The Oasis Sanctuary

posted by Sybil on Jun 23

The Start of a New Relationship

– or –

Love at OUR age???

Love at our age comes with baggage.

Folks on the internet dating sites, both male and female, who state in their profiles that don’t want folks with “baggage” are kidding themselves. Heck, let’s be real … they have baggage too!

We all do.

It is just a matter of – what have we learned from this mess we are carrying around? (And) are we ready to lay down at least the heaviest part of the load?

Honestly, I did not think that I was going to fall in love again.  But I did and continue to fall more deeply on a daily basis.

Even as I wrote about all this adventure, I see that I must have swallowed at least a bit of the societal ageist hype. In truth all I was seeking was a companion, a friend, an activity-sharing somewhat compatible soul with whom I might or might not ever become intimate.

So, where does the concept of finding that someone wherein there is a sharing of head-heart-body-and-soul enter into the above pre-conception?

I think I had given up.

That is part of my baggage.

After a number of long-term relationships, each of which had most of my needs met, I had given up on the romantic ideal of all four deep-seated needs being fulfilled.

But here is the irony: it isn’t until we get to “this age” – with the plethora of interesting life experiences – can we begin to know what we really want and need. And only at “this age” does the true concept of “forever” begin to have visible meaning. I mean, we realize at the very least that there is an ending ….and we can just almost maybe kinda see it, if we take the time to look.

Hopefully during these years we have made enough mistakes that we begin to truly see what is important. Of course, important is different for each person and each couple. But until you know what it is you can’t find someone else with similar needs, goals and desires.

I saw Jeff’s picture, read his profile and emailed him on May 21^st. Obviously there was a mutual attraction based on the photos and the words we had written. But before we ever met we had talked 50 or more hours on the phone. We probably would have met sooner but I had Oasis work and a trip to take care of first.

During those hours on the phone I learned that he is sweet and kind, accepting and flexible in his time constraints. We both found out that we have life experiences, as well as spiritual and political belief systems in common. We found that we have interests that the other has expertise in….and we look forward to learning from one another.

It is a very interesting process.

Jeff and I have spent quite a bit of time together…up to and including a five day 1000+/- round-trip motorcycling vacation. My first true vacation in over 12 years….no business, no email, no nuttin’ but relaxation, good food and laughter….and getting to know someone I will obviously and happily  be spending a great deal of time with.

In this brief amount of time, he has been to the Sanctuary and met my family of critters, the staff and a number of friends. I have been to Jeff’s home, met his dog Sarge, and visited several times with his son, daughter-in-law and grand-kids.

We are sharing photos and stories of our varied past life experiences.

We have professed love for one another. We share our innermost thoughts and secrets.

It is all so comfortable and loving and yet warm and exciting that we already hate being apart.

Where before we had each closed the heart in order not to feel the pain of aloneness…or even worse, true loneliness, now that our hearts are reawakened and the joy of sharing rekindled, the few days and nights each week we will be apart seem interminable.

Life is too short…..

posted by Sybil on May 24

I was fourteen, riding the IRT subway in New York City. It was mid-day. I was returning home from spending the night with a girlfriend and was carrying my little blue overnight case. I found myself sitting across from where a handsome young man stood. I felt myself blushing as he stared at me for a half hour or longer, trying to catch my eye.

As luck would have it, we got off on the same stop. I would have to take a bus home from the train station. The young man stopped me and asked me my name and whether I wanted a ride.

I can’t remember his name. He was about 6 feet tall and blonde. I remember his age; he was 21 years old, definitely an “older man.” I also clearly recall that he was going to Manhattan College. Most importantly – he had the first motorcycle …scooter actually…that I ever rode on: a small blue Honda.

He took my suitcase and held it as I climbed on behind him. With one arm around his waist and the other clutching my small overnight bag, we took off.

The five minute ride to my house was terrifying, exhilarating and addictive.

