Mummerings

 

 

Murmuration of Starlings

 

As I searched the internet for a picture of a murmuration of starlings (coordinated flight--scroll to the bottom to see more) I wondered why I had not taken a picture of a group I saw a couple of mornings ago as I sat beside an open field drinking a cup of hot mocha.

I watched, not thousands, as sometimes happens, but hundreds of starlings swirling in the sky, weaving in and out, dancing in harmony, and wondered how in the world they could do it. How could they fly so fast and precisely without running into each other? They must have been wearing little radio headsets.

They would do their dance, then drop all together into the field and disappear into the grasses where I couldn't see them, then, as though on cue, swoop up and dance again, only to drop again a few moments later. I hear this is a predator escape behavior, but from my vantage point, they seemed to be having a happy time.

Could we escape predators with such joy?

Jen Scenario wrote:

"Have you ever had an aha moment that completely blew yer mind? "Don't worry, be happy! Yes! I can choose to place my attention on the joyous instead of the heinous!... I'm gonna hug the shit out of everyone I see!"

Jen, you are masterful in reminding me to live in the now and find a happy place. Yes, I'm a spiritual being here to have a physical experience, although perhaps that physical part tells us to do something.

Be happy and get the job done. That's the challenge.

We were born into a physical body with hands to clean up messes and a voice to tell the young ones to be vigilant.

Many of us have felt in bondage for many years. First, the COVID-19 lockdown separated us from our social group, which helped solidify our belief systems without a conversation with the other side. Many of us lost jobs, thus threatening our security; our kids weren't going to school, graduation from high school wasn't the joyous event it was for us, and newly birthed babies were sometimes removed from their mothers as a health precaution. And the possibility of death was staring us in the face.

It’s no wonder we went a little crazy.

Prolonged stress does that to people.

And then came the arguing, name-calling, lies, and innuendoes that have been a normal part of the media. And we listened—after all, our brains were already fried.

I, for one, felt beaten down. And I questioned the teachings I have endeavored to incorporate into my being for years.

That teaching is that we are masterful creators here to create our lives, not to be victims of circumstances.

Didn't we all come here as exuberant little spark plugs ready for an adventure?

We know the earth will go on without us—it has done so for 4 billion years, but the plants, animals, and people living right now are important to me. Future generations are vital to me. Native Americans believed in planning for seven generations ahead. I've heard that post-menopausal women, while no longer reproducing (what dear old biologists and misogynists told us was our purpose), now we are seeing that the older women, specifically, are here to see that their progeny continues. 

For women who think broadly, progeny extends to all life.

Ancient mythology told us that males and females once rolled about in ecstasy, but the controllers, seeing how powerful they were together, split them apart. (People who are talking about soulmates are talking about that phenomenon. They are seeking their other half.) Because we are separated, we have had a war of the sexes ever since, making both male and female weaker and the controllers more powerful. (Why do controllers try to keep women down?)

Richard Bach, one of my favorite authors, wrote," If you wonder if your mission in life is over, and you're alive, it isn't."

I'm alive.

And I wonder where I fit into this scenario. The famed Naturalist Jane Goodall said that we all affect the earth each day we walk on it. With Douglas Abrams as her interviewer, Jane Goodall wrote a book titled HOPE. In reading it, I wonder how to spread hope.

Jane Goodall calls herself a naturalist.  A naturalist, Jane says, "looks for the wonder of nature—she listens to the voice of nature and learns from nature as she tries to understand it. Meanwhile, scientists are more focused on facts and the desire to qualify. How is it adaptive? How does it contribute to the survival of the species? As a naturalist, you need empathy, intuition, and love. You've got to be prepared to look at the murmuration* of starlings and be filled with awe at the amazing agility of these birds. How do they fly in a flock of thousands without touching at all?"

I do not have the notoriety of Jane Goodall nor the interviewer's skill of Douglas Abrams. However, I am persistent in this struggle for survival. And Goodall emphasizes that HOPE is a survival mechanism.

HOPE has kept us alive for 300,000 years. "HOPE," says Goodall, "is like a bright star at the end of a dark tunnel. We should not wait for it to come to us. We have to go get it."

It is spring, or almost so. Peaceful spring. I see buds on the trees, and the Cameo flowering quince bush shows its coral-colored buds; if HOPE is withering, we can water it if that's what it needs. Yet HOPE is something that lives inside of us. It's a belief, an emotion—even animals have hope. For example, when your dog sits expectantly for you to get the leash, hope is paired with the belief that you will take him for a walk. The cat hopes you will open the door to let him out. HOPE is also like our heart or brain, organs that will die without the necessary chemicals.

HOPE needs to know we care for it. HOPE needs to know that we will keep it alive. Nelson Mandela couldn't take any action when he was in prison, but he kept hope in his heart. He knew he had a support system out in the world helping him. If we have our hands tired, we need others who don't.

