Lumina Talk
Marla Truini
May 15

Good morning everyone. For today’s Lumina I want to share some stories about my relationship with animals. You might expect me to tell you a story about my rescue dog Will. Oh, I could talk hours about how adorable he is and how it feels to come home every day to his kisses. How I can’t imagine my life without him, his hilarious shenanigans, his sweet routines, and his late-night cuddles. But instead, I want to tell you about wild animals that have come into my life and what these experiences have meant to me. Here are the titles of the stories and the lessons I learned: Story One: Three Crows: The Gift of Sky; Story Two: A Possum: The Gift of Sight; Story Three: A Herd of Deer: What is Your Legacy? and Story Four: Spider: The Gift of Voice. Animals have so much to teach us! We just need to be willing to watch, listen, and learn.

Story One: Three Crows

Some of you may know that I worked as the Director of Drama here at Westover for over twenty years and for all that time, I parked in the lot behind the LBD next to the soccer field. Every day when I pulled into my spot, there were three crows perched at the top of a tall oak tree. If you’re not familiar with crows, they’re large, black birds which are easy to identify because of their distinctive call. Well, winter, summer, spring and fall, the crows were there, and they cawed every day when they saw me getting out of my car as if in greeting. I became curious. Were they talking to me? I’ve heard that a lot of people don’t like crows. They are pretty noisy, and they’re scavengers, so if they get into your garbage, they can make a real mess. But I have grown to love them because I think they are so interesting. Did you know that they’re very social birds? The technical term is that they are a synanthropic species, which means that they tend to live close to humans and adapt to human ways of life. I read a fascinating study in which researchers discovered that crows could recognize the faces of people who had been cruel to them, and how the crows would respond accordingly by spreading the word among the flock, and then swooping down in large numbers to ward the dangerous person off.  There were also stories of people who had left treats for crows, and how the crows had left gifts for them in return. I decided to try an experiment and over the course of a few weeks, I left some peanuts near the stairs leading to the lower door of the LBD. Every day, I could see that the peanuts had been eaten, and I kept an eye out for something that the crows may have left for me. Maybe a candy wrapper or a bit of tin foil, or a lost earring or other shiny trinket, but in all that time, I couldn’t tell if something I found was a gift from the crows or just a random piece of litter! These days, I park in the student/faculty lot and I found that I miss seeing the three crows every morning. I realized  that the gift that the three crows had given me was the gift of the sky. When they called to me, I looked up. I was invited into the world of freedom and spaciousness, imagination and possibility. The sky offered a world greater than myself. There is so much to learn about crows. Indigenous connections to the natural world go back to ancient times, and if you’re interested, I invite you to explore crows and their connection to life and death, spirit and transformation. If crows call to you, look up! There are discoveries to be found when you hear their call!

Story Two: A Possum

Some of you may know that, before I started working as a theatre teacher, I was a professional actor. My career, which spanned about ten years, consisted of roles off-Broadway, on TV and in movies, and touring as a singer and with a children’s theatre company. When my husband Joe and I moved to Connecticut from New York City with our baby daughter, I was sad to leave that world behind so when my friend called and asked me to help her with a play she was writing, I agreed. It felt good to collaborate with her, working through multiple drafts, and then connecting her with a local professional theatre to have a reading and after that, a full production. Opening night, I noticed all the work we had done together, and though the opening was a success, I felt really bad because Susan had not acknowledged my help in any way. It surprised and hurt me that she hadn’t found a way to thank me, and when she and a group of friends went out afterwards, she didn’t invite me. Honestly, I felt like a fool for having spent so much of my time on her project. As I was driving back home something caught my eye. An animal had crawled out from the woods and as I slowed down, I recognized the low, long shape, pointed snout, and glittery eyes of a possum. Have you ever seen a possum? They are common to this area of Connecticut, but they’re nocturnal so they’re not often around during the day. I came to a full stop so I wouldn’t hit it, but just as suddenly, I couldn’t tell where it went. I rolled down my window, then opened my car door a crack to see if the possum was there, but I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t know what to do next. Had the possum crawled under my car? I waited for a few minutes. I had no flashlight and even if I did, I was afraid to get out and look under my car. Could it still be under there? Had it crawled out the other side? I couldn’t tell. Finally, I inched forward and was faced with the horrible reality that the possum was still under my car when I felt a bump and then a second bump, from my front and then rear tires. I had just killed an innocent creature. I was in despair. Since I had moved up to the country I had felt terrible when I accidentally hit a squirrel who had darted out in front of my car, but this felt different because I thought I had given the possum the chance to get out of the way and my plan had backfired. I knew that possums have a defense mechanism where they play dead when they are cornered or threatened. That’s where the expression “playing possum” comes from, and that’s what must have happened. The possum froze under my car and never had the chance to crawl out the other side. I have thought about this experience many times since it happened and it seems there is a connection between what happened with my friend and me not knowing that the possum was still in the shadows waiting to feel safe enough to come out. There is a book called “The Artist’s Way” in which the author Julia Cameron describes the concept of the “shadow artist.” The shadow artist refers to a person who, for one reason or another, is afraid to release their own creative potential and so are drawn into the creativity of others. That’s what had happened to me. Instead of pursuing my own creative projects, I was behind the scenes, helping my friend with hers.  Possum had given me the gift of sight. I could see myself clearly for the first time and began to understand that I needed to be patient with my shadow self, to wait until I felt safe, and then to have the courage to come out into the light.

