Tag: birds

Empty Hands

I don’t use apps much or carry my cell phone everywhere I go. To me, they can be distracting, even burdensome. I want to move through my day-to-day life with my hands, heart, and mind open. For instance, when I go bird-watching, I bring my binoculars and anticipation. That’s it. While others around me are holding their phones up, using an app to identify a bird call, I am just listening—and looking. I don’t want a cell phone to come between me and my experience of the wonder of birds. I leave it at home. If I can’t always identify the bird I am seeing, that’s okay. The wonder is there.

Not everyone would agree with that. Apps can help birders identify what they see, just as books and CDs did when I first started birding years ago (and they are still useful). I understand. It’s exciting to be able to recognize and name a bird that appears before you. Yet, relying too much on human inventions to filter life’s experiences may create separation instead of connection. We lose the thrill of discovery, the immediacy and excitement of being fully present and alive. And of course, it’s not just about birds. It’s about everything. As I ride the bus or walk down the street, I see people looking at what is streaming on their cell phones rather than the reality streaming all around them.

When I was on a whale watch a few years ago, a humpback whale breached nearby, and everyone on the boat was holding their cell phones out in front of them, taking photos. They were viewing the miracle of this huge whale in such close proximity indirectly, through a human-made device. And this happens all the time. Taking photos of reality or watching a video instead of experiencing it directly. Granted, I like to take pictures too, but not all the time. I don’t want to completely replace direct perception with images and miss the real thing.

If I fill my consciousness with mental filters and my life with cell phones and digital cameras, I can get lost in the midst of them. The soul of who I am in this lifetime misses out. I didn’t come to this Earth for substitutes and simulations. I came here to be fully present in each moment, no preconceptions or imitation reality. An impossible task, you say? Perhaps. And yet I try to move in this direction every day, emptying out the unnecessary so I can fill myself with the experience of each moment, uncluttered and free.

There is pressure all around me (and you) to engage in virtual reality instead of the real thing. I have to consciously remind myself to “be here now” in every living second. I believe it is possible, not just for me but for all of us. Put down your cell phone, walk out the door, hands empty, and look around—real life is everywhere, just waiting for you.

Sentinels of Song

In spring and summer, I wake up each morning to the robin’s cheery song outside my window. S/he sings at the very top of the tree in our backyard for several minutes, then flies to another tree, then another, and another, then back again to the backyard. At night I fall asleep to the sounds of a mockingbird’s wonderful medley of various bird songs, and at dawn s/he is still singing. Robins and other songbirds do this to establish their home “territory” or attract a mate. Feathered sentinels, they seem to watch over the area with care, enveloping it in song. I can actually feel the vibration of living presence surrounding me as I listen.

I also hear cardinals, song sparrows, house finches, white-throated sparrows, Carolina wrens, mourning doves, and chickadees singing the day into being. Canada geese call as they fly overhead. Each of their songs is unique and a delight to hear. My heart is uplifted as I walk through my neighborhood every morning. Sometimes, late at night, the soft haunting call of a screech owl can be heard in the trees outside the window. And when I go to nearby Mt. Auburn Cemetery for each year’s spring migration, the songs of orioles, tanagers, thrushes, flycatchers, and warblers of all kinds fill the air. I am reminded of the birds that were part of my childhood in rural Illinois, and my heart expands with love for the world. In spite of human conflict and thoughtless neglect of the environment, birds continue to bring joy to the world with their songs, weaving a musical tapestry. They are like guardians of happiness on Earth.

Perhaps every one of us is meant to do this in our lives: be sentinels of our individual human songs. Each of us in our own way is unrepeatable and colorful, like a songbird in spring. And we each have a unique gift to bring to the world. A song of the soul, if you will. When we “sing” full out, lovingly, heart open, we lift the hearts of those around us. A magical alchemical vibration!

By “singing,” I mean simply being yourself. Birds don’t pretend to be something other than who they are; they are completely aligned with Nature and their “birdness” as they sing. If you and I also align ourselves with the natural world around us and forget about trying to become something other than who we were born to be, “song” flows from us like light. It is the music of the soul and the love in our hearts, which we came into this life to share.

This may sound like a nice story with little connection to the real world, but if you pause a moment and listen to the next bird you hear singing, you may realize exactly what I mean. If each of us was created to live on Earth for a particular reason, to bring to the world a particular gift, what is yours? What is the soul music you came here to share? If birds are sentinels of song, perhaps human beings are sentinels of the heart. When we love fully, the music of the spheres flows through us.

