We Come As Eagles

Sri Harold Klemp, the current Living ECK Master (spiritual leader of ECKANKAR, the Religion of the Light and Sound of God), wrote that line somewhere in one of his books: We come as eagles. He clarified that by explaining, in essence, that we don't need to be doormats in order to live spiritual lives.

I couldn't agree more.

But still, spiritual "permission" or no, learning to be asssertive in balance was not an easy trait for me to develop in the beginning. As a child--perhaps not unlike other children--I mostly wanted what I wanted and resented those I perceived to be standing in my way. Although it's still a bit shaming to admit this, I can recall times when my fear-and-rage emotional combo was triggered so strongly that there were vivid fantasy episodes involving sniper rifles and deliberate homicide...because I was too frightened to accept an invitation to fistfight after my big mouth had offended the other kid. There was little of balance about any of this; it just was.

Fortunately, that did change over time. Much time. Decades. Just how much it changed was brought home to me a matter of minutes ago. My wife and I live in Arizona, little more than a mile from the Mexican border. In such a location, the most active neighbors in truth are probably the illegal immigrants, with an intermittent but impressive stream of them heading ever northward. However, those people stay relatively invisible of necessity; to be seen is to be apprehended by the Border Patrol and deported. The most visibly active neighbors, then, are--you guessed it--the Border Patrol officers themselves.

We appreciate their presence if not always their methods. For example, a neighbor (not an officer) we met when he did some work on our place reported the following:

He and his friends hunt in the general area. Not on our land, but a bit east of here. When they do, often for birds, they are decked out in obvious "hunter type" clothing, carrying shotguns and riding ATVs (All Terrain Vehicles, sometimes called "quads"). After dark one night, four of them were returning late from the field when they heard the BP (Border Patrol) helicopter.  They did not see it because it carries night vision equipment and was running without lights.

Suddenly the hunters were completely surrounded by at least six BP officers on quadrunners of their own, thanks to our munificent tax dollars.  They had approached without lights  The riders were dressed all in black and did not identify themselves as Border Patrol..

The hunters did not wait to see what all this might be about. As one man, they punched it, their nimble sport quads outrunning the beefier BP machines...all the way to our friend's garage. The officers had the overhead helicopter to guide them, of course, so it wasn't long before they ran the American citizens to ground.

There, however, they got a nasty surprise.

That garage has a loft. The loft has windows. When the Border Patrolmen came roaring in on their copmachines, they were met with massive firepower staring down at them, long gun barrels poking out from every window.

"Whaddya want?!" Came the challenge.

Fortunately, no shots were fired. The errant Border Bumblers were reminded that they had not identified themselves when they attempted to jump four obviously American men wearing obvious hunting gear and running with their lights on like ordinary citizens going about their business--which they were. Those ordinary citizens were not, however, about to back down...and soon enough, the Sneak Squad was gone without further ado.

We heard about this less than a week ago. Although civilian horror stories involving the Border Patrol abound, we (Pam and I) had not at that time had any personal confrontation with any agent. In fact, our relationships with officers in the area had been quite cordial from Day One. We have the BP phone number posted on our refrigerator door. I've met two of their mounted officers, both of whom appreciated the fact that with my ranch upbringing plus a number of years as a rodeo rider, I understand horses. We wave whenever we drive past any BP vehicle parked on neighborhood streets, and they wave back at least half of the time.

Fast forward to somewhere around 2:00 a.m., February 23, 2010. I was typing away on the computer, thinking about finally calling it a night and getting some sleep, when a BP vehicle stopped on the street at the end of our driveway and...shined a spotlight right on me.

Let me set the stage. Until the house I'm building is ready for occupancy, our domicile consists of an old camp trailer. I sleep elsewhere--actually in an unheated steel shed--but Pam sleeps here, and this is where I take my meals and where I fire up the laptop. One window is on my left side, the curtain hanging open enough that if a headlight goes by on the street, about 100 yards distant, I'm aware of it. True, doing it that way leaves me backlit, a sitting duck target in the event of a crazed sniper, but neither Pam nor I feel any threat in this area at the moment...and our "paranoia radar" is pretty fine tuned.

When the BP dude stopped out there, I turned my head to watch. His spotlight swung casually from across the yard, to me...and stopped. Full on. That's right. This genius chose to rudely shine his light-for-catching-criminals across 100 yards of private property, through a window, and onto the homeowner. Once it was obvious that he intended to keep on staring and playing the light game--let's say after three to five seconds--I'd had enough. Our only outside lights after dark are handheld flashlights, and I've always got one on the table right in front of me.

I grabbed my flashlight, thumbed the switch, aimed it through the window toward him...and held position. My return challenge was every bit as obvious as the one tendered by the gentlemen with their shotgun barrels thrust through the garage loft windows: Bring it on.

Almost instantly, the dude's spotlight moved right along, taking its time surveying other portions of our land so that he didn't look like he'd chickened out first. If you're a guy, you know certain rules must be followed if you don't want to look like a total wuss, especially if you started out by acting like a total jerk and had to modify your position or suffer the consequences.

Had I done anything different at all, the officer would have come to a conclusion that could have been bad for us. Ignore the light? Either I'm afraid to move with the cops around, or I'm so stoned I don't even know they're there. Get him! He's hiding something! Close the curtain? Same thing. Get him! In fact, only what I did could have produced the desired effect. If someone in that unit had the binoculars trained on me as well--which seems highly likely--then he not only got a shot of flashlight "back atcha", but he got a closeup of my eyes...and from what those close to me have said, those eyes were pure declarations of war.

As Pam commented when I told her about the event later this morning, the BP officer(s) might be new to the job; the media has been letting us know more agents were being hired. Could have been a rookie unused to the fact that I'm a nighthawk by nature, up late with the portable generator powering the TV, the laptop, and a 60 watt bulb in the table lamp? After all, no one else does that out here...unless...maybe...he's a tweaker? Manufacturing meth, perhaps? Get him!

In the meantime, perhaps our illustrious Border Patrol might do well to consider a few of the facts of life. Such as the fact that those of us who are (a) American citizens and (b) choose to live in semi-remote rural ares such as this...are (c) unafraid to stand our ground. And we don't appreciate Gestapo tactics, whether we can spell Kristallnacht...or not.