Of Songbirds and Silent Bunnies

For the last few days, realizing that my major challenge at this point in life is EGO and that the most important lesson I need to learn right now is humility, and as I begin to write about the ”how to of who I am,” I have been paying close attention to Nature, inspired in part by my Spirit Master, Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Butterflies have been a recurring theme for me in the recent past, manifesting their energy and expressivity around and about me in oh-so-many ways. Dancing in pairs or fluttering alone, rejoicing with and playing within the Universe, appearing before me during those special moments when I am me, choreographing the miracle of life that represents the ever-presence of my father passed.

Radiant red cardinals have shared their beauty and their consonant communication by serenading me in full view, one yesterday on Connie's back deck, a kissing cousin the day before from a tree on the green of the Arboretum.

This morning as I sat on the steps at the base of the front walkway of my home, sipping my coffee and drinking in nature, a grey-brown bunny appeared before my very eyes (or perhaps after them, depending on which came first). Above all, I noticed that she was alert to the world around her, aware, awake and inquisitive as she explored her surroundings, bouncing from this spot to that and then to another, nose to the wind, whiskers sensing unseen vibrations, investigating her universe, listening with full intent and poised ears outstretched skyward. Suddenly it dawned on me that the most important thing about rabbits is that they have very large ears -- always listening, always attentive. And she did not speak. Like all her fellow rabbits, she makes no sound or has nothing to say that needs to be said. Thus, another important thing about rabbits is that they have no voice. Programmed for silence, they are Buddhist by design.

Back to the steps, feeling the hues of the faint, cool breeze, enjoying the avian concerto to be savored from afar, the songbirds conversing of morning news and plans for the day, I became blessedly aware of the rhythmic background of a mourning dove, the resounding chant of the heaven-sent message from Nature to me. The incantation was an unmistakable “Who, who, who,” a harmonious reminder of the most pressing question on my mind and in my heart, a query likely on the minds of many -- “Who, who, who am I?” – gently yet persistently adorning the generous call of the wild.

Nature speaks to me in many ways, and I hear her most clearly when I have nothing to say.