Why Did the Cardinal Have to Die?

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Guest Post by David Rivinus

It is early December in beautiful rural Vermont. The snow is already a foot deep, and today the sky is cloudless—a vibrant blue. Veronica is meditating on this scene from her picture window. Suddenly, she watches as a Cardinal, flying full speed toward her house, crashes into the “invisible” glass barrier. Veronica gasps as she observes it drop, a lifeless, crimson splotch—like a blood stain—in the expanse of pure, sparkling snow. She is distraught and seeks a meaning.

For Veronica, there is no question this unusual event is a waking dream, full of poignant metaphors. The word “cardinal” is rich in symbolic meaning. There are the four cardinal directions; there is cardinal sin; there is the cardinal who is a church official; cardinals fly; cardinal can mean “important;” and if you look up the etymology of the word, it originally referred to a kind of hinge—like a door hinge.

Veronica’s waking dream experience delivered a powerful message about not “crashing” into an “invisible barrier;” and, instead, making an “important” change,  by “flying” in a new “direction.” This all “hinged” on eliminating certain attitudes of “orthodoxy” that she had carried for years. 

This was poignant stuff! Yet, there was only one overriding issue she was grappling with when we met to discuss her waking dream event: Why did this beautiful creature have to die?

It is a question I, myself, struggled with for several years. I grew up in a hunting family, and later in life had a farm and raised livestock. This was done as impeccably as I knew how. 

The animals were fed organic food. And I was part of a co-op of three other conscientious farm families. We all shared knowledge and made certain the animals in our charges were treated with dignity and without stress, both while alive and when dying.

But every year when Thanksgiving rolled around and it was time for me to “play God” and slaughter multiple innocent birds, I would ask Veronica’s question: Why do these creatures have to die?

My vegetarian friends feel they have the answer. And certainly, when it comes to eating, they have a point. At the same time, as early as the 1970s, Kirlian photography showed conclusively that plants have consciousness and register pain, anxiety, and pleasure. In addition, one of my favorite 20^th Century adepts from Varanasi, India, a woman named Anandamayi Ma, respected the conscious nature of plants so highly that she would not eat a piece of fruit until it had fallen, ripe, from its tree.

Besides, Veronica’s Cardinal wasn’t food; instead, it seemed to die at random. And yet, all one had to do was examine the symbolic waking dream event to understand that the bird’s demise wasn’t an arbitrary occurrence. Over the years, I have helped with numerous dreams and waking dreams in which an animal has died, and, in each case, it was clear that the event was “staged” by the powers that be. 

For me, this mystery became what the Sufis refer to as “The Question.” Sufis say that anyone on a spiritual journey always has one dominant question that is key to moving forward to the next level of understanding. 

Why did the animal have to die?

I silently asked this question again and again, until one evening, during meditation, an answer came: “It wants the gift recognized.”

Excuse me?

This simple phrase took no more than a second to “download” into my consciousness. But as with so many infuriatingly enigmatic messages that come from the inner planes, it would take me months of pondering to figure out what it meant.

Here’s what I eventually understood. We humans are gifted with an extraordinary thinking capacity. This gives us an unprecedented ability to retain ideas and express them. It results in our principal method of communication. But this comes at a price, because our thinking also distances us from the veil that separates living from dying.

By contrast, animals (and plants) have less thinking capacity; they can’t talk to express themselves. But they are closer to the veil and do not share our anxiety about death. As such, as part of their “contracts” here, many of them agree to offer themselves as communication and nurturing tools—either to teach or as food. 

There is a condition, though. They are willing to make this ultimate sacrifice, but they want their gift honored and recognized. When I finally understood this, the whole death conundrum evaporated.

“Veronica,” I said, “this Cardinal was your teacher. It couldn’t talk; it couldn’t send you smoke signals. Instead, it acted out a stage play of metaphors to help guide you to your own profound, new-life understanding. You need to honor that!”

Veronica was both moved and greatly relieved. She lost no time. She thoughtfully, prayerfully interred the little body—all except for a few eye-catching crimson tail feathers that sit on her desk and remind her, daily, to honor and thank the avian guide who gave her so much.

The author of the book Always Dreaming, David Rivinus has been teaching and facilitating classes and seminars on metaphysical topics for several decades. His specialty is dream interpretation, and he offers group and individual sessions both online and in his home town on the Oregon coast. He can be reached at [email protected].