DOVE'S DREAM

A selfie timer, if the camera could admit to boredom, would shut itself off. Spock might call it a mind meld. There is this wild exchange, maybe a merger.

For dove's part, translating freely; a metronome; -- who dances or sings along? For mine, a certain satisfaction knowing Cliff's Notes will not profit by it. The pith having no particular place. She's parked amidst seeds in the feeder, eyes of peace upon me. We need not, indeed cannot, speak. It will be an encounter without syntax, thank god. Pared down to as much mind as can merge with dove.

For years as The Gardener, wild animals have been my company. There was a crow who knew my truck and followed, stopping at favorite perches – certain trees, a TV antenna. Where I mowed, insects were sure to hop. This crow was playful, swooping down to land just ahead of the mower. A dangerous game and I had to shoo him off. There is more to life, I guess, than catching insects.

At a place I maintained on Cimmaron Drive, a pair of doves would come to sit on the fence. What was so interesting I wondered? Insects were not the game. They just sat there. Calmly. Not unfriendly but a little weird, like I was their TV program.

There is some time now to investigate such questions. It takes patience and, believe it or not, courage. Sidelining human intelligence is neither easy nor comfortable. Years of patient gardening, however, and zazen, have been good training. So maybe, here in Birdland, it could be called dove zazen.

Let's call everywhere Birdland.

Just sitting here, I pose no threat. In dove's dream as we gaze, though seeds are in the feeder, I'm not offering them. We just are. My imagined place and usual protections do not exist. I do not own a car or the chair I'm sitting on. There is no future and no past. Wind blows through the trees. In this profoundly unsettling and peaceful setting, the next heartbeat or seed is not anticipated. The moment has no duration.

Dove does not know she is dreaming. But I do.