Tengu

I decided to name the brave one of the two babies. In fact, I then started referring to the other as Tapdance as she does these little jumps when startled. Not that tapdancers jump... but, well, it came to me.

Anyway, over two or three days, I saw a lot of the brave one. He seemed to inspect my face very closely - landing right in front of me and staring at me. On one occasion he hovered in front of me. I was beginning to think that the world had offered me a real blessing that might not compensate but would console.

Then, the next day, I didn't see him at all. Tapdance made a brief, leaping, appearance and I saw two or three adult robins. One seems to have lost a lot of feathers at his throat. I wondered if that was a sign of a robin fight.

But I found myself resenting the presence of these robins, none of whom would come near me, when Tengu and indeed, more pertinently, Bobbit, had disappeared.

Even more, I resented the cat skulking about and mewing at night.

And I resented people gardening and making a noise.

Then I thought about how one's happiness should not be reliant on others or on circumstances. I thought about Stoicism and Buddhism. And Hamlet - "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." This is what equanimity is about. And non-attachment. And acceptance.

Loss is inevitable. It just is. Like death. [And taxes? - Ed.]

And it's ironic how easy I find it to let go of some things: friends I never contact - or who have actually died; activities; projects; even money. What I can't accept, it seems, is the loss of wild birds. Well, I'm sure that's not all, but these wounds feel like they are festering... and the baby bird, it's been ONE DAY.

There is a scheduled post - the videos mean it's delayed - about the baby robin. I'll add to that, when it's due, the status of Tengu at that time.

For now, I am, again, mourning.

I was thinking as well, as I was gardening (by which I mean sweeping up peanut shells) about a friend who is actually mourning, and how I wanted to say, "You have been through hell and now you want, as you do indeed deserve, a little slice of heaven. But maybe you expect too much of the world." I would then say, "Maybe now is not the time for heaven, sweet one, but for the tedious work of sorting out and healing." But what I might think was, "Life does not offer up heaven. Sure, it offers up hell, but not heaven. Just the work of being able to bear up to hell."

** Next day: am - no sign. Waited an hour. Fucking cats and starlings. Same in the pm.

** Following day: saw a baby robin - must be the shy one, Tapdance.