When we have our voices silenced, such as reprisals for speaking out, when we have books banned, when we have the media owned and controlled, we need the free ones to speak. We need those with a voice to rise and proclaim loudly, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore."

Almost every citizen has good reason for suing the highest leaders in the land for constitutional abuse, emotional abuse, possibly voter fraud, overstepping Presidential privilege, changing laws to benefit the leaders personally (like threatening to abolish the two-term Presidential law) for rounding up our people who came here seeking a better life, for frightening children that they might be separated from their parents, for voting refusal without proof of any wrongdoing, possibly for buying an election, for interfering with physician-patient confidentiality. I'm sure you can think of many others.

Geesh, look at how that would help the people if they pulled wealth from the billionaires and gave it to the people—we could pay off our mortgages, we could afford a larger apartment, we could pay for our kids’ education, we could care for our elders if they need special care. We could afford eggs.

Power and Money are at the bottom of the jar, like a banana a little monkey will grab and won't let go of, even when it means he will get caught.

We are the people. Let's get our act together.

 

*Murmuration: (Named because often you can hear the murmurs of wings before you see the birds.) The magic number is seven: Each bird keeps tabs on its seven closest neighbors and ignores all else. Considering all these little groups of seven touch on other individuals and groups of seven, twists and turns quickly spread. And from that, a whole murmuration moves. From the journal PLOS Computational Biology, January 2013.

The Three Things in Control

• An attraction zone: "You will move toward the next guy."
• A repulsion zone: "You don't fly into his lane. Otherwise, you both fall."
• Angular alignment: "You need to follow your neighbor's direction."

(And these birds can process information faster than we can.)

 

 

 

Here We go, Under the Maple, conversation #4

 

 

"How did your week go, guys?" Ollie asks as the entire gang comes chattering through the gate.

"Fantastic, guilt-ridden, Great, Better." All give Ollie a hug.

"Look what Twinkie brought," Simad says, finding his chair around the table. "Brownies, my favorite chocolately thing. Thanks, Twinkie," He sat down then bounced up. "Why do we always sit in the same place? Isn't that strange? Let's mix it up. Twinkie, I'm sitting in your chair."

"You're welcome, Simad." Twinkie sits her plate down, runs over, jumps on his lap, and throws her arms around his neck. You're in my chair," she says.

 Somewhat taken aback, Simad finally collects himself and says, "Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

She kisses his forehead. "You sat in my chair, you get sat upon." She pops up and runs back to her plate, rips off the plastic wrap, and places it beside the tray on the table set with coffee, tea, hot water, an ice bucket, cream, sugar, and lemons.

"Is that laced with anything, Twinkie?" asks Harvey.

"Nope, It's pure unadulterated melted chocolate, flour—you know, from scratch, regular stuff." She opens a jar and begins to dribble chocolate across the tops of the brownies.

Everyone dives in for a brownie, coffee, tea, whatever is already on the table and settles into their seats.

"Twinkie," says Harvey, "I'd expect Twinkies from you. Oh, do they make Twinkies anymore?"

"I don't think so," Twinkie says finding a chair, but I loved them as a kid—that's how I got my name. But when I learned that if you place one on a porch railing, it will still be fresh six months later. I envisioned one sitting in my stomach like a petrified rock. That stopped me. These are to thank you guys for last week. I'm unflappable today."

"How so, Twinkie? Tell us."

 "I was so anxious to tell you guys.” She sat forward in her chair, “I did as Shal suggested. I meditated every day for six days—today will be the seventh."

 "What happened?" asked Shal.

"I was miserable for the first two days. I couldn't stop thinking of a zillion other things I'd rather be doing. And then, on the third day, I got this message. It read: "Dear Twinkie, I gave you a heart, a brain, and courage. Use them." Signed, 'God'."

"Where did you find that message?" asks Harvey.

"Oh, Harvey, I didn't suddenly go bonkers and hear voices or find golden tablets. I wrote it in my notebook. It was a message from me to me—or from God. It got me thinking. I want to do what I want to do. And you know what that is?"

"No, tell us," said Ollie, sitting in her not usual chair. "This is sort of like who won the Design Challenge."

"It was sort of like that," says Twinkie. "I watched "Blown Away," the glass-blowing competition for inspiration. I've always wanted to try my hand at blowing glass. And not those little figurines you see at fairs, but the big stuff, bowls, and artwork. I thought Glass blowing was for big husky men, and I'm 5 foot 5 and what they call petite. With that show, I saw that a woman can do it. In fact, a woman won the competition.

