When I first moved to this apartment, I found out that my backyard hosted a lot of birds. I asked my landlady about seeing these diverse birds and she informed me that our rear garden was part of an avian migratory path.
The first year was such a treat: I saw blackbirds, a Blue Jay, cardinals, and other beautiful birds that I cannot name. I marveled at the variety and noted their colors and bird calls. As time went on, every time I saw my landlady and we got to the subject of birds, she’d mention the mockingbird and always asked whether or not I’d heard it. I’d always say, ‘No’ and go on about my business wondering, what’s the big deal about hearing a bird anyway? But then I’d see my landlady and she’d ask me, “Did you hear the Mockingbird yet?” and I’d admit, “Well, I may have but I really wouldn’t know what to listen for.” She’d clarify, “The reason they call it a mockingbird is because it mimics (or mocks) the songs of other birds.”
I was certain that I was way too in-observant to even notice something as subtle as a singular bird that mocks other birds. So I filed the topic in my mental Rolodex called, “Other Random Memory Bank” and forgot all about it.
Oddly enough, I didn’t have long to wait…
Early in the morning on a particularly bright and sunny Saturday, I heard a successive rapid-fire series of tweets, whistles and chirps that were too quick to be coming from different birds. It was a pleasant surprise and a deeply resonant realization that I was an aware person highly sensitive to my environment and most specifically to SOUND. It was beautiful. It was lovely. It was the greatest sound I’d ever heard…EVER.
But there were other lessons in that moment. It wasn’t just that I had confirmed my ability to perceive such a fleeting thing, dispelling the myth I told myself that I was not a competent observer of my world; it was the fact that I got to experience this in my own way. It was the profound awareness of the difference between having someone tell you about something and then experiencing that something for yourself in your own time and at your own speed. Some things defy verbal definitions and methods of expression.
It is the same with letter-writing for me. For who else could view ideas, and thoughts scribbled in my own hand, sentiments which are saved, innovations stored, jotted down and reserved for the solitary independent artist setting it down. The written word is its own miracle–a marriage between the mind and the body coming together to create something, capturing a moment in time, a feeling, an expression that was important enough to mark. It is pen to paper. It is paint to canvas. It is an impression in ink which cannot be recreated and is attached always to The Source–be it God, our Creator, the Architect, the Almighty Spirit, the Hub, the Jellyfish, the Is-and-always-will-be eternal blob, the Great Googly Moogly…
I am, at this moment, feeling expansive
There is no time for self-doubt.
I am GREAT.
Repeat it as a mantra…
Until you are ready to HEAR IT!
*Feel free to comment and post your own wonderful moments that defy explanation. I’m looking forward to hearing what others are hearing, seeing, doing. And for those who are unwilling to publicly share on a blog, you can always send me an email at: firstname.lastname@example.org or Join: The League of Extraordinary PenPals
As always, Thanks for Reading!