I’m watching my little robin as he sits on the brown bin. I say ‘my’ robin. He doesn’t belong to me of course, but I have become accustomed to his presence and feel a certain proprietary claim on him. So my robin he is.
He’s currently perched on the edge of the garden bin, having a little look around him, having a little ruffle of his feathers. A little scratch under the wing. He’s already had a sand bath in the gravel below and I wonder now if he’s thinking; ‘Where’s my lunch?’
I’m watching him from my happy place next to the window where I can see him and his feathery friends making good use of my garden as simultaneous dining area, bathroom, and lounge.
I deduce that the dining room is next to the daffodils, where presumably the tastiest titbits can be found. Meanwhile, the gravel pit to the right doubles up as a spacious bathroom complete with a very popular sand bath, able to accommodate any number of family members at any one time from what I can see, somewhat reminiscent of a Bacchanalian orgy. The toilet facilities seem to move location depending on mood, with both grass and concrete slab alike becoming the lucky beneficiaries of robin et al.’s fertilising waste. The lounge on the other hand, where they perch on the back of the sofa (read fence), is the definite favourite. A spot where they can have a good look around to see if any dastardly foes (read cats) are waiting to curtail their adventures.
Watching the antics of my little robin & co. always takes me to a welcome place of calm. There is an enviable simplicity in their movements and beauty in their existence, and I begin to get curious about their comings and goings from a spiritual perspective. So I do what I always do when I’m curious, and begin to observe through clairvoyance.
The first thing I notice is that whatever they are doing, even when they are at their most frenetic, they are there. They are in it. They are fully present and in the now.
There is a total absence of past and future. They are not worrying if their feathers are to long or too short, if their beak is ugly; if their nest will be ravaged by a storm, or if the twinge in their wing is a portend to something more serious. They aren’t wasting their time on dwelling or forecasting, their minds aren’t heavy with thought. They are simply taking life as it comes to them, minute by minute. They naturally know when to rest, when to eat, when to be on high alert, and when to celebrate the sunrise with birdsong.
And their birdsong, oh their birdsong. To my ears it is exquisite beauty made manifest in sound. As I close my eyes I hear a flawless symphony of Divine light that heals even the hardest of hearts and rests the soul of man.
I see that my robin and his ilk are sent here on Divine assignment as magicians, able to alchemise sadness into delight with their melodies, and that they exist as small, daily reminders of Divine connection and the magnificence of nature. They are voyagers between worlds and conduits of sacred sound for all who wish to hear, allies in our quest to find peace within ourselves. They are a gift to humanity, a reminder of the eternal nature of the All That Is.
My robin appears to the naked eye as the simplest of creatures, yet he is on the grandest of missions: to bring the Divine to the human, to remind us to stop and be, and to fill our hearts with the gifts of presence and serenity. The gifts of the eternal now.
So as I open my eyes once more and watch him hop this way and that, I smile, and offer him my deepest gratitude for everything he is and everything he does. For his simplicity, his song, his beauty, and his company. For his grace, his appearance in my garden, and for all that he does for all of us. I thank you my lovely robin, I thank you.