Pigeon Soup

The other day, I was running on the track near my house. It's still pretty cold, and my toe keeps bothering me, but I like running, so I do it a little bit here and there. Since it was below freezing when I went out, I was wearing gloves and a hat, one of those ski caps, very simple. Just round and knit and black, pulled down over my ears. I was also doing something unusual for me; listening to music. I know a lot of people do it, but I'm clumsy enough without taking extra safety risks. However, Sean got me a little iPod shuffle for Christmas, and I'm really intrigued by the music he put on it (The Beatles, Led Zeppellin, Prince, ELO, The Allman Brothers, Stax, The B52s), so I've listened to it running now more than once.

One of the problems with having your hearing compromised when you are pounding the rubber is that you lose a bit of reaction time. You don't hear the bicyclist coming up on your left until you're about to run right into him. Distracted by some wailing guitar or disco rhythm, you forget to look down occasionally and trip on a stick. And you don't see the pigeons.

As I came around the first curve into the short leg of the track, I noticed them flying in, but it was too late to stop or change direction. A flock of a couple dozen gray pigeons was making their standard circle through the park, and they were heading for the edge of the track in front of me, and I was in their immediate path.

I once saw a play called The Batting Cage, about two sisters. The mother was visiting New York from out of town, and she was injured. She had been walking down the street when she saw a bicyclist bearing down upon her. She stopped walking, and there was a collision. It was pointed out to her, that you should never stop in this situation, but keep walking, which would give both the pedestrian and the cyclist the best chance of avoiding each other. I've actually taken this advice to heart as a New Yorker, and it's served me well with bikes. Why not with pigeons?

I kept up my jog, cringed a little and pulled my arms in close, and we collided. Well, not really. Not a single pigeon touched me. Not a wing, not a little claw, not a beak. I could feel their wings beating in the wind as they surrounded me, briefly, before wooshing by in their perfect arc. There wasn't an Alexia-shaped hole in their formation as the came up behind me (I'm fairly certain of that.). But they were able to shift just enough to avoid me and each other in a split-second. It was an incredible feeling, like a oneness with nature. People think I'm joking when I say that we have wildlife; don't dismiss the pigeons so easily. They have a majesty under that plain gray wrapper.

Making the Bed, Making a Change

Whenever I make the bed, I find myself thinking bad things about other people. Detailing what I don't like about a colleague's managerial style, listing the faults of my friends and relatives, thinking about something I heard on the news that rubbed me the wrong way. I don't know if it's the mindless nature of the task that gets my mind wandering, or if I subconsciously resent making the bed that gets me in a negative space, but I had to do something about it.

A few seasons ago, before the television writers' strike, there was a neat little show out called Life, and the main character had gone to prison and served a decade for a crime he didn't commit. During his sentence, he became fascinated with Zen Buddhism and other schools of focused thought. In one crucial episode, we find him standing in what seems to be a grave, digging it deeper, while the man who framed him sits by, tied up. We are led to believe he is digging a grave for this man. In fact, it is revealed that he is practicing an old Zen exercise, wherein you dig a hole, then fill it up. That's it. Dig the hole, fill it up. There is no purpose to digging the hole. You are not digging the hole IN ORDER to fill it up. You just do both things. Dig a hole, fill it up.

I don't know what it's supposed to do. Create calm, focus, mindfullness, mindlessness? What it has meant for me is streamlining, simplifying. That is to say, it cuts out the chatter in my mind. You have a task. Do it. Dig a hole. Fill it up. Even if that task is one that you will have to do over and over again. The bed gets messed up every day. Every day I make it. Why? That's easy. It's not a vital task, but a neat bed provides a more comfortable bedtime, as well as less visual chaos to disrupt the day. In the process of making it, if I can think about the task at hand while doing it, rather than drifting off to HaterLand, it's a nice bit of meditation as well.

Then, I take that phrase with me, throughout the day. There are many things that need to be done, many opportunities to let that negative chatter overwhelm us. But if I can know my task and complete it, that quiet that comes along is soothing and makes everything easier.

Dig a Hole. Fill it Up.