The Art of Zen Living

We had a nice little storm yesterday afternoon.  Nothing too unusual for South West Florida in monsoon season - lots of heavy rain, high winds gusting to 50 miles per hour or so, scattered hail.  We get late afternoon thunderstorms all the time around here in the summer.  This one was perhaps a big stronger than usual, and it was the first really strong one of the season.  Tucked away safe and sound in my house, I enjoyed listening to it.  I was grateful that it had let up a bit by the time I needed to go drive in it.  I enjoyed the drive in the light rain, nice and cool and pleasant.

Today, I went out to assess the damage to the garden.  With the clay soil underneath it, the garden was swimming in water.  No problem, really - the worst of it was the area I’d just dug out and added garden soil to.  I’ll need to dig that good dirt back out, throw some of the older dirt back into the bottom to build it up a little, and that should take care of the problem.  It also made it quite clear to me that I really shouldn’t plant anything out there until fall planting season.  I’ll plant some flowers to get bees used to the area, and then plow them under when the time comes, but as far as food crops, I don’t think it would be a good idea.  I’ll just get frustrated if I lose them to the rain.

While I was out there, I was pulling some of the larger rocks I’d thrown over into a pile and spreading them out to hose off.  I was snagging them with a 4 prong cultivator, yanking them off the pile and then pushing them around with it.  For some reason, when I got to the third rock I was going to pull out, I didn’t use the cultivator.  Instead, I leaned down. to grab it.  As I reached for this rock, it lifted it’s head and looked up at me.

I realized that the storm had not been pleasant for everyone.

UPDATE: As of this afternoon, the little storm tossed bird is doing much better. I called the C.R.O.W. and they said that as long as she was able to move around and strong enough to call, the best thing to do is put her back out where mom and dad can find her. Looks like all she needed was a few hours out of the sun, a little water, and a chance to get some rest!

I’ve kept and eye out this afternoon, and mom and dad did find her, and have been (I assume) bringing her goodies to snack on.  She’d been making her way across the yard, but I can’t find her anywhere now.  Mom and dad are still around, so I’m sure she’s safe.  Most cool.

My little rock turned out to be a small bird - a sparrow, perhaps.  It had most of it’s feathers, but there was still a lot of baby fluff scattered in and around those feathers.  This was barely a teenager, I suspect, which also explains it’s small size.  She (no, I didn’t check, but it’s small, cute and fluffy, so it’s a she) was snuggled down in the grass, not in the sun yet, so she was still wet.  As I reached for her, she hopped up, and while she didn’t seem injured, she did seem exhausted, as if every movement was a supreme effort.

I retreated for a moment.  I wanted to help, but to a small bird in distress, I look like a huge predator, and because of that my intentions don’t really matter as far as the bird is concerned.  I stand there for a moment, watching her on her wobbly legs, spreading her wings a little to the left, then to the right, trying to balance.  It’s pretty apparent that without my intervention her chances of survival are slim to none.  I realize that at her age, even with my intervention, her chances are still slim at best.  In the meantime, she’s suffering as she waits for this large predator (me) that has her cornered to decide how best to attack.

I stoop down as low as I can, trying to look as small as possible, and edge in slowly.  She’s not ready to give up, but after about 3 minutes, she seems to figure out that I’ve had her in my hands three times, and allowed her to slip out three times.  While she puts up a token effort on my forth try, whether because she’s too tired to fight or she’s decided to take a chance, we’re headed inside to find some bedding, bird seed, bread and water.

For now, she’s set up in the garage, in a plastic storage bin, on a bed of grass that had been headed for the compost pile.  I think she’s managed a few drinks of water and she’s expressed interest in the bird seed and bread.  Mostly she’s getting some well deserved sleep.  If she makes it to tomorrow, I’ll contact the Clinic for the Rehabilitation of Wildlife, Inc. and see if they can take her in. Her chances with them will be much improved over her chances here.

This experience was very different for me. In the past, I’ve pondered a variety of questions when it comes to compassion, what is and isn’t compassionate, and where mercy fits into it all. It was always like trying to see through muddy water. As a Buddhist, it was very clear to me what I had to do: reduce her suffering. I do have something new to ponder - the concept of mercy. I’m not sure mercy has anything to do with compassion. It seems to have more to do with power or lack there of. Mercy is always talked about as something that is given or received. I’ve heard of a “mercy killing” but never of anyone killing out of compassion. For a Buddhist, killing, merciful or otherwise, is out of the question. The first precept makes that pretty clear. And rightly so.

I could accept that this bird may not survive, but I could still do what I could to make it comfortable. If it survives, I can wish it well in this life. If it doesn’t, I can wish it well in it’s next rebirth. I certainly appreciate the opportunity she gave me to gain an awareness of a change, perhaps a fundamental change, in myself, and in how I view the world.