We keep some bird feeders going. I’ve noticed that when I’m in the yard, either working in the garden or just sitting and relaxing, the birds react, some dramatically and some less so. The larger birds immediately fly far afield, startled by the mere click of the door opening. The smaller birds take cover nearby. I’m aware that all of them are waiting to see what I’m going to do.
As I enter their territory, their energetic space, I’m aware that eventually they’ll calm down and go about their business as I go about mine. They’ll accept me the same way they accept a passing deer, knowing I will do no harm, that I’m generally a calm energetic presence.
About a week ago, I watched as a robin began making a nest in a fairly small juniper tree tucked up near the house. It’s always a busy bush, handily available for all the small birds to rush into should they need cover. It rustles and shakes with their comings and goings, so I was a little surprised that the robin had chosen it.
I waited to see if it was simply a decoy nest. Our deck at the back of the house suffers from these decoy nests. Straggling grasses and debris hang down from the beams, as the robins and even the phoebes attempt to divert attention. We’ve been onto them for years, but I guess birds of prey, squirrels and other critters still don’t get it.
I’ve observed the birds flight patterns for years too, how they never fly directly to their nests but always in a complicated indirect path, another attempt to divert attention from their real abode and the treasures that lie incubating there.
Beneath the little juniper tree in the front yard is a hose box and so it’s an area that we too frequent often, dragging out the hose and then winding it back up again as we tend to the gardens and flowering pots in the yard. So I was startled to see that indeed the robin’s nest in the juniper tree is the real one, the home they selected for this year.
I found this out when I went to pull out the hose. There sat the robin in her nest. Bearing the tension of my gaze, she stared right back at me. I could feel her fear, the tension in her body, aware that she might fly off in an instant. Not wanting to stress her, I backed off and went about my business. Later, as I rewound the hose I looked at her again. She sat with the same tense readiness.
“Don’t worry; everything is fine,” I whispered in the most soft and gentle voice. “Thank you for coming here, for…” and with that she flew off in a huff, shrieking and bellowing. I realized that my silence was all that mattered. I didn’t need to speak. My voice was intrusive, but my energy was calmer, enough so that though she was edgy she could bear the tension of my presence.
Indeed, when I am in the yard working calmly on my gardens, I am in the flow of nature around me. I have my hands in the soil, and yes, I talk to my plants, to the earth, even to the weeds and worms. I welcome them all; I thank them for coming and being part of my life and my garden.
The other day, I noticed that someone had stepped in the garden where I had planted seeds, the tiny seedlings just beginning to pop up. It looked like the person had taken one step in, realized it was a garden and then taken another step out again leaving two big footprints digging into the soil.
“Humph!” I thought, “who did that!” But then I realized it didn’t matter. Don’t waste energy on anger, it doesn’t suit the flow of life, just accept it. The garden will not suffer. Indeed the little seedlings have popped right back up again. The next day I saw that some critter had dug a hole in another area of the garden, also planted with seeds. Here too, my immediate reaction was anger. I got a little grumpy, confronted the futility of it all, of trying to have control! But of course, I realize I have no control. This is nature! And so I accept what comes.
“Okay,” I say in greeting to these intruders, “you are here, I am here, we are all here creating this world and everything we do is acceptable. Each one of us is acceptable. I am no better or worse with my digging and pulling. I too am an intruder and a disturbance. The birds react, the squirrels chatter, and yet they let me do my thing.”
One day a raven flew down low. Its shadow swooped over me, startling me, and I felt the wind of its feathers flying right over my head. It landed on the roof and I got a good look at it. Meanwhile, the birds were in an uproar, squawking and shrieking, sure that they were in danger, alerting all in the neighborhood that a predator was in the vicinity. The same thing happened yesterday when a vulture hovered over the yard. I know that in attracting birds, in making our yard a destination, we are also making it available to other energy as well. The cats come and stalk the birds. Occasionally we find feathers on the ground, a catch made, and we know that all is not always calm beauty in nature, just as it isn’t inside us either.
There is always the possibility of the shadow coming; the predator is hungry too, part of nature too, needing sustenance too. And so I must be okay with what I have created. I can’t stop anything from happening. I can, however, be in the flow of it, accepting of what comes without attachment, knowing that it is all nature and that nature will right itself, restore balance, just as I seek to do within myself.
The robin—in both her bearing of tension and in her abrupt flying out of the nest—taught me the significance of energy alone, the only communicator that is really necessary, the natural communicator, one we can all learn to use a little bit more.
We are all telepathic beings and we all have the capability of communicating energetically. We just have to trust it and use it more often. I find that if I am calm and centered, without mental or physical stress, my energetic communication is strong. If I’m stressed or tired, feeling out of balance, then I’m just not as attuned.
I’m just beginning to read a book on feng shui, the natural flow of energy that is in all things, supporting my own experiences. I intend to take some time to be in the garden today, to use my nonverbal communication skills to commune with my plants and birds, with the natural flow of energy all around me.
Just a part of it all,