We only went out a couple of times. I lied about my age telling him I was 17. When he figured out (it only took one kiss) that I was terribly young and naïve, our budding romance ended quickly. He was a gentleman.

It would be several years before I had the opportunity to ride on a motorcycle again.

At 16, in June of 1967, I left home and moved to San Francisco. At 17 I was living with the man who would eventually become my first husband. Phillip and I had moved to Los Angeles in the summer of 1968.  By 1969 we were living in West LA. I had a job about 2-3 miles away. Some days I would ride my yellow bicycle down Santa Monica Boulevard to work.

Other mornings I would wait at the bus stop to catch the bus.

On really good mornings a gentleman on his way to work, riding a brand new, blue, 1968 Harley FLH Electra Glide, would stop and give me a ride.  I loved those mornings! But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. One day a motorcycle policeman pulled over my knight on his blue steed and ticketed him for “impeding the flow of traffic.” I felt terrible that this kind stranger was fined for his good deed. Needless to say, I received no more rides from him.

Phillip had only two “grounds for divorce” which were not at all what one would have expected: one was getting my nose pierced and the other was getting a motorcycle…which I told him and anyone else who would listen, I wanted.

In 1970 Phillip and I moved back up to San Francisco. Eventually I began college at the San Francisco Art Institute. There I befriended one of the administrators who had been riding motorcycles for well over a decade. He would, from time to time, take me for rides on his sleek, black bike. (I have no idea of the make or model….)

He told me that if I ever were to learn to ride that my first bike should be a Honda. He felt that they were inexpensive, fairly bullet-proof for a newbie who would be dropping the bike or grinding the gears and, he thought, they were easy to maintain.

I kept his admonition in mind.

At the end of 1977 my marriage to Phillip came to an end. My life was in some amount of disarray at first…I was alone for the first time in my adult life…but within a year things had settled into a flow. I had a new boyfriend. He had a motor scooter that we zipped around San Francisco on.

I decided to buy a motorcycle in the fall of 1978. It would be my birthday present to me.

Note: I still did not know how to ride.

I found a five year old Honda, a CB 350, in an iridescent rose colored red. So I went to the bank to see about a small loan. Billy, my boyfriend at the time, ended up having to ride the bike to our home, with me on the back, as I still hadn’t learned how to ride…

I was told about the San Francisco Motorcycle Safety Foundation, a local chapter of the national Motorcycle Safety Foundation, which teaches riding skills. The MSF is funded by Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki, Kawasaki and Harley. Classes are at many of the dealerships around the country. The cost is low, and the bikes, for the Beginners classes back then in late 1978 were small Japanese 125’s and 175’s. All I had to do was bring a DOT (Dept. of Transportation) approved helmet, leather gloves and over-the-ankle boots.

There were six classes over a three week span of time. There were three Saturday morning classes where we went out in a set- up parking lot and learned to work the machines. Three evenings during that same time span we met in a class-room and watched (again this is 1978) 8 mm films about such memorable topics as what happens to your head if you hit the ground without a helmet. They

used a watermelon in this particular demonstration.

I think I was the worst student in the class on the first day out in the parking lot. I have never been known for my athletic prowess. (Friends reading this are nodding, chuckling and spewing their coffee at the screen.)

I was terrified of being clumsy and foolish and as a result was rigid….and of course became clumsy and felt all the more foolish.

But by the second week, I had gained some confidence, and the last week won the “slow riding” event and passed all my exams, written and riding. I now could get my motorcycle certification on my driver license.

Billy, however, was not keen on letting me ride myself and insisted he would ride us both wherever we went. This situation lasted a week or two until we had a fight in the middle of the street; I took over riding, leaving him standing in front of a friend’s house. I took off and rode for two or three hours all over San Francisco.

I was terrified, exhilarated and addicted. Nothing had changed since I was 14.

Over the next two years I rode “Rose” (as I named her) everywhere. I was known around town for taking men on rides. I was often stopped by the SF police who chatted me up, flirted and wanted to know where I bought my leathers….