Story Three: A Herd of Deer

I’ll start this story telling you about my amazing friend, Lenka. Lenka Peterson O’Connor. Although she was old enough to be my mother, we became best friends, kindred spirits in our love for theatre and working with kids. Lenka was an accomplished actress of stage and screen with a Tony Award nomination and enough credits to fill five sheets of paper, single-spaced. But if you asked her what was the most important thing she ever did in her life, she would tell you about the teen theatre group she started when her own children were in high school. WYAT, or the Westchester Young Actors Theatre was such a cohesive and loyal group that the members kept meeting for decades after they graduated from high school, and would often invite Lenka to their reunions. One time she needed a ride to attend a WYAT gathering, and I drove her from Connecticut to New York City. In a private second-floor room of a restaurant in the theatre district, Lenka was cheered by her former students, many of them now grandparents themselves. Quite a few of the WYAT group went on to work professionally in theatre, as actors, directors, and playwrights, but even if they went on to do other things, they all remembered their years doing shows together as a pivotal time in their lives and they deeply loved Lenka and the space she had provided them to do shows together. That’s what I want some day, I thought, as I saw them celebrate, and I imagined my past students gathering together, laughing and remembering. What a legacy that would be! Lenka was married for over sixty years. Her husband, Dan O’Connor was a documentary producer for NBC TV. Luckily, he liked me well enough. I say luckily because Lenka and I spent so much time together. She got me started as a drama teacher, sharing her wisdom and practical knowledge with me, and I was always at their house, just two driveways down from me. Lenka told me that the morning after Dan died, a herd of deer came to her backyard stayed there for over thirty minutes. Our part of Connecticut has an abundance of deer, but she had never seen anything like this. It was as if they were coming to say goodbye, she told me. Deer have symbolic meaning in both Buddhist and Indigenous traditions. A pair of deer sitting at the foot of the Buddha represents the Buddha’s most essential teachings and the act of receiving them. In Indigenous traditions, deer symbolize the regeneration of life and rebirth, as seen through deer’s cycle of shedding and re-growing their antlers. Lenka gave me so many gifts: as teacher, guide, role model and friend. If I use deer as a symbol for my friendship with Lenka, I recognize how important it is to be receptive to the needs of others, to find points of connection, to nurture, and at times, to reimagine. Lenka and Dan are with me in spirit when I see deer in the woods near my home. These creatures are the descendants of the herd of deer that might have been paying tribute to Lenka's beloved Dan the morning after he passed away. As I think about what my legacy will be, perhaps you can think about yours as well. What will we leave behind when we are gone?

Story Four: A Spider

A couple of years ago, I did something I had been dreaming about for a long time: I went back to school to pursue my PhD. I had heard about a school out in San Francisco, the California Institute of Integral Studies, that offered a PhD in something called “Transformative Studies” and the more I looked into it, the more it sounded like something that would be right for me. I applied, was accepted, and started my studies in 2021. The next two years were a blur. I was working full-time and taking a full course load which meant every waking hour when I wasn’t directing or teaching, I was reading, researching, and writing papers. In the past three years, I have written and written and written, and that’s actually a great thing, because one of my main objectives in going back to school was to give myself the space to develop as a writer. Before I go on I just want to take a moment to check in. Anyone here afraid of spiders? Show of hands? Well, there is a particular spider who’s not scary at all. Her name is Charlotte. Charlotte’s Web, written by E.B. White, tells the story of the relationship between Charlotte and her friend, a pig named Wilbur. Have you read it? Maybe we can add it to the summer reading list. Yes? Great! It’s a classic, because in addition to its exploration of loyalty and the delicate balance between the human and animal world, the book also provided another meaning: the power of the written word. You see, as an essential plot line for the story, Charlotte uses her skill in spinning messages into her web that will forever alter the fate of her dear friend Wilbur and saves him from the butcher’s ax. Charlotte used the last energy of her life to do something completely heroic for her friend. She spins the words “Some Pig!” into her web, and the humans are so entranced by this magical message that they spare Wilbur’s life.  Charlotte is my muse, my creative inspiration, because that’s the energy I aspire to as a writer. As I coax my shadow artist out into the light, I want to have the courage to write something that will make a difference. My doctoral dissertation is on teaching empathy through theatre. Charlotte has given me the gift of voice. Life can be very overwhelming. When I write, I have so many doubts. But, Charlotte inspires me to write as if I am writing for a friend. Charlotte anchors me to both the privilege and responsibility in being a writer. Each time I put something in writing, I have a choice in how to use my voice. I guess we all do.

Conclusion

As I was working on writing this Lumina talk, in conclusion, I found a haiku by the eighteenth century poet Kobayashi Issa called “Oh Snail” that I thought to share with you. It goes like this: “Oh snail, Climb Mt. Fuji, But slowly, slowly.” Even the snail, innately slow, can be reminded to enjoy the process of climbing a mountain. Can I be inspired by the snail to be patient with my process? Can I transform fear and self-doubt into a journey of compassionate self-exploration? The crows and the possum, the deer and the spider have been my guides in finding new perspectives about my life. Look up, come out of the shadows, know your worth and listen to your inner voice! If you like these stories, I have more that I can share: about a moment with a humpback whale named Colt, the time I saved a baby owl who was abandoned on the side of the road, my hummingbird friends, Hover and Balance who visit my front porch every summer, the trio of black bears who live behind my house, and the bluebirds who comforted a dear friend as she lay dying. What animals have you noticed lately? And what messages might they be sending you? Wherever you are and wherever you go, listen, watch, pay attention! They are our most inspired teachers!