Wednesday, June 19, 2013

The way up is down and out

It was last summer when this little guy drifted into our garage.  Snug between the ceiling of the garage and the open garage door, this tiny wisp of a bird perched.  We have always kept a hummingbird feeder on the front porch and have spent hours and hours over the years just watching these creatures, but never had one come into our garage for an up-close visit. And so a family of 6 gathered around to watch.  



The calm soon turned to panic as he began to buzz his wings, trying desperately to find a way out of the garage.  He slammed over and over into the ceiling, unsure of how to get back outside. We moved into rescue mode and tried to use a broom to shoo him off the garage door.  It was a simple plan…push him towards us, off of the garage door, where he would then see the large open door and fly away.  We learned that birds simply don't see human logic.  The whole team was cheering for our feathered friend…come on, little guy, just come this way, and you'll find the open door you're looking for.  No luck.  We shifted strategies and tried to lure him down with his hummingbird feeder.  We unhooked it from the porch and set it on top of our van.  Another simple plan…the smell of the juice would lure him down off the garage door, where he'd find his food…and (logically, of course!) while he was eating, he'd notice the open garage door, and voila…he'd fly to freedom!  Another failure on our part.  This bird was beyond being lured.  He was panicking and slamming into the roof, trying so very hard to free himself from the cramped, unfamiliar quarters.



Soon, it was dinner time, and we were out of ideas.  We thought perhaps he'd figure it all out without a crowd of onlookers, so we headed inside.  Hours later, having almost forgotten about the little guy, I walked back into the garage and found him sound asleep on the very edge of the open garage door…literally just inches from the edge…the point where he could have stepped off and realized the open door. He was in a deep sleep, with head pressed into his chest, exhausted from the umpteen times he had plowed into the ceiling in his stress to escape.  It was apparent that if he were to ever get out of the garage, he would need us at a catalyst.  My husband climbed up a step stool and ever so quietly reached his hand up and grabbed the tiny sleeping bird and threw him to safety.  The buzz of wings drifted into the night air, the sound of freedom.

Am I not that very bird?  Desperate to follow a calling that beats deep inside...and yet slamming myself into a ceiling over and over again.  How do we get out of the rat race, the safe, the accepted (expected!) norm?  How do we get out of this safe box with its ceiling so close that it mocks us?  I know the door is here somewhere, and yet it eludes me.  I remember the hummingbird.  The instinct is to go up, but the true way up is to go down and out.  Whoever lose his life will find it.  Freedom means going against instinct, against the convenience the flesh craves.  
Freedom means going where it's not safe...the great big wide outdoors, far from the confined quarters of our own possibilities...way outside the boundaries of our own control and instinct.   It means losing sight of the ceiling and the walls, anything with grasping tendrils that only hold us from our purpose.