After the first year the two men who ran the San Francisco Motorcycle Safety Foundation connected with me and asked whether I wanted to become a teacher. They were getting in more women interested in riding and thought having a female instructor would be beneficial both to their program and the novice females.

I was delighted and immediately agreed. I rode Rose to Sacramento where, as the only female in training, I spent a week working with other soon-to-be-instructors. Many of these men were from police departments around the country who would train the local motorcycle police contingent. One of the policemen was totally screwy and was known throughout southern California for wrecking police cars in high-speed chases. Two other guys were from the federal Forestry Service. They spent summers as fire jumpers and winters taking people on back-roads, on small motorbikes. It was apparent that these were a group of men who were crazier than I was….but I fit right in.

After a week I became the first female motorcycle safety instructor in California.

A year later I was fired for not wearing a helmet off the course, thereby setting a bad and dangerous example. I did explain to my students that just because I was foolish, they shouldn’t follow my example. But, as with parental admonitions, do as I say, not as I do did not fly.

Today, after 31 years of riding, I still opt not to wear a helmet unless riding in inclement weather or in a state where is it mandatory.

And, yes, I know it is crazy or at least relatively unsafe. In cars or my truck I wear my seat-belt.  I don’t smoke, drink or do drugs. I am an organ donor….which is what hospitals call motorcycle riders.

I need just one crazy thing to keep me sane.

By 1980 I knew I was going to be leaving California. I wanted to travel. I was ready for a bigger motorcycle. I dreamt of a BMW R75 or R90….but could not afford the minimum of $2500 that one would cost.

I found a black and white 1970 Moto Guzzi Ambassador (Italian bike) for $1250. The bike reached out to me. I knew immediately that this was the reincarnation of my dog Wooly Bear who had died a year or two earlier. Wooly Bear was big, slow, and extremely loyal. These things, I felt, were also important qualities in a bike. I named the bike “WB.”

In the summer of 1981 I settled in Phoenix. I ended up in Phoenix when WB broke down on my way to New Mexico. I made it to Phoenix from Kingman. The first person I met and befriended that day was Jay who ran J and J Hub, which worked on Italian and other motorcycles. Jay would remain my friend to this day.

During the next five years, WB and I were basically inseparable. I put more miles riding around the Western US and the city of Phoenix on that one bike than on Rose and the next two bikes combined.

As luck would have it, although only 400 of my particular model of Moto Guzzi had been imported to the US, the cities of Phoenix and Tempe (a suburb) had briefly bought and used Moto Guzzi El Dorado’s for their police departments. Most of the parts were interchangeable. Since the police only used the bikes briefly, there was one junk yard in Tempe for these bikes and there were plenty of junk-yard parts available. I was able to keep WB running and looking his best for minimal funds.

Through Jay and simply from riding around I garnered a small group of European motorcycle aficionados who became my buddies and who I would ride around with from time to time.

But eventually, the junk yards’ supplies of Guzzi parts became scarcer and by the summer of 1985 I was having difficulty finding some simple parts: exhaust pipes, even certain cables and such. At one point my beloved bike was down for about 3 months waiting for a part to be remanufactured in Italy.

For my 35^th birthday in November of 1985 I bought myself a 1968 Harley Davidson FLH Electra Glide…same year and model as the one I had been given rides on in LA. I named her “Puppy” because she was a “good puppy.”

I tend to anthropomorphize my vehicles and my homes….You think?? They all have individual personalities and I treat them as individuals. It works for me.

Puppy and I rode around Arizona frequently, and eventually when one of my best friends, Edward, was dying in California, I rode up to San Francisco regularly to be with him.  She was a good pup, and if she was to break down, she would hold herself together until we would arrive on my street or even in the driveway.

On one of my trips to see Edward, I ran into an awkward situation.

