As soon as I opened the back door, I heard the commotion. The urgent cries from a pair of robins alerted me to what I could only surmise was the imminent danger of their young. I walked under the sycamore tree with my chin in the air–looking for a nest and a predator. I saw the falcon–with the baby clutched in his talons–flying away as the brave robins vainly followed suit. Like an opera singer striving for that perfect note to shatter glass, it was clear their shrill cries would have percussed him to dust if they could. Instead, they returned a few minutes later and continued to wail over their empty nest.
Nature is cruel. For one to eat, one must die. It doesn’t seem so harsh when the robin’s are consuming worms. It is another thing entirely when the helpless babe is snatched from the nest.
People are no less brutal. Propelled by perpetually poisonous political passions, they stoke the fires of their emotions by lobbing charred logs at anyone who happens to disagree with them. Only when exhausted–or simply feeling charitable–will they remind the listener to “remember to vote” as if they were gently swaddling a baby and not sharpening their tongue for the next iteration of venom.
When did we start believing the news medias definition of those who disagree with us rather than the person we know and love? Why do we hold political narratives in our hands like swords ready to draw on loved ones? We bait them into debates and then skewer them with rhetoric. He who is wittier (or the most acerbic) wins! Surrender–or death to the relationship!
I miss the days when I could politely disengage. When I could easily change the subject. When I could discourse (and digress!) about the latest Netflix release. When did it become less dangerous to call someone fat to their face than to profess support for a political party?
I had a panic attack in Aldi this past weekend as I stood in line. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. My heart raced and I began pulling at my face covering. The more people stared at me, the more frantic I became. The lines were long and slow–something unusual for my favorite store. I started to feel dizzy and feared I would pass out, so I pulled the mask away from my face. The cashier glared at me and I blurted out, “I’m having a panic attack! I can’t breathe!”
She said, “I understand. My sister has that problem.”
As if everything was normal. As if I had just said, “It’s too bad you are out of olives.”
I struggled to bag my groceries and get them to my car. Once there I ripped the mask off and jacked up the air conditioning. I sat there for a few minutes trying to collect myself. Once at a reasonable state of calm, I raced home and began to eat my feelings–something I have not done for a very long time.
Then I got sick.
Then I had bad dreams.
I feel like the falcon of bad feelings has stolen my future and there is nothing left to do but lament. I sit near the empty nest of my hopes and dreams and cry. Does anyone hear me? Do they care? Or are they more worried about who is most politically correct?
I watched the robin parents fly back and forth from Sycamore to Oak tree when a curious phenomenon occurred; two small wrens joined them. The male perched on a limb near the robin and began to sing a slow and jaunting melody. It was not cheerful like his morning trills. Instead, he seemed to console the robin parents in their grief. The female wren flicked her tail and flitted around the robins–as if performing a dance. I could not believe what I was seeing. There seemed to be no precedent for such a display. The wrens sang a dirge while the robins mourned.
What a great lot of compassion we have to learn from these simple creatures.
