Saying "Yes" to What's Here
May 8, 2022
The morning was gray, cold, windy and damp. Again. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I wasn’t tired, I just wanted to hide away from the world. There was no sunrise to draw me, only thick gray clouds. I wanted to be done with the mittens and coat. The tape in my head said the photography conditions are horrible, with all this wind there won’t be any birds sitting still anyway. Why bother. I gently got myself in the car anyway.
I needed to walk among the trees, even if my mind wasn’t sure I wanted to. I needed to listen to bird song even if I couldn’t see. I needed to feel the energy of the lake and the sky. It’s strange how it can be so hard to choose the things that deeply nourish. It’s strange how it can be easier to choose gloom than to take a chance on joy.
I went. I walked. I forgot the rain cover for the camera and hoped it wasn’t misting too much and the camera would be ok. (It was.) Then one little bird, all gray on its back with a bright yellow belly landed on the sign nearby. One bird. A western kingbird. A bird that doesn’t often land close to me but here he was, right next to me on a sign. Somehow the yellow of his belly made me smile. A glimmer of color in the gray. Sunshine in the form of feathers. A sign, on a sign.
I walked further and as I got near the water I saw a flock of shorebirds I rarely see. Yellowlegs! They didn’t flinch when I walked in and took a seat. For the next hour 19 lesser yellowlegs, 3 wilson’s phalaropes, 2 semi-palmated sandpipers and a spotted sandpiper ran up and down the wet sand. They came quite close then ran away again, busily hunting tiny bugs in the sand and along the water’s edge.
All at once they started making a high-pitched alarm call, ran together, took off and I thought maybe I wouldn’t see them again. I looked up to see a bald eagle pass over my head like a shadow, the reason behind their sudden departure. I was watching the eagle fly away when the little shorebirds flew right over my head and landed in front of me.
It was an imperfect day with imperfect light. The photos might or might not come out. But I was here, watching these funny little birds run around on the sand making their silly high-pitched squeaking noises that don’t sound like they should come out of a long-legged bird. Seeing the sunlight in their fancy yellow legs and remembering how much beauty there can be in the gloom.
Walking back to the car I heard meadowlarks singing. Another spot of yellow in the gray. Tara Brach often says, “say yes to the life that’s here”. This morning I wanted to say “no”. I wanted to say “not this”. The act of getting in the car was my “yes”. The act of walking was a “yes”. By saying yes, in the smallest of ways, I found there was joy. Joy in yellow feathers and yellow legs.
I’ve been thinking about how to nourish and encourage joy, peace and contentment in myself in a world that seems to nourish fear, anger and outrage at every turn. I’ve been thinking about what it means to mother ourselves and others. Responding to the unease and discomfort of our own inner child with a balance of compassion, caring and nurturing. Knowing when the child inside simply needs to be held and when that child needs something else.
On this day I needed to walk. Another day I might need to rest. My habit is to pull away and hide from the world, which is sometimes exactly what I need. Other times I need to encourage myself to make a different choice. Often it doesn’t feel very clear. On this Mother’s Day, I find myself thinking about the very difficult task of mothering. If it’s hard for me in my fifties to clearly discern what’s best for me in this moment, how much more impossible is it as a young mother?
There were other moments of wonder this week, moments I would have missed by saying no. A lovely woman in a sangha group I participated in this week used the term “collecting droplets of joy” for intentionally looking for joy and wonder in the world. Here are a few of my “droplets of joy”:
Frogs singing:
Bank swallows making nests in a big muddy bank:
We desperately need to nourish joy, peace and contentment in ourselves if we wish to bring it to the world. How do you nourish and care for your inner child?
I so relate to this--the reward of making an effort...nothing happens by chance. Serendipity is an act of will. Gorgeous writing, gorgeous images, Karen!
What you wrote here "It’s strange how it can be easier to choose gloom than to take a chance on joy." I can resonate. I appreciate your words Karen, and LOVE your photography of birds. I just love birds, they bring me so much joy. Thank you.