Thank you...

The Windhover

To Christ our Lord

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-  
  dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding  
  Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding  
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing  
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
  As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding  
  Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding  
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!  
  
Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here  
  Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!  
  
  No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion  
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,  
  Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1877

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How to bend our words to apprehend the movements of the world?  The bouncing, consonant stutter of the wind, the end rhyme of its rise and fall.  The abrupt rise in exclamation and suddenly smooth turn of wing upon the sky.  The intensely grateful waver of flame re-awakened by these gifts.

The heart held in despair or tedium, when given reason, leaps up with such sublime intensity that all the headwind in the world is nothing to its joyous grace.  Though not simply erased, the winds are taken up and transmuted into a part of that joy.  With something of a falcon's heart we come by the means to understand, accept, and embrace this inevitable turbulence, becoming nimble and light enough to float upon it unbowed.  The gift of this endlessly beautiful world.

 *     *     *

*grainy, grey day pictures are mine, .gif is not*

Grover Hot Springs State Park- June 2, 2012

   American Dipper
     Cinclus Mexicanus
       Grover Hot Springs State Park, CA

"I came late to the love of birds.  For years I saw them only as a tremor at the edge of vision.  They know suffering and joy in simple states not possible for us.  Their lives quicken and warm to a pulse our hearts can never reach.  They race to oblivion.  They are old before we have finished growing."
                     J.A. Baker- The Peregrine



          
   
      
      It feels a bit off the mark to say that something has saved you when you don't feel whole and fully together but inasmuch as I can say it, I feel that watching birds and starting to understand nature have saved me.  I have dealt with varying levels of depression throughout my life and more acutely in recent years and some of the things that depression tries to tell you is that you're not a good person, that you're a failure, and that your life is pointless and not worth much.  On the day that this photo was taken I had been hiking with Layla which is something we had started to do a few years earlier to fight against the depressive moods in each of us.  Usually and ideally, I have found that being out in the wilderness frees my mind from dark thoughts and doubt and I feel at peace and very deeply alive and connected to something like the spirit of the world, at once myself and happily unconcerned with myself.  On that day, I was unable to shake the dark feelings.  I sat in the sun on the bank of the creek and only felt a vague misery that I couldn't get out from under.  As we hiked up among the boulders on the trail above the creek I could only think of throwing myself off of them and what would happen to my body afterwards.  These feelings weren't connected with any defined thought about myself or my situation, they were just a dimness inside that wouldn't leave me.  As I saw my mood affect Layla, I felt guilty and the feelings became stronger until we were at the base of the first big waterfall on the trail and I could only sit there and stare blankly at the dirt.  We sat for what felt like a long time then I tried to write in my notebook and everything was grim thoughts about the indifference of the natural world (something about the dwindling force of the water after it goes over the falls and slowly flows out to evaporate in the desert only to have to start the cycle over again) and then Layla asked if I wanted to go back.  I said we should at least go to the top of the first falls which wasn't much farther.  I was still tangled up inside when we got there and I just stood around and realized that I hadn't even tried to take any pictures.  And then I saw something dart out of a crack in the rocks of the waterfall and fly upstream.  I was afraid that I had missed it but the bird kept coming back to a hole behind the falls.  It was a male American Dipper and I suppose that he was bringing nest materials to the female (pictured above) who would sometimes come out and look around.  They were building a home in a waterfall!  Maybe that doesn't seem amazing to everyone but it was very heartening to me to know that two very small and seemingly fragile birds were living in a waterfall!  They dove into freezing water to forage for food like it was nothing and they lived in a waterfall!   

   As I realized these things I also realized that the depressive weight had gone almost in an instant.  I don't know why exactly it left me but I wrote later in my notebook "Reborn in Two Birds" and "Thank you Thank you Thank you".  I had the thought that these birds had their place and it was in a waterfall and maybe I have a place too.  We watched the Dippers for maybe 20-30 minutes and then hiked up to where the creek ran through some flat boulders where you could sit and drift your hands and feet in the water.  I touched the smooth granite under the cold water and thought about the cycles again but this time with a tremendous sense of wonder and peace to it. I thought of two constants of stone and running water meeting for centuries.  I thought of the beauty of things able to hang on and to thrive in this turbulence.  I don't have any definite ideas of what a soul is but I felt sure that mine would sometime return to that place just as the water returned and the birds returned and I told myself that I would only have to remember that when things went dark and lifeless within me that I was still there like the stone and that I would come back to my self like the watershed, like pumping blood and flowing life-- that it was all part of the same thing and it was okay.

      And often I still feel incomplete and lost--like I'm not where I'm supposed to be.  But I can remember these events and others like them that I've had outdoors and it helps me to orient myself.  I don't know that these are very profound thoughts but I remember how sustaining they felt at the time and it was me who thought them-- just an ordinary person who can't always figure out how to navigate daily life.  That feels like a saving grace to me and that explains a little of how I feel about going into the wilderness and why I sometimes wish that I could just go on out farther into it forever.