In Arizona it is legal to carry an unconcealed weapon (gun) or get a concealed carry permit or to keep an unloaded gun in an inaccessible part of your vehicle; truck or in this case saddle-bags. Traveling alone I always carry.

This is not the case in California.

When I lived in San Francisco, I always had parked Rose and later WB on the side-walk. Parking tickets were relatively inexpensive and needed to be paid, without additional fines, at the time of re-registering the vehicle. The cost of my special parking cost me about $200 a year – less than a garage and certainly safer than parking in the street where I had witnessed many bikes being bumped and knocked over by cars.

I parked on the sidewalk next to Edward’s house, chaining Puppy up to a lamppost, and throwing a large cover over her. I was, however, always worried about her safety and would wake up often during the night, peer out the third floor bedroom window to check on her.

Edward thought I was paranoid.

On the morning I was to leave, Edward was making me breakfast. I walked down the hall to check once again on the bike through a window…and was just in time to see a car full of young men stop next to Puppy. One man jumped out of the car with bolt cutters. The driver kept the engine running. Another man got out and acted as lookout while the first tore off the motorcycle cover and ducked down on the far side of the bike to cut the chain.

I don’t remember running out of Edward’s house. I noted my gun lying on the table, which, in Arizona, I would have automatically grabbed…but this was California. Did I want to risk arrest? I ran out the back down and down the back stairs, taking two and three steps at a time. I swung open the gate and marched toward the men.

I am a mere 5 foot 5 inches, but felt ten feet tall and must have projected the same.

“Not today boys!” I boomed. “Not today!”

The man on lookout ran, opened the back door and jumped into the car. The one with the bolt cutters dived headfirst through an open window on the other side as car began moving. They screeched away and around the corner.

Puppy was safe, but her chain was cut, sitting on the ground.

Edward had followed me out and witnessed the event. He no longer thought me paranoid.

In 1997 I began The Oasis Sanctuary, a life-car facility for parrots. I found myself with less and less time to enjoy the wind, but I continued to run Puppy until, in 2000, the sanctuary moved to a remote area of Southeastern Arizona. The facility was located down a long dirt road. At that time there were over 12 miles of poorly maintained dirt, gravel and sand between Puppy’s new home and blacktop.

The move also was extraordinarily time consuming and the new work-load unimaginably tough. For the first two years, I didn’t even have time to consider riding. The last time I rode her was riding in from Phoenix.

In the intervening years her battery died. Then the gas turned to shellac and her oil to sludge.

By 2005 I began to seriously yearn to ride again. While I first thought of getting Puppy back up and running, I realized that she was an old girl with poor parts availability and a rarity of mechanics qualified to work on her. Today (summer 2009) I have found a good shop in Tucson and am trying to save up money – about two thousand dollars – to get her up and running again.

None the less my daily ride is a 2002 FLSTS – a Heritage Springer – which I purchased in the spring of 2005. For the first three years I occasionally was able to make time to ride, putting about 4000 miles on her. I named her Pricilla, after the Grand Dame of the sanctuary who passed away in 2001. She was an elderly – 70-something year old bird, wild-caught, regal, dignified. And I have found that this lovely bike is much the same.

And unlike most of my previous bikes, she is all gussied up; lots of chrome do-dads. Like a spoiled and beautiful woman, she demands her jewelry.

It wasn’t until this year that The Oasis had a Staff which I feel confident can care for the birds and deal with emergencies when I am not around.

It is the first year that I am taking any sort of vacation time, planning week-long road-trips to California and to Utah.

During this month alone, May 2009, I have spent more than a half dozen days riding around alone or with my friend Fred, going to Benson or to Tucson. I have put well over 1500 miles on the bike in just a few weeks.

And although the ultimate destination is a business trip, this coming Thursday I head up to a Parrot Symposium in Las Vegas, riding Pricilla for about 8 hours each way, stopping to have coffee and lunch with friends along the way.

The weather is glorious.

