Psoriasis of the Psyche (the heart is not a cuboard)

Diary of a Mad Hatter
Sometime in early June, 2015
A mourning dove – – – frozen in place – – – motionless on the ground just outside my window. How does s/he do it? And – – – I sit motionless, watching.
I don a pair of binoculars for closer inspection. S/he doesn’t move a feather, not a twitch, not a blink, not a nod. The dove’s still, yet watchful eyes, penetrate the lens of my binoculars and my spirit. For some time, I am disinterested in time – – – then I wonder – – – how long have we sat here together in stillness? Ages? No time at all? Finally, I look at the clock. Then after a bit I look again – – – s/he’s been sitting motionless for fifteen to twenty minutes, maybe longer – – – even when the squirrels feigned playful threats close by – – – very close – – – s/he didn’t even acknowledge their presence. Eventually, s/he moves – – – finally flying up, when the ravens swoop in, practically landing on the dove (s/he is after all the same color as the ground, invisible – – – in sanctuary).
In these moments I am content, and in wonder – – – simply content to watch a dove and wonder what s/he must be thinking and wondering. Twenty minutes, plus