"My arguments against it were that I thought I didn't have the strength or couldn't take the heat. I wasn't creative enough, or that I couldn't learn it. I thought my skin would dry up in front of a furnace every day, but I noticed the women had beautiful skin. Maybe it's like a sweat lodge where you sweat out the toxins—like from all those Twinkies I had as a kid--I'm strong. I can run five miles. But then there are those people who have 30 years of experience, and I'm 28 and just starting. And then there is the time and money. My roommate and I are just squeaking by working at Sacs, but I'm doing it. I found a teacher at the coast, so I'm driving over every Saturday and apprenticing under him."

"I can see it, "Twinkie's Twinkling Glass." Says Sally. "I'll commission a chandelier. Here's to you, Twinkie."

[Applause. Cheers!]

 "And you have a customer already, "says Ollie. "Who has a customer before they have a product?! Twinkie, look what you did."

"It will take a while, Sally, before I produce a reasonable piece. I have a lot to learn."

"I know, but you got started. I'm proud of you."

"The idea," says Shal, "is to begin wherever you are. When a gardener told John F. Kennedy that the tree he wanted planted would take 100 years to mature, Kennedy said, "Then you better plant it now."

"Is that tree still there?"

"I don't know."

"So, says Shal, how did everyone else do?"

"I completely zoned out one day," says Simad. "After writing until about midnight, I collapsed into bed with all meditation forgotten, then felt guilty the next day."

"Hey," says Ollie," don't beat yourself up. Just take a step back and regroup. We aren't saints, you know."

"I meditated the next day."

"There you go."

"Well," says Harvey, "I didn't do so well. It was painful. Every time I sat down, I thought of Liz."

"Oh Harvey," says Sally, "how long has it been?"

"Liz died two years ago on October 2."

"I'm so sorry you must go through that, Harvey," says Sally.

They could see he was beginning to tear up, and led by Ollie, the group gathered around his chair. Everyone put their arms around him, around each other, and genuinely wanted to take away Harvey's pain.

When they released him and each other, Harvey had tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I nev-er- cri-ed that day. I was too angry to cry. I loved her."

"We are here for you, Harvey, "Ollie said when they were seated.

"I know you guys try to stay upbeat," Harvey leaned his forehead into his palm. "I didn't want to bring you guys down."

"Nobody stays upbeat when they're hurting Harvey. We're here for all our feelings, not just the happy ones. Yes, we emphasize looking on the bright side,  but, Harvey, all feelings are important, and we want the sharing to be whatever is going on in our lives. I would love to hear about Liz. How about if you introduce her to us."

"Yes, I would like that. After a while, my friends and family stopped talking about her. It's as though they forgot her or don't want to remember, and it seems they want me to do so as well. Let it go...and you know this stupid thing about closure? Well, it's a damn lie." 

"Oh, Harvey, we never forget about the people we love. To this day, I miss my mom. I ask her advice every couple of days. Of course, she usually says what she said when I was a kid. 'I trust you. You'll figure it out.'"

People chuckled, even Harvey, who blew his nose with a big honk.

The groups almost laughed but stifled themselves.

"All the sweetness of Liz's family went straight into Liz. That's in contrast to me being a big lummox."

"You aren't a lummox, Harvey," said Twinkie, 'You're a big teddy bear."

"That's what Liz said. She was the light of my life; at 60, her light went out, just like that. One day, it was on, the next day off. You know how you come home after work? 'Hi Honey, I'm home.' I went to her office, and she wasn't there, but I knew the next place to look, the garden. In those days, she was hauling in cucumbers by the bucketful’s. I found her on the ground like she had decided to nap among the carrots. When I realized she was gone, I yelled until the neighbors heard me and came to my aid. The coroner said she had a heart attack. I didn't know she had a bad heart. I thought her heart was the grandest thing about her. Well, she was pretty, too. And a good mom and a good wife. I believe in soul mates, for she was mine."

"I'm glad you found yours, Harvey."

"It isn't fair, is it?" says Shal," Sometimes it seems as though the sweet ones leave early and the ornery ones stick around until the last cow comes home."

"When I see Liz, I will ask her if her cow came home."

"I'd like to hear her answer," says Sally. "Harvey, do you see your kids?"

"Yeah, I see them a couple times a year. They're busy. They love their pop, but it has been different since Liz died. We're careful like we're glass."

"Maybe you could have a ceremony of some sort when you get together, somehow honor their mother and your wife, and let people talk about her, not just like at a funeral." Simad offered.

"Would you guys come?"

"Yeah, of course, you betcha." Everyone agreed.

"We'll have a barbecue in my backyard," said Harvey.

"What say, I put on some music, and we dance a bit. I heard Liz Gilbert say that after losing her soul mate, she dances every morning to ease the hurt and honor her mate."

"Let's do it." Says Harvey, hoisting himself from his chair and offering his hand to Twinkie, who takes it, jumps from her chair, and begins whirling around the yard. "I love you. Harvey." She says, "Come on, let's boogie."