It is time to become one with the wind again.

posted by Sybil on Mar 20

My Adventures in Internet Dating

Sybil Erden – March 16, 2009

After my eleven year relationship ended a few months ago, I decided to find friendship, companionship and perhaps even love, on-line.

Many years ago, before the internet came into common use, I had met two gentlemen through “personal classifieds.”  One man I spent 2 years with. The other I spent almost ten years with, and actually married! Since I had been told that the on-line dating services were today’s personals, I decided to try it out.

In early 2009 I joined not one, but several of the more well-known services:

Eharmony, Match, Matchmaker, Singlesnet and J-Date.

While there are some very nice folks out there, often when the intellect connects, the chemistry isn’t there. Or they are good looking, but the intellect isn’t there. Or the baggage they are carrying is too large a load….

None the less, I have not yet given up.

These are notes on some of my adventures….

My Profile

Well – after two months online, I think it is time to update this profile based on some of my experiences…The thing that I find most appealing is intellect, forthrightness, compassion and shared spiritual values. But, to be honest, I also want to feel the chemistry which comes from a good looking, in-shape man.

Please…if you are separated (since breakfast) not yet divorced (have not applied for the divorce…) do not want to share photographs, are intellectually challenged or have anger-management issues…please let’s save both of our time.

I am an outgoing, hard-working, intelligent and creative, upbeat, content, non-traditional woman. Non-traditional being a key phrase here… I am monogamous, loyal, passionate about life, committed to a significant other and to my work…and wish the same. I have no desire to retire at any point soon, nor am I interested in moving away from SoAz at this time.

In 1997 I founded and have been the executive director of a nationally recognized exotic bird sanctuary (i.e. life care facility.) Obviously I am an “animal person” and I consider myself a humanitarian. I am looking forward to taking time to explore SoAZ and the world with a man who makes my heart dance.

I enjoy traveling, hiking, riding motorcycles, discussing politics and philosophy with others, and simply kicking back, basking in the glow of shared infatuation.. I write daily both for my job and for myself. I went to college in both Calif. and Az. where I studied painting and photography.

I love living in the country, surrounded by hills, the wind, my animals and a breathtaking nighttime sky.

I have and ride my own motorcycles (for 30 years.) .

I believe that friendship is the basis for a loving and committed relationship.

I would like to meet a man 48-65-ish years old, educated, professional, calm, compassionate, happy (content) with his life and looking for that special someone to share it with..

I know you are out there…Drop me a line…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Can write, can’t talk

The first person I connected with on line was a poet of sorts. Or at least we wrote eclectic and profound poetry-like posts back and forth for over a week. I felt that my heart had been captured.

(The fact that he was very cute didn’t hurt things either.)

We had nick-names for one another.

We shared our dreams.

I anxiously looked forward to opening my browser to find another romantic missive from this mysterious, intelligent and handsome stranger ~

But when I finally suggested that we talk…things changed.

First of all he did not have “long distance” service on his phone and all calls outside our respective towns/neighborhoods down in SoEast AZ are long distance.

So I called him, but we had nothing to say to one another.

He wrote me a plaintive post shortly thereafter…where had I gone???

Too married — 1 and 2

Number One

The next person who I felt I connected with on line turned out to have been separated for a whole 2 weeks after a 35 year marriage. He was still living in the family house with numerous adult children and other family members…and believed he was “over” the marriage.

He had no idea.

When I suggested that it was too soon to meet, that we could continue writing and become friends (only) I never heard back.

Number Two followed soon thereafter.

He not only had not separated, he was still living in the same house as his wife and was still in marriage counseling. When we discussed politics his anger management issues came to light.

He is still on line trolling.

Parking lot romance

Somewhere early on and yet in the midst of this, I connected…I mean really  connected with an extraordinary, intelligent, interesting man.

We talked several times, met twice for coffee and a long walk. And in addition to both feeling for one another…feeling that we knew one another….the physical chemistry was there as well.

