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Sitting in a public garden, under the shade of a garden house, I look up to see a robin sitting on the nest she built under the eaves just off to the left. I apparently do not disturb her, sitting only a few feet away. Nor do the number of people who pass nearby or the Siamese cat that wanders in and out of the spent azaleas lining the edge of the brick walkway.
The robin is just sitting … her intent, I’m sure, is to keep her two or three heavenly blue eggs warm so that the babies growing inside of them will enter into the world in perfect health. She simply stares into space, occasionally moving her tail over the edge of the nest a bit, dropping a small black and white speck of feces. She then moves back in place over the eggs, continuing to sit in what I decide is the way the Buddha would sit had he been a bird.
I wonder what she is thinking about. Is she concentrating on her breath the way I do when I meditate, going with the ebb and flow of air in and out of my lungs? Is she listening to the songs of the other birds around her? Contemplating tiny movements in the eggs she is guarding with her life? Do birds actually think? Or do they simply follow the natural rhythms of life; ancient messages that send them from continent to continent in search of warmth and abundant food as the seasons change.
What made me choose this spot, on this particular bench to sit upon? I was looking for a quiet place where I could contemplate my life, the day spreading out before me, and to receive those unspoken messages about where I will go next. Is there actually a destination I’m yearning for or shall I just move forward one or two steps and see where my legs take me? The question of “why” pops up every time another thought comes to mind, and the process stops dead in its tracks.
I take another deep breath, noticing how it feels as I slowly let it go. I wait a moment before inhaling again. Where will I go today and how will it be as the sun goes over the edge and the stars begin to appear? Does it matter as long as I move? Or shall I sit beside the Robin, following her cue?
Joan,
You seem to have a gift for being able to reflect on the tiniest of life’s moments—and build a whole blog post around it. I love that. Also, an innate curiosity about things. So many people have lost that sense of wonder.
On the bird questions, I think that birds do have the capacity to think. Or maybe I just want them to have it. A lot of birds—from crows to tiny wrens—show up on our deck hoping to steal a little from the peanuts I put out for the squirrels. I see all kinds of smart behavior in them. The bluejays will pick up a peanut, shake it, put it down and pick up another. I was perplexed by this and, of course had to find out WHY. I googled it and scientists say they they are actually weighing them, looking for the largest peanut. I think that’s smart!
Also, the smaller birds will take a peanut and hide it under the patio table and then come back for it after the bigger birds have left, when it’s safe. Now whether those things are inborn/genetic or not, I don’t know. I like to think they can think.
Love the way your posts make me think. : )
Thanks, Judy, for your kind words. I’m with you on “thinking” that birds, think. There is of course the inborn, genetic stuff, but watching their behaviors at the feeder is a great way to see them react to each other and other species, including humans.
Unfortunately, I took my bird feeders down several years ago, when our “dear” cat, Lily, was feasting on visitors to the feeder. She is a mighty hunter, but catches less wild food this way.
I think my next cat will have to be an indoor sort, so I can put the feeders up again.
Happy Summer, Joan
You and the bird seem mirror images of one another … reflecting.
Thanks Belinda. Where do the bird and I begin and end? Getting more Zen all the time:)!