Step Outside…

In the past couple of years, as the planet has been experiencing a frightening pandemic, intense political conflict, and extreme weather patterns (among other things), many of us have found ourselves hesitant to leave our apartments or houses. We learned to work at home and avoid crowded public places, which held potential dangers. Even now, as we begin to venture out more, a kind of post-traumatic stress seems to linger in our consciousness. We have to break through a fear barrier just to go outdoors. It takes a real effort to walk to the corner store, let alone take a plane to another city.

We have collectively fallen into the habit of fear-based inertia, believing it is safer and easier to stay put in our living rooms than to go out into the risk-ridden world. We choose the simulated reality of Netflix or social media over the shining, ever-expanding world outside our doors. This scenario is unlike anything we have ever experienced in our lifetimes, and as we look into the future, we can’t foresee it changing. Perhaps it is we who have to change. Choose to open the door instead of lock it.

For example: On a winter’s day in February when cold or snow could trap you indoors, fearful of the icy sidewalks and the frigid wind, go outside anyway, even for ten minutes. Walk around your neighborhood or in a local park. Breathing the fresh air will clear your lungs—and your mind. So many things have kept us indoors recently. How about using a peaceful but invigorating walk as the daily movement challenge to get you beyond your door, whatever the weather? I promise you it will help break the stay-at-home inclination and also make you feel a lot better physically.

I am finding that when I begin to feel tired or depressed and unwilling to move, that is exactly the time when I need most to take a walk outdoors. If I consciously remind myself how much better I feel when I go outside, then I am able to make the extra effort to walk out the door. And every single time I am rewarded with some special moment in the world around me. In spring it is colorful flowers and newly green leaves; in winter, tree silhouettes and wild geese against brilliant blue skies. Always there are bird calls and the smell of fresh air. And the faces of individuals I pass on the street, who smile brightly if I say hello. All of this is a refresher jumpstart for my body and soul, which I would have missed entirely if I had stayed inside.

So next time you feel incapacitated by the gravity that keeps you immobile in your own living room, not fully engaged in life, make an effort to break free. Step outside and breathe in the beauty of the planet you live on. It’s not as scary as it might seem. In fact, it is still the wondrous place it always was, filled with a variety of climates, habitats, and people. We are just going through birthing pains on our beloved Earth. See them as temporary. Look up at the sun and the always changing sky, listen to the birds singing, smile at your neighbors, and you will start to walk with a sparkle in your eyes and spirit in your steps.

The Birds!

Inevitably, people ask me why I moved from Florida back to Massachusetts after only two and a half years. I answer a little differently each time, usually something about missing friends/family and the change of seasons. However, as spring begins to flower in New England, there is one answer that rises to the top: the birds! Meaning the spring bird migration that brings thousands of birds from Central and South America northward through Massachusetts. And right down the street from me to Mt. Auburn Cemetery, which is heaven on Earth for birdwatchers from April to June, especially the first three weeks in May. With the exception of the last two years, this is where I could be found early in the morning to mid-afternoon on most spring days over the past 30 years.

More than anything else, I missed this exciting yearly event.  Even though Florida has incredible birds of its own (herons, egrets, ibises, gallinules, pelicans, parrots, woodpeckers), it was the excitement of seeing warblers, tanagers, orioles, grosbeaks, and thrushes passing through Massachusetts (some nesting here) annually that tugged at my heartstrings and called me home. The thrill of encountering these beautiful songbirds each spring is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. Through long snowy winters, northern birders anticipate their arrival.

When the male cardinal begins to rehearse his spring song in late January or early February, even with snow on the ground and freezing temperatures, it is the first hint that indeed spring is not far away. Soon I hear house finches, song sparrows, and mourning doves singing, as the days lengthen and the changing light cues the birds for their seasonal roles. For me, robins turn the tide. Some of them overwinter in Massachusetts, but it is the arrival of flocks of migrating robins in March that lift my heart: I know that spring is right on our doorstep now. The trees and lawns fill up with robins, and they can be heard calling and singing in the mornings and often throughout the day. This is what I missed most in Florida: robins, with their red breasts, bright eyes, and cheery songs. They sing spring into being, and soon all the other amazing migrating birds follow.

Mt. Auburn is a green gem of woodsy wildness in the midst of the busy streets of Cambridge, Massachusetts. When I walk through its gates, I step out of the city and into the country, or the closest thing to it in a metropolitan area. Tree elders of all kinds, as well as native plantings, flowers, ponds, hills, and dells, are a striking visual invitation to birds who have flown all night on their thousands-of-miles marathon journey from Central and South America. They drop down out of the sky at dawn into this oasis and begin to replenish their life force by eating the insects that come to the flowering spring trees. And we bird-lovers are there to welcome them.

