One of the most magical experiences I’ve had is with a family of hares. One late spring day, I set off on a long walk in my favourite valley. Blue skies with fluffy clouds. Green fields and hills stretching for miles. Nobody around. I lay awhile in the grass, gazing up at the blue, at the clouds as they passed overhead. I started to cloud-bust. Focusing on a cloud and asking it to disperse in a particular place, or to join with another cloud. My full attention. Picturing it slowly evaporating into wisps and then blueness. Then picturing a little lone cloud merge with a big one. And miraculously, the clouds respond, and the patterns I envisage play out.
I feel deeply connected, peaceful. Whatever cares I’d carried with me on the walk to that point are now forgotten, evaporated into the clouds.
After about an hour I rouse myself and continue walking. I find a gap in the hedge and start walking along an open track. In the distance I see a hare. I look through my binoculars. Something tells me it’s a male. He notices me and lollops away along the field parallel to the track. He sounds the alert, because the three other hares I can see playing and grazing in the distance shoot off into the bushes. I carry on walking towards them. And then something curious happens. They all come back out of the bushes and start playing and chasing each other again. A fourth hare joins them. The two playing seem a bit smaller. A pair with their leverets?
To my surprise, the first hare then steadily lollops back towards me. By now, I’ve sat down on the track, still out in the open, to observe through my binoculars. He comes closer and closer, and the others follow. And before I know it, the whole family are resuming their play around me, within 20-30 feet. Two are chasing each other and boxing; the male is nibbling grass. The fourth – the mother? – is washing herself. I can see every detail of her coat and face, every move she makes. I’m taking the binoculars up and down from my face. I know they see, smell and hear me, but they’ve decided to trust me. More than that, it dawns on me that they are inviting me into their world for a while. My disturbance field is minimal, my energy clear, my heart open, and they know. They know I’m a friend.
For the next half an hour I’m privy to all their natural habits. Two of them have lain down and dozed off. Another has come onto the track to graze near me. The father has wandered off into the wheat. And I sit there spellbound, my heart singing with gratitude that these wary creatures should trust me so implicitly and show me their ways.
Finally I have to drag myself away. I quietly, internally, tell them I’m going to get up slowly and move on along the track, and I thank them deeply for their willingness to share their lives with me. When I do get up, looming over them now, none of them moves a muscle still. I get a strong sense that they’re saying thank you to me, that they enjoyed sharing their space with me. We shared pure connection, pure love. I was on a high for days, telling everyone who would listen my story of the hares!