ahead of us as if they were leading the way. They relaxed. Eventually they flew off a bit more distant, still watching, and giving the occasional low call similar to a dog who feels he has successfully chased off an unwelcomed visitor. You know, the low gruff kind of thing? It was almost just like that . . . satisfied, still wanting to be noticed, mixed with a tiny bit of, “don’t come back” warning.

chismosos

I know the jungle is alive. I know it is a community, with the plants, animals, rocks, water holes, and unseen guardians all working together. I know this in my head and even in my heart. But when you feel the power of it directed at you, when you are the one interrupting the peace, the awareness of the power of this connected wild community suddenly becomes very real.

Asking permission before I do that again!

Hugs and butterflies,

Laura