In April, the first warblers appear: yellow-rumped, palm, pine. Then as May begins, the rest begin to fly in: black-throated blue, black-throated green, black-and-white, yellow, northern parula, magnolia, chestnut-sided, bay-breasted, common yellowthroat, ovenbird, American redstart, and so many others. I especially anticipate seeing the Blackburnian with its fiery orange iridescent throat and the Canada with its delicate black necklace. Each warbler has distinctive markings and color patterns that can evoke audible gasps among birders when the sun lights their feathers and their varied songs fill the air.

Around the same time, Baltimore orioles, scarlet tanagers, flycatchers, vireos, and rose-breasted grosbeaks arrive, and the rainbow of bird colors expands. There is nothing to compare to the sight of flashy orange-and-black orioles swirling through the trees chattering at one another and whistling melodically. The scarlet tanager is another showstopper, brilliant red and black among the green leaves, singing its hoarsely sweet song. Then there are the thrushes, whose songs are ethereal flute-like trills in the quiet woods. The veery and wood thrush, in particular, always fill my heart with joy and my eyes with tears as I listen in silence, motionless. Listening as much as watching is the delight of being with birds.

In its simplicity, birdwatching teaches silent presence as well as immersion in the moment. Within that is also surrender to a powerful invisible life force that flows through the universe and carries humans and birds alike. Great spiritual wisdom is embodied in the lives of these tiny feathered beings and awakened in our own hearts. So many birds, so many wonders that play out each spring in a passing parade of color and sound like no other. We are incredibly blessed to share the Earth with birds, who fly so far to light up our souls with their songs and presence. Living miracles each one of them. Who would want to miss this once-a-year magic show? Not me. And that’s why I moved back to Massachusetts.

Heart Memory

Photograph © 2021 Peggy Kornegger
I once read about an injured hawk that was rescued and taken to a raptor rehabilitation center. The hawk, after recovering from its injuries, was driven back to the location where it had been found, many miles away. At a certain point in the trip, the hawk suddenly became more alert. It lifted its head and looked around sharply; it moved its wings with anticipation. It sensed in the deepest part of its being that its home was near. Such behavior can’t be logically explained by science because it has to do with the things we know without physical evidence to prove it. Awareness beyond the five senses. Author Rupert Sheldrake called it “morphic resonance” in explaining how a dog would know its human companion, a hundred miles away, had started to return home. We living beings, animal or human, feel presence and remember home from great distances. Our heart has an intelligence even deeper and wider than the brain’s.

I have experienced this time and again in my life. It is a powerful connection to the world around me. I can literally feel my awareness extend beyond time and space to people and events at great distances or in the past. Like the hawk, I have recognized “home” in my cells and in my heart. Most recently, on the return flight moving back to Boston from Florida, I visually tracked the plane’s movement up the coast, passing through state after state. I could feel my heart begin to beat faster as we neared New England. When the edge of Massachusetts appeared on the flight map, I looked out the window at the Earth below. I felt the familiarity deep within me. Then, as the plane touched down, tears filled my eyes. Anne, who had lived in the Boston area all her life, was sniffling beside me. We squeezed each other’s hands as the flight attendant’s voice came over the PA: “Welcome Home.” Yes.

A couple of weeks after arriving and settling in to our new apartment, Anne and I drove to the neighborhood where we had lived before moving to Florida. As we passed through the familiar streets and turned down ours, once again I cried. Eleven years of memories flashed through my mind: summer gardens, autumn leaves, winter blizzards, spring awakenings, sunrises and sunsets, full moons, screech owls calling at dusk, mockingbirds singing at dawn, goldfinches feeding, squirrels chasing each other, neighbors bringing banana bread and kindness. It all was alive within me. My heart remembered every moment.

Immediately I thought of the hawk and connected to its experience from within my own. We creatures of Earth are here but a short time; yet each second is imprinted on our consciousness and carried within us. Our souls know the brevity of our stay, which gives us an intensity of experience that continues throughout our lives. The homes we have here are but a reflection of the greater Home that we come from and to which we return beyond lifetimes. Perhaps in remembering our Earth homes with such emotion we are also remembering our heavenly Home. It is a mystery, this life. Still, in moments of deep connection to the present and past as one, we, hawk or human, experience the far-reaching power of the heart’s memory. And of a greater Intelligence that holds us all in its Universal Heart.