The desire was there so strongly, that the two of us, with a combined age of over 110 years, would find ourselves making out in parking lots like teenagers, and enjoying it unabashedly.

But, where I have always wondered whether I truly have the time for a full-time monogamous relationship, in comparison to him, I had nothing but time.

Between trips from coast to coast, and country to country, hoping airplanes to symposiums and writing papers and books….I ended up feeling as though I was just one more thing he “should” be doing in his already hectic and chaotic life. I did not want to be another stress in a life compounded by an ex wife, old lover, and more.

Although I know that the feeling of connection is real between us, I wrote him recently and told him that I would step aside until he had the time, or desire, to try to reconnect.

I have not heard back.

My eyes are up here, bud

Since I am attracted to intelligence more than almost anything else, when I read a profile of a man with multiple degrees, an interesting profession and an avocation in astronomy, I decided after a few e-mail exchanges, to meet for coffee in Benson.

The day before we were to meet, we spoke on the phone and in 15 minutes he gave me the story of his life.

This was to be retold and expanded upon for another half hour at the restaurant.

And the total 45 minutes was boring. He was corporate, been married and was divorced for well over a decade….but was still extraordinarily angry at the ex. His world seemed to begin and end with astronomy and his daughter and grandchild.

The end.

Although he did ask me questions about what I did, he kept stealing glances at his watch while I spoke. And his eyes never met mine. They sidled down and around staring at my breasts.

We got our separate checks and went our separate ways.

When he wrote the next day, I told him to make an appointment and come, with family, for a tour….

Give me the Fantasy not the Facts

I was not sure how to handle calls from people on the east coast or in other countries…so I thought “what the heck” and decided we could write and talk.

So, when I began speaking to a man on the East Coast, and we chatted about him coming out, I thought it could be a fun interaction. A friendship.

But after two or three longer conversations it became apparent that what he really wanted was someone to “talk dirty” to him….although he never quite said it that way. He wanted me to describe how I looked….in detail. He wanted me to send him pictures. He wanted to have intimate details….

I may be slow, but I was creeped out. While he has left sad phone messages for me, I have not called back. I think he finally caught on.

Another gentleman was allegedly out of the country on business….but when he called, the area code turned out to be non-existent….How do I explain this?

I know what out-of-country phone calls look like on caller ID. These calls looked like US calls, but when I did a search to find out where the area code was located, I found that it was an area code “reserved for future use.”

When I went back to look at the man’s profile, it was removed and the listing organization told me there were “problems” with verifying this person. They nervously suggested I should end correspondence with him.

EEEK!!!

Done.

To tattoo or not tattoo

I try not to be “ageist.” While I have dated regularly within a 30 year or so range….10+ years older than me to (most recently) a long term relationship with a man 20 years younger….

This time I have been trying to find someone closer to my age. At this point it seems as though we simply would have more music, history and political memories in common. And I thought we probably would not be as distracted by facial lines, the slightly widening girth, and the aches, pains or other foibles of this amazing aging process.

But guys in their later 60’s are retired and looking for someone to travel in their newly purchased RV or live that retired gated-community-golfing- life-style with -or- they simply don’t understand the phrase “non-traditional.”

None the less, I began correspondence with a man about 10 years my senior. When he found out that I had tattoos (he had them listed as a “turn-off”….I didn’t mention the piercings!) he wanted to know why I didn’t have the removed.

Then he went on a written rant about the people a block away who had a tattoo studio and how they must have burnt it down for the insurance.

Furthermore, he had to expound about how he just didn’t understand or like any of this odd stuff.

I have since changed my criteria to 63 and under.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This of course does not include the 70-somethings claiming to be 50-ish, or the guys with no photos, or who cannot write a coherent sentence. This also does not include people with profile-names such as “AZBikerTrash”…yes, that one is real. Nor does it include the 20- and 30-somethings looking for a sugar-momma or maybe just a mom.

