Rainer Maria Rilke suggested, 

"We do not need to understand the mystery of life to feel its truth; sometimes, it is enough to stand in its presence."

Welcome to The Soul Podcast. I’m Stacey Wheeler.

There is something powerful about the mysteries of life. How -when we stand in the presence of those mysteries- they change the way we see the world. In these moments, our old truth becomes a new understanding. Today, I want to tell you about one of these moments; a story about a bond so deep, it reaches beyond what we can explain—a connection that lingers past the edge of life itself. It’s a story that asks us to listen, not just with our minds, but with our souls.

I remember a night not long ago, sitting under a sky thick with stars. I was thinking about the people and creatures I’ve loved, wondering if they feel us even when we’re far apart. A year has passed since I said goodbye to my beloved dog, Skittles. More than 30 since I said goodbye to my mother. Yet still I feel them. So close by. That night, I felt a quiet certainty: some ties don’t break, no matter the distance. 

In the wild heart of Zululand, South Africa, lived Lawrence Anthony, a man who became a legend not by seeking fame, but by answering a call of his heart; doing what he knew was right. Born in Johannesburg in 1950, he started as an insurance man, then a real estate agent, living a life that looked ordinary on the surface. But beneath it, a restlessness stirred. Lawrence felt a purpose calling him. It was a greater calling. Something he knew would matter more to him than selling insurance or real estate. It was the mid-1990s when he bought Thula Thula, a 5,000-acre game reserve, and stepped into a new destiny. Lawrence became a guardian of the wild—rhinoceros, buffalo, and, most remarkably, elephants. 

There was something inexplicable in the way he felt around them -and they way they seemed to feel around him. Was “feeling” what the elephants were doing, he wondered. He certainly felt a connection. But was it just him. Was what he saw in the elephants only a projection of the love he felt for them? The way they acted around him made him sense something bigger.

Soon Lawrence earned a reputation in the Zululand as a man with a special talent. They called him The Elephant Whisperer, not because he commanded them, but because he somehow understood them.

In 1999, this reputation led Lawrence to a challenge that would define him – though he'd not live long enough to know it. Outside the boundaries of his preserve were a herd of nine elephants. They’d escaped enclosures, trampled crops, and frightened villagers. Local law considered them a menace and called them “rogue.” The elephants were on the brink of being killed. They could not be contained. No one wanted them—they were too wild, too broken. Lawrence got the call and went to assess the group.

With patience, a steady voice, and an open heart, he approached their matriarch, Nana. Day after day, he stood near, speaking softly, letting her feel his calm. Slowly, she began to trust. The elephants were moved onto the preserve where Lawrence could work with them daily. Over time, these giants, who could crush a man with a step, let him walk among them, not as a master, but as kin. Later he said what he found was a family in pain. A family he vowed to help survive and thrive. His book, The Elephant Whisperer, captures the bond he created with them—a love letter to what’s possible when we meet the wild with humility. I'll share a link in the show notes. In time, the elephants settled in and made a happy life in the preserve and Lawrence rarely missed an opportunity to be among them. He had whispered from his heart to the elephants and they'd heard him. As the years passed, he would rarely see them, as they were often wandering miles away on the massive preserve. 

For nearly 20 years, Lawrence poured his life into Thula Thula, but on March 2, 2012, his heart gave out. He was 61. The preserve felt the weight of his absence. His wife, Françoise, and son, Dylan, grieved in the home he’d built, a simple house nestled in the bush. But two days later, something extraordinary happened.

From the farthest reaches of the reserve, two herds, 21 elephants in all, began to move. They walked 12 hours through dense thickets and rugged hills, led by Nana, her massive frame swaying with purpose. When they reached Lawrence’s home, they stopped. For two days, they stood vigil, their trunks swaying gently, their low rumbles filling the air like a mournful song. They hadn’t visited the house in over a year. Had they sensed that Lawrence was gone? Somehow, it seemed they knew. There they were, as if to say, We feel you still.

Françoise watched, her heart breaking and mending all at once. “It was as if they knew,” she said. “As if his passing echoed in their bones.” After two days, the herds turned and vanished into the bush, leaving Françoise, and Dylan greatly moved by the experience. 

But the story doesn’t end there. Every year since, around March 4, the anniversary of Lawrence’s death, the elephants return. Led by Nana, they make the same pilgrimage, standing silently at the house, honoring a man who gave them a second chance; The man who saved them the fate of an early death.

Elephants are known to grieve. They linger over the bones of their kin, touching them with reverence, and make mournful sounds. They are known to often return to the place they left a fallen friend. But this was different. How did they sense Lawrence’s death? How do they mark the exact date, year after year? Scientists can’t explain it. Some point to elephants’ remarkable memory or their acute sensitivity to subtle cues. Others, like Françoise, see something more—a connection that hums in the unseen threads of existence, binding all living things. She once said, “We don’t understand it, but we don’t need to. It’s enough to witness it.” Her words echo Rilke’s wisdom from our opening: sometimes, we don’t need to unravel the mystery to feel its truth. Standing in the presence of those elephants, Françoise felt the weight of a bond that defies explanation.

The story of the Elephant Whisperer spread, carried by various global newspapers, and countless voices across the globe; so well documents that the ages will remember. The elephant's tribute became a beacon, a reminder that there are truths we can’t pin down, only feel. Lawrence's legacy lives on at Thula Thula, where Françoise carries his work forward, expanding the preserve to protect more animals. It lives in The Earth Organization, the conservation group he founded in 2003. During his life, his love for the animals showed. He even risked his life to save animals in Baghdad’s zoo during the 2003 Iraq invasion, negotiating with rebels to protect northern white rhinos. He gave the gift of life to many animals. But perhaps his greatest gift was showing us that love—real, selfless love—can echo beyond a single life. Take a moment with me. As though beneath a star-filled sky... and think of someone or something you’ve loved deeply—a person, a pet. Can you feel them, even now, in the quiet of your heart? 

We live in a world that craves answers, don’t we? We want to solve every mystery, to map the unknown. But what if some things are meant to stay wild, unexplained? In the mysteries of life live some of the great wonder of life. There is beauty in the unknown. Lawrence Anthony and his elephants remind us that there are truths too vast for our minds—truths that live in the rumble of an elephant’s grief, in the steady tread of their pilgrimage.

We all carry questions, sitting by the candlelight of our own hearts. What binds us to each other? What endures when we’re gone? Do the ones we love—human, animal, or otherwise—carry us in their memory, long after we’ve slipped away? Lawrence’s elephants don’t need to know why they walk. They simply do. And in their walking, they teach us to trust the unseen, to cherish the fleeting gift of now.

More than a decade has passed since Lawrence left this earth, and still the elephants come. Each year, they trace the path to his home, as if whispering, You are not forgotten. Their footsteps are a hymn to connection, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, love outlasts the dust of our days.

Until next time, keep seeking the mysteries.