This is about a Bird

My best friend
For a decade+
In my life.

She came to me in a dream.
I scooted her away.

After all, 
I was 
Living in an ashram.
I was too busy

Being spiritual
To listen
To my dreams.

Then she returned
In a mediation,
Most insistent,
Claiming her place
In my life.

This time,
I listened.

And there she was,
At the pet store.
Waiting.

A
Tiny,
Baby
Fuzz-Thing.
She was Buzz. 

She took her place
In my world,
My ashram world,
With ease
And 
Amazing
Confidence.

More
Then I had,
In those moments
Of time.

She sat on my shoulder
As we walked down
The long Kripalu halls,
Attending meetings,

Thrilling our
Animal-starved
Guests.

Together
We lived
Our ashram
Life.

(This was indeed
The older Kripalu.)

She attended
More department
Meetings
Then any bird
Or person
Should.

She loved
Chanting om
In the meetings.

Om sent her
Into what we called,
Big birdie syndrome,

Wings extended,
Simulating flight,
Ready to
Take 
Off,
In 
Sheer
Birdie-
Joy.
Or so it seemed.

~~~

One day around Thanksgiving
(100 years ago),

I was cutting her flight feathers,
An easy-enough thing.

She spread her wing
And blood smeared the wall.

I had hit a blood feather.

Rushing her
And myself
To the vet,
Heart in throat,
Bird
In
Carrier,

Intensity
Beyond
Intensity.

After cauterizing
The feather
The vet said,

Keep her warm.
We’ll know
In the
Morning
How
She
Does.

Covering her cage
With 17 blankies
That night,

Turning on
Every
Heater
I could
Allocate,
Weeping
And
Praying,

I said,
Goodnight.

Turning off
The light
In our room.

I spent
Much
Of that night
On
The
Floor
Of the bathroom.

Weeping,
Praying,
Mumbling.

I had learned
About prayer
In 12 Step Program:

Pray only
For the
Knowledge
Of God’s
Will for
You,
And
The
Power
To carry
It out.

I was a good girl,
Especially then.

I was committed
To doing it
Right.

Especially then.
If I do it right,
And then
Will you
Love me?

Praying for
Preference
Was 
Spiritually 
Inferior,

I did believe.

It was
Flawed,
So, I thought.
I had struggled
To ask only for God’s will,

To be a 
Good 
Sober
Girl.

BUT TONIGHT…

I HAD A PREFERENCE.
I HAD A DEFINITE PREFERENCE.

HOW HORRIDLY
WEAK
OF
ME
TO
HAVE
A
PREFERENCE.

And how absurd
In hindsight
That sounds.
Buzz, my teacher,

She taught me that night.
Buzzie the Bird 
Gave me the prayer 
That
Said:

Please, if it be Your Will,
Please let Buzzie live.

And give me
The courage and the willingness
To be present
With what is.

~~~
Buzz the Bird
Taught me the value,

The righteousness
Of my own humanity,
Of my own preference.
She taught me
How to ask
For what I wanted
And
Needed
And
wanted.
And then,
So importantly, 

To let go of
The outcome.

She taught me
How to begin
To accept
My humanness.

~~~

OH!
The end of story:

Next morning,
Opening her many
Cage coverings,

I was met
By a bird, 

My bird,
A teacher,
My teacher,

Buzz,
Who
Looked
At me
And
With clarity
And Commitment,
She said,

“Pretty bird.”
(The full content
Of her
Vocabulary.)

She was beyond fine.
She lived many years
As a happy Kripalu ashram resident.

As a commuting Kripalu employee.

As a suburban animal companion,
Living at home,
Watching the world
Out her window.

Buzzie
Taught me.

She
Taught me
Among 1000
Other
Things,
How to pray
As a human,

How to honor

My preferences,

How to practice

Being present

How to

Let go of

The outcome. 

~~~

Buzzie brought such joy.  She was so present, so alive, so Right There.  

She helped me unstuck myself from the cement of spiritual concepts, into the realm of aliveness and connectivity.

Joy isn’t easy for me.

My animal companions have been serious joy-beings.

Joy as an act of resistance, as the poet, Toi Derricotte says.  

Here is the Resistance Revival Chorus singing a glorious song, composed by Shirley Caesar, self-recorded during lockdown.