And yet, living out here in the far reaches of south-eastern Arizona, I continue on this sometimes amusing, often confusing, occasionally frustrating quest.

posted by Sybil on Feb 19

“Vida est Sanctus”

AN UPDATED MISSION STATEMENT

The Spiritual Basis for The Oasis Sanctuary

Sybil Erden – Feb 19 2009

The Oasis Sanctuary’s primary mandate is life-care of exotic birds. As such, over the past 11-12 years, The Oasis has become one of the most prominent parrot life-care facilities in the US, and more recently, in the world. For this I am grateful to our incredible staff, board, and volunteers as well as the generous donors who support this facility.

But there is so much more than simply caring for birds that has gone into the creation and development of this Sanctuary.

Words and Images

Rather than calling The Oasis a refuge, the word “sanctuary” was very carefully selected. The word’s root is Latin: “Sanctus” meaning sacred.

Personally….

In my life, most of my activities have had, at least to a major degree, a spiritual bent.

As a painter I used archetypal imagery and religious iconography to define social situations, in an attempt to connect the secular and the spiritual.

As a photographer, I deal with humane issues: hunger and poverty, in an attempt to bring awareness.

As a sculptor I created contemporary deities and icons.

As a dancer, I followed a Sufi-like trance mode and used the dance floor as a means of energy distribution.

Even my tattoos followed the Asian belief system of energy transfer based on the imagery brought into ones flesh….

All the above were means of mediation for me. All the above were a means of growth.

Today, I bring that desire, that seeking of awareness to the mission of The Oasis Sanctuary.

We Are One

Even the fact that I have been a vegetarian most of my life has spiritual origins: I cannot eat my relatives.

Whether one follows the Judeo-Christian Bible, or Hindu/Buddhist/Spiritual beliefs, we all need to recognize that we are made of the same dust, and are imbued with the same spark of life given by the Creator or by Chance….

As such we have a responsibility to the Earth and to our brethren who inhabit this mote of space stuff hurling through the Universe.

At The Oasis we have an obligation to care for the birds, as well as the abandoned animals i.e. “Other Critters” who find their way out here.

Moreover we have a responsibility to care for the people who are, whether long or short term, giving their lives, their time, their emotions, their finances and themselves, to the care of the animals and the development of the facility.

Higher Ground

There are many out in the world working in animal welfare, as well as for human welfare. And there are as many reasons for these efforts as there are people doing this incredibly demanding work.

That said, At The Oasis Sanctuary we all, staff, board and volunteers in particular, need to hold ourselves to the highest of ethical and moral standards.

We cannot do the most expedient.

We cannot hold ourselves to one standard and other people to another.

The Oasis, as a true Sanctuary, must be the home for the birds at greatest need,

The Oasis will not become the refuge for the birds of the wealthy. Birds are not responsible for the finances of their caregivers. At the end of their lives, it is our duty to reward those who have long and well cared for their birds, regardless of their ability to pay.

We must look into our own hearts and understand that the only reason for this sort of work is for the Greater Good.

And that crosses all boundaries and all preconceived lines.

It is the belief at The Oasis that in spirit and in fact, the sanctuary belongs to all who love birds. A such, we believe that one dollar at a time, the funds will come to care for the birds in need.

Self-Awareness

The Oasis is a means of obtaining personal growth and self-awareness for all who work at, volunteer or visit the sanctuary.

That awareness may a new found empathy and patience for other people in need. Or it may be the understanding of the cognition and intelligence of the animals we work with.

We each arrive here with different histories, experiences and beliefs.

We arrive with different levels of personal and other awareness.

We arrive with the baggage of fear, anger and ignorance.

We cannot treat birds one way and other animals, whether domestic companions of farmed animals, another. We must recognize that they and we are One.

It is the belief at The Oasis that we can each leave the sanctuary, or this life, as better people, for having been connected with The Oasis Sanctuary, the animals and one another.

———-

Note: “Vida est Sanctus” is Latin for “Life is Sacred”

posted by Sybil on Feb 8