In Quieting The Chatter Of Human Language, One Hears The Languages Of Animals

Monday, 20 April 2026, 10:41 am
Opinion: Martin LeFevre - Meditations

Two jays glide into the backyard, one right in front of where I sit. I’ve seen jays soar over for a drink or bath in the bowls of water I put out for them hundreds of times before. But this time an ordinary glide at eye level is seen for what it is: a thing of great beauty.

One of the jays dropped down to the grass a couple feet away and stared at me. Clearly, they know I put the water out for them, and appreciate it. Watching them intently, the species barrier disappeared, and for a few moments their alertness to every little movement was also mine.

Jays are very smart birds. Not as smart as crows, but smart enough to adapt well to human environments. Even smart enough to murder other birds.

Once, after taking a long meditation beside the stream running through town, when the mind was completely quiet and totally without the usual chatter of words and associations when I stood, I witnessed something extraordinary.

Recent storms off the Pacific had turned the gentle creek of summer into a small, whitecapped river. I stood on the bank and watched as a scold of jays perched on both sides of the raging stream told off a small murmuration of starlings flying upstream and down.

I don’t know what possessed the starlings, but the jays didn’t like it at all, and kept scolding the smaller starlings. After about half a dozen times, the jays became quiet, and you could feel something was up.

The next time the starlings started to fly by, one of the jays made a perfectly timed vertical takeoff to nearly treetop level, and dive bombed into the flock of starlings, driving one into the swirling current. The bird shrieked bloody murder as it was swept downstream to its death.

Deep in a meditative state, I was astounded – the jay had intentionally killed a starling! Needless to say, that put an end to their annoying flybys into and out of the jays’ territory.

My worldview was thrown into doubt. I had always believed that only humans committed murder, but here I had proof beyond reasonable doubt that a jay had intentionally killed another bird.

Of course predators can and must be cunning in their hunts, but murdering another bird to make an example of it is another thing.

Had the jays, which are much more watchful of us than we realize, become corrupted living around humans? Or are all smart animals capable of murder?

Indigenous people were much wiser about these things. The species barrier between humans and animals was much thinner when humans lived in nature, and native peoples’ encounters with the creatures around them in the wild often held great meaning.

I experienced such an encounter around the same time and in the same area of Lower Park. The renowned park of this town is about a quarter mile wide, beginning at “One Mile” (where a section of the stream has been dammed to make a big municipal pool), and ending up at “Five Mile.” From there “Upper Park” fans out into the semi-wilderness canyon beyond town.

I often take walks along the paths of Lower Park after an hour-long meditation, when the mind is still and one is fully present.

Usually I encounter other walkers, runners or bikers on the wide paths, but on this day there didn’t seem to be anyone in the park but me. As I rounded a corner heading into a long, wide stretch of about 400 meters, I saw an animal duck into the tall grass.

“That’s not a dog,” was the thought that shot through one’s silent mind. It was over 200 meters ahead, so I doubted the thought, and forgot it. But when I got to the spot where the animal had left the trail, there it was, standing on a big log waiting for me – a healthy, full-grown coyote!

We were only a meter apart as I stopped in my tracks and stared into its eyes. No one I know had seen a coyote in Lower Park before, but that was the least of it. Had the coyote sensed the human in an altered state before I saw it, as dogs often do?

Again, there was no species barrier, and as we stared at each other, a very strange thing happened. For a few unmistakable moments, perception shifted, and one was the coyote looking at the human.

Just then I heard someone walking up the trail from the same direction I had come. I turned to look, and when I looked back, the coyote was gone.

I walked on, gobsmacked by what had just happened. When I returned home I researched Native American encounters with coyotes, and learned that they accorded great meaning to them. The coyote was often seen as a “complex, paradoxical figure, a trickster archetype that combined roles of creator, buffoon and teacher.”

It’s often said: “Any language comes with a specific conception of the world and the universe,” and that learning to speak another language “is really a way to learn to see the world through a different lens.”

That’s true as far as it goes, which isn’t very far these days. What’s essential is to see beyond the lenses of languages altogether. That's what occurs when the mind is completely still.

Then one hears and understands the languages of animals, and they respond.

Martin LeFevre

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Martin LeFevre - Meditations

Scoop Contributor

Martin LeFevre is a contemplative and philosopher.

His sui generis “Meditations” explore spiritual, philosophical and political questions relating to the polycrisis facing humanity.

lefevremartin77@gmail