When I was returning home from a place of worship where I held a healing course in February 2003, in the corner of the building next to my parked car crouched an angelically beautiful pigeon. Unlike the typical town pigeons tending to be of various shades of grey, his feathers were glittering silver blue and violet with snow white patches. One of the wings hung lifelessly off the young bird’s body without showing a sign of obvious damage. Resigned, he let me handle him. I asked my Spirit Guide, whether the bird can be healed, and Lysseus told me that I will be able to heal him.
I named the handsome bird "Aramis" and a spare cloak room in the house became his retreat for the next four months during which he healed. I introduced Aramis to other animals in the household, and was taking him into the garden once or twice a day, to keep him stimulated and as happy as possible. When in about 10 weeks’ time Aramis started flapping his wings, I took him to a local vet who found that the pigeon had a broken shoulder which could not have been surgically mended. The vet advised to cut the bird’s feathers short on the wings, and keep it as a pet that does not fly. Two weeks later, when Aramis started flying, I took him to Bristol, to Dr Hamish Denny, a top orthopaedic veterinary surgeon, and this is the X-ray that Dr Denny took:
Dr Denny called the result "an absolutely wonderful example of healing by nature".
The pigeon's body developed a new re-connection to the humerus, shown on the picture as the "V" shaped intense white mass bridging the gap between the shoulder and the wing. The shattered particles in the centre of the radius, the thin long bone on the left, have also re-formed. In those days Aramis already spent most of his time on the window. Another month later, when a throng of pigeons flew high over the house, Aramis’ old instincts got the better of him, and he joined them. I watched his ascent into the sky, but after a few moments he established full balance in flight, and became unrecognizable from the other birds.
During his healing, Lysseus advised three times a day on the nutrition the bird needed in order for his body to repair. Small amounts of a quality calcium formula, as overdosing with calcium could kill a bird, with added magnesium and boron, mixed into peanut butter, complemented Aramis’ daily diet of purest organic seeds.
There is a charming innocence in all birds, but if Aramis’ appearance was an indication of the beauty of his Soul, and if he had to return to the way of life into which he was born then, I hope, he eventually went to some
beautiful garden in another World, one in which all birds are loved and safe.
Aramis was one of three injured pigeons I came across in Cheltenham in 2003 – 2005. In each case it was in the same area of the town, and the injury was the result of a heavy impact on a part of the pigeon’s body. The incident I witnessed not long after Aramis left, offered some clues.
I faced the road
to cross the North Street, when a youth on a moped steered straight at a pigeon trying to move out of the way, and I got the young man’s grin and jeer as he scored over the bird that made two or three summersaults in the air before falling to the gutter. Begging Lysseus to receive him, I looked into the bird’s eyes, while blood seeped through his feathers and he continued gasping for breath, before he died at my feet. This bird was not, but could have been Aramis. The incident happened in broad daylight. No-one else paid it attention.
The third encounter took place in the neighbouring High Street. It was busy as always, when I spotted there a pigeon flapping his wings and falling back into the gutter. No one looked at it twice. I picked him up, and used the end of my t-shirt as a pouch in which to carry him in a manner which, I hoped, would be most comfortable to him.
At that point it was me who got looks of pity from good and compassionate citizens passing by.
This third bird will have been dragging itself along the gutters for some time. One of his feet was strangely crumpled up under his body, and the other was swollen red, he was emaciated and his back was bare without a single feather left to cover it. The feathers he had left were charcoal and lighter grey, which gave him a freckled appearance. He was sticky with dirt and grease that collected on the black clumps of dried blood and mottled feathers.
Lysseus previously advised to save one large antibiotic tablet from one of the dogs, and now he told me, we need that tablet. I cut it up into 10 pieces which the bird got over 5 days, the first dose being given as soon as we came home, and before "Porthos" had his long soaking bath during which he repeatedly collapsed from exhaustion.
After removing all the dirt and loose feathers, what was left of poor Porthos under the hairdryer, resembled a feather stripped little chicken. But he would eat, and after a good rest started picking up in front of my eyes. Four days later he stood on the window on two legs, and a "stubble" of fresh black feathers appeared on his back. Unlike well-mannered Aramis, Porthos was a feisty little bird trying to bite me each time I handled him. As he got stronger, I put him inside a huge sock which I hung with some pegs on the washing line in the garden, to keep him happy. One sunny day, Porthos got out of the sock and onto the roof of the outhouse. I could see how he was assessing the sky and the directions, before he too, flew off to where his home may have been.
All three birds will have been proud Cheltenham’s town pigeons, in the county of Gloucestershire, England, where the Cheltenham races attended by royalty and "everybody who is anybody" take place. It is also where annually several brave horses pushed to exceed their limits get killed in front of the betting crowd entertained at the prospect of winning more money. Plastic cups and wrappers, beer and broken spirit bottles, the occasional vomit and even male pants and other underwear near the bushes around the racecourse remind of the grand event that keeps locals in business, and the shopkeepers are concerned about biological litter from pigeons, the rain washes away, and whose numbers could be controlled without resorting to cruelty.
Only because those who push a defenceless living being into the gutter, and laugh while they leave it bleeding to die, are allowed the same voting rights as have those who help it out and above the gutter, it does not mean that is where it all ends.
Everyone creates their fate by how they mark the lives of every living being they meet. I do not mind being seen the fool who saves and pampers sick pigeons in a town where no money could mean no rights; I am glad not having to be the parent of a boy whose moped becomes his killing machine. Hell becomes the reality, and perceived power – a short lived illusion, if engaging power of any kind to mindlessly inflicting pain.