As I go to let my dog out back one morning, I notice the flicker, its head pressed against the ground in our yard. Because the dog regularly runs figure eights around our two garden plots, most of the grass has died. In some less trampled locations, spurge has taken over. Everywhere else, there is bare dirt, and the woodpecker has found something in one of those patches.
If I tried harder, I could have a neater yard, even with an active dog back there. But that’s how I live, constantly navigating this tension between order and chaos. Do I proceed in a disciplined way through my list of chores or get lost in the moment’s whim? Do I pull the kale and cabbage that have gone to seed or enjoy the finches that feed there, bobbing on the stems?
As is typical for me, rather than let the dog out, I yield to the moment and watch the flicker. While the bird is immersed in his task, a squirrel buries what looks like a walnut in one of the garden beds, and scrub jays find grubs in the soil. A hummingbird flits from the raspberry bushes to the holly tree to the morning glory. Wind rustles the rambling rose, cabbage moths flutter past, clouds drift by, and the sun comes out. Is there any greater joy?
If I tended my yard carefully, fewer of those creatures would be there. Certainly I would not have discovered the flicker.
The bird pecks the ground, his beak clacking now and then on the crusted soil. He pokes his nose into the hole and feeds. Later, after he gets distracted, cocks his head, and flies away, I go out and find an ant’s nest that had been below the surface until the bird dug it out.
What a delight to have the time and space, to have the freedom, on a whim, to watch a wild creature feed. Of course, the ants did not appreciate it, and they probably felt no sense of freedom at being roused by such an emergency. Commitments, disasters, obligations sometimes interfere with our ability to dance or play or cry whenever we want.
Yet how wonderful that I have the freedom, now and then, to rest. I don’t have an active addiction that steals my time, my thoughts, my soul, my ability to see and enjoy. No mental illness distracts me. My family is kind and respectful, we own our home, and we can create the kind of yard that surprises us with wildlife.
True, my decision to watch the flicker meant I did not meditate that morning. Yet not everyone has a choice between mediating on their breath or meditating on a woodpecker. I have the freedom to rest, to watch, to experience joy. For that I am grateful.
In the August 11, 2013 Oregonian, the doctors Oz and Roizen wrote about how important nature is to our mental and physical health. Time with nature is vital to our spiritual health, as well. You don’t need a yard to sit quietly with plants and animals. Portland is full of parks, and even if you have no trees or other natural beauty nearby, perhaps you can grow some plants in your room.
If you can’t have any plants, perhaps you can look out a window at the sky. Can you watch the sun crest the buildings on your block, or pay attention to the curve of the clouds?
If you are literally imprisoned, perhaps the only freedom you have is the freedom of your thoughts. If you are lost in your addiction, perhaps not even your thoughts are free. Yet no matter your situation, I hope you find some freedom in a moment of meditation, or mindfulness, or an imaginary place in your mind where water runs and trees grow and the sky is golden with the sunrise.
No matter how you do it, take time to rest your mind, ease your spirits, breathe. In that instant of quietness is freedom.
In faith and fondness,
Rev. Barbara Stevens