Birds — WisdomWays Posts

It started when I was little. Like most of humanity, I was inspired by the effortless flight of birds, their habits, and beauty. I marveled at stories of their migration. How did they know when to leave, when to return? How could they travel all that distance, as small as they were? My fascination and respect grew the more I learned.

Mama fed the songbirds, keeping binoculars by the large den windows. She taught me the names of those she knew, and an identification book was nearby on the bookshelf. Though better now, even then I could match some nest constructions and songs to particular birds. Much of my childhood was lived in a large tree filled backyard, bounded on all sides by mixed pine forest. A rope hammock hung beneath the biggest oak tree, becoming a perfect space on a summer day for observing birdlife up above. Many twilights were spent listening to the whip-poor-wills call. Whistling the bobwhite quail refrain brought them from the woods up close to me, though I felt guilty for fooling them. Seduced into deeper woods, pasturelands, as I grew older, I walked with my dogs or rode my horse to cover ground all around and through the rural community. There were blackberry thickets, pond banks and creeksides to visit that brought different flyers and waders in. Secret, special places called me to come, sit, observe, and listen to life there. I felt “free as a bird” out living under the sky. That has always been a great attraction for me.

Through time, humans have assigned many qualities to the winged ones — the bluebird of happiness, the white dove of peace, wise as an owl, to name just a few common phrases. Hummingbirds in the Aztec culture were believed to be the messengers between the living and their ancestors, and their gods. They also have been our native peoples symbol for good fortune, joy, and love. In Incan culture both the condor from the south and eagle of the north fly together in the same blue sky, integral in their spiritual cosmovision. Our native peoples also revere the eagle, of course, and did long before our young nation took it as as their symbol. The eagle’s image is found on the United States seal, our money, and other places as a vital symbol of strength and freedom. In the celtic and norse spiritual traditions, the eagle, is seen as the visionary. Other birds are also powerful totems. The god Odin was always accompanied by two ravens, Hugin and Mugin. Each offered him their unique guidance. There are many bird references in the Bible. Horus is a falcon headed god of ancient Egypt. These are but a few examples, showing all cultures hold birds in high esteem for their flight, qualities, and specialized skills. We have absorbed these ideas unconciously, had our own observations and interactions. We are drawn to birds.

Birds are teachers. Who doesn’t feel that catch inside while watching the perfection of a hawk spiralling above, or stopped to listen with a rush of feeling their “kee kee-ing” across the sky? They amaze and teach the big view. I am blessed to listen to the barred owls communicate “who- cooks- for- you” across the woods on so many evenings and to hear the crows chortle during mating and nesting each spring. On the farm there have always the crow brothers walking around the horse pastures. There were four, now in recent years, three. I know it is the same birds. I talk. They talk. We have conversations.They know my habits, are keenly observant, and they are unafraid of me. They teach me to pay attention and use my voice. When gathered in a large group (a murder) in the treetops, crows teach the importance of hashing out disagreements. I call it a murder meeting.These days, when I change the suet cake, the downy and red bellied woodpeckers, nuthatches and flickers just hop over to a branch, wait for me to refill the cage, then come right back to feed when I am still present. It is meaningful not to be perceived as a threat, but a provider. They teach patience and trust. The barn swallows raise their young in the rafters each year, building a new nest just out of reach of the cats. Here they raise two or three clutches. The fledged adolescents stay around and assist their parents in feeding and raising the others. The second hatch continues the tradition if a third comes along. They teach commitment to life and each other. The many doves that nest in the huge firs along the driveway teach the value of community. The mockingbird waits all winter alone for his mate to come back from down south. He teaches the importance of holding space for family when they are away, and then to sing 100 songs about it every morning after their return. The great blue heron stands unmoving near the cattails, sun sparkling on the water. She teaches the value of stillness. The gangs of turkey up on the mountain teach us to look closely at the world, and be adaptable.The ducks flying overhead between ponds each morning and evening, teach me to honor the transitions of each day. I think of the wren that nests in the box on the fence post, the shy bluebirds, the singular towhee that appears occasionally, the flash of indigo as buntings fly up from the roadside brambles. They all part of life. They are our relations with wings.

To have rescued a few hummers from their accidental entry into the house, to feel their tiny heartbeat so fast, then watch them fly away from my open hand, following their confusing struggle, brings me fully into the presence of bird energy. I close my eyes and can recall the moment, feeling it all over again. The summer I worked as a back country ranger in Wyoming, ruby throats would come often to my campsite, hover around my head and face, then disappear, as if greeting and welcoming me to their world in the wilderness.

Last week, sitting right here, several doves flew up suddenly from the ground, and one hit the bedroom window and fell into the tangle of flowerbed beneath. Immediately I remembered the times I carefully took the stunned birds that found my parent’s windows, placed them in a shoebox of grass, and tried to nurse them back to life and flight. Seldom was I successful. But I tried. Those that recovered from their trauma to fly again brought such happiness to my young heart.This dove died, but I held her, acknowledged her life, admired her tan and grey iridescent feathers, her tiny feet, and broad breast. I stroked her warm body and said words, just as I did as a child.

This spring, different birds showed up for a few weeks in a flash of excitement before departing. Among the goldfinches, cardinals, chickadees, bluejays and the other usuals came orioles, grosbeaks, to the feeders and scarlet tanagers in the woods. I noticed their interactions w/the home birds, their unique energy, and felt thrill and wonder. New relations, new teachers. I save feathers and fallen nests. Sometimes I find nests designed with the mane and tail hair of our horses. Of course I love them best. When I brush the horses, those long strands are put outside the barn for foraging birds. They use it to wrap and cushion their eggs in that circle of life creation called a nest. The found nest and feather offerings become part of my home decor, gifts to others, and are present in my spiritual practice and work. It is a way of honoring the blessings of the birds.

With the sunrise, meditating on the element air, the feel and action of wind, and the wisdom shared by the eastern direction, I find birds appear, sometimes alone, sometimes in a flock. Always, the two that I “know” to be my totem bird allies are nearby to offer guidance —- the nocturnal owl and the rowdy kingfisher. I feel “chosen” by them. Experiences brought this awareness. My eldest son likely remembers camping as a child, and following an owl for quite a ways, flying and showing us the path through the woods. Such things happen consistently. I feel something dormant activated within when I hear or see the kingfisher patrolling, These two are such feathered opposites in every way. That may well be part of their teaching, and my learning. Once I read an article describing a study that discovered although birds have calls to alert others to danger, to communicate to chicks or a potential mate, or other purposes, their song, be it a warble or a trill, is an expression of joy. That is a lesson of tremendous value. I ask myself, “What is my joy?”and “How do I express happiness out in the world?”. Birds are angels here on earth, come to restore our spirits, reminding us when we forget that we two leggeds can also feel free, soar, and sing. I am grateful for the teachings. I carry that joy inside. I love birds.