Free The Strange White Doves by Alexander Key

the night.
    Young Rheal made it safely to the town, and his strange story was checked and reported by the Central Press of Canada.
    How did the beavers know that the boy was in such desperate need of help? In his very anguish, coupled with a prayer—which is a call for help—Rheal, without realizing it, was using the silent language of nature that every creature understands.
    Knowing the independence of cats, it is startling to learn how often they have come to the aid of people. In The Strange World of Animals and Pets, Vincent and Margaret Gaddis report a typical incident. In Lawrence, Massachusetts, an elderly woman who had been trapped alone in her home by a sudden illness would have frozen to death except for the help of six stray cats. She was unable to leave her bed when the furnace went out, but the six cats, with the help of her own cat and dog, kept her warm until the neighbors came to investigate. The same authors tell of another cat who helped a dog that had gone blind and forever after guided the dog away from danger.
    I do not doubt that telepathy has much to do with many such instances, but with it goes a silent appeal that cannot be denied.
    Pure telepathy is primarily a mental thing. But nature’s great language is largely emotional. It is the feeling behind the thought that gives it impact. The two, of course, are used together, for the mental and the emotional are always mixed. But as we sift down to the bottom we find that the basic messages—the ones that all living things can understand—are entirely emotional.
    There are not many such messages, but their range is wide. Some of the most common are joy, fear, love, and hate. These are followed by sorrow, anguish, despair, and something akin to joy that we might call contentment. Then there are hunger, pain, and the need for assistance, all of which can become strongly emotional messages, and are easily received, possibly even by Cleve Backster’s plants. A number of similar reactions can be emotionally expressed, and one of the most powerful of all is a threat, which most of us have experienced.
    Once while hiking in the mountains I came to a glade with an interesting ravine on the other side that I wanted to explore, but as I took a few steps across the glade I suddenly became afraid and stopped. I could see no movement, nor could I hear anything. Yet fear was rising in me, and I wanted to turn and run away from that spot as fast as I could. Something—in this case I will call it instinct—made me ease backward slowly. Not until I was out of the glade did I turn, and then I glimpsed the thicket of young pines with many of them bent over to the ground. Bear cubs do this at play.
    The next morning I learned from a rancher that the ravine was the home of a grouchy she-bear with cubs, and that I was fortunate in feeling her silent threat and retreating when I did. Many men, in a similar situation, have been badly mauled when they ventured too close.
    I have often watched wild animals—and tame ones too—pause and go through a sort of ritual before proceeding in a certain direction. First, as they stop and look around, there is a twitching of the nose and a turning of the ears as they test scent and sight and sound; then they stand absolutely motionless, as if lost in thought.
    I used to think they were trying to make up their minds about what to do next, or perhaps they were listening to something. But now I realize they must be testing the thought waves, and picking up various feelings around them.
    Besides feeling uneasiness or fear, most of us have been in places that raised our spirits or lowered them, or brought on a sudden wave of pleasure. This is a common experience. Without realizing it, we are responding to thoughts being broadcast by someone or something in nature’s universal language. And, equally without realizing it, each of us is constantly using that silent language to inform all life around us how