Shared Presence

A robin showed up outside the window last Monday with a long strand of grass in her beak.  She perched on a small outcropping of trim just under the eave near my office window.  I watched as she wedged the grass between a gutter downspout and the trim.  It was a messy affair, with the long tail of the twisted grass hanging down, and soon she flew off.  Over the course of the day, as I sat on zooms and conference calls, checked emails and texts, and knocked things off of my to-do list, she flew back and forth, bringing grass strands, and plant matter. Gradually, the pile of botanical detritus and winter’s beleaguered left-overs took the shape of a nest.  As the day wore on, the sun moving from the left panes of the window to the right, she began bringing beakfuls of mud from the wetlands at the edge of the yard.  She piled the wads of mud into the loose bowl made by the grass, and then hopped inside.  Throwing her wings back, up and over the edges of the hollow, she used her tiny feet to push the mud back into the loose walls of grass, facing first west, then north, then east, then south.  Over and over, she flew off to forage then returned to shape the nest as I sat at my desk, sneaking glances at her during zooms, or looking up from my paperwork and resting my chin on my palm to watch in awe for a few moments.  

For the following two days, she didn’t reappear.  I kept looking out the window hoping to see her, disappointed as the nest sat empty.  Finally, she returned. Perhaps her bird wisdom had guided her to let the mud cure before she took up a more permanent residence.  Now, each day, we sit and look at each other.  Sometimes she flies off to hunt worms in the lawn and I amble into the kitchen to forage in the fridge. When we’re each at our posts, we blink at each other.  I take delight that she’s a bit hapless like I am - tapping at a window trying to get at a plant inside, arousing great compassion and humor in me, and making it easier to offer myself that same care when I struggled to pull open a shop door clearly labelled “Push”.

Years ago, I had the chance to spend a week on my own in a remote village in India.  Almost no one spoke English and I spoke no Odia (the local language).  One day, a merchant on the main path through the village cleared a small space at his stall, patting it to invite me to sit there with him, and it became a ritual.  I would sit there in the afternoons and we would watch the world go by.  We didn’t say a thing to each other, but we didn’t need to.  We just shared the experience of each moment as the sun moved across the sky and the shadows lengthened.  There was no need to fill the space with words. The space was full enough just as it was.  

As “Robyn” and I sit together in our spots, it reminds me of those afternoons in the village, and of the fullness and enough-ness of shared presence.

May we feel the peace of shared presence, and know that it is enough,

Your CMP Family

Robyn