Taking a bite out of life

Never eat anything bigger than your head. But if you tend to take on more than you can chew, you might take a lesson from the seagull I saw yesterday. Three starfish arms dangled from his open yellow beak, his lunch stuck mid-swallow.


First he tosses back a large purple red starfish that could do all sorts of wrestling holds on his head. Imagine gulping an octopus the size of a large pizza! A sea star isn't nearly as wily or wiggly as an octopus, but you get the picture. It goes down part way, and immediately the gull must be thinking, "Oh crap! What have I done?" Biter's remorse. We all know that bitter taste.


He tries to swallow. This thing is lodged! He tries again to stretch his neck and swallow, to no avail. To anthropomorphize, maybe embarrassment gives way to a tamped-down panic. "I'm glad none of my friends are around to see this! Just stay cool. Everything's fine. Oh crap!" We who watch this gripping drama through the binoculars start to think this amusement might turn tragic.


The seagull manages to fly to a rock close to us. Those three arms still dangle. "Should I drop it before I choke to death?" Here's a great illustration of how we all on occasion have a hard time Just Letting It Go. Well-trained dogs are smarter than us at times.


He finally lets out a cry that must be distress, and we take heart that his airway isn't totally blocked. Another gull arrives, but does not seem to have any emergency room techniques. He must have eaten already, for he shows no interest in the strange meat.


Now we start to think that the distress call was actually boasting, the gull warning off the newcomer. "Get away, it's mine. All mine!" He easily coughs up the starfish onto the rock, to our great relief.


But no, he will not let it go for even a minute. He pokes at it some more with his beak. After the starfish is tenderized or a better grip is taken, the first seagull tosses back the starfish. Again the three arms dangle. He throws his head back. He does it again and again, and by some miracle the five arms go down. His neck bulges alarmingly with that spiky fist in there.


It's like a Rohrscharch test. Is it perseverance that wins the day? Or being willing to be foolish?


Is it important to do it yourself by trial and error?


Am I taking on something with too many directions?


A friend was sobered that one mis-step could suddenly mean life or death.


I take this away: it's time to be quiet and digest the immense nourishment I've been given. Really receive it.


What do seagull and starfish say to you?

Flying into Windows

Thud, thwack! The goldfinches are at it again. Maybe it's the angle of the light reflecting off our bay windows. Maybe the birds are brain addled or berry drunk. Or maybe they're just like us.

For whatever reason, our goldfinches have taken to flying into our closed windows. Their chests go thud, and their beaks and claws scrabble against the glass. I once watched one rise up above the sill triumphantly, after dozens of attempts to fly up. It paused there, then went right back to the launchpad branch. Thud, thwack, scrabble.

I've tried to hang things in the window, tape colored paper there. I've talked with them through the open window, to warn them about hurting themselves. They cock their heads and look at me, but apparently I don't speak finch.

I take them on as mirrors and teachers:

- in what ways do I repeatedly slam into windows?

- what am I trying to reach on the other side?

- am I persevering or just not learning from my mistakes?

How pitiable we all are. Or is it faithful? Without memory of failure, we launch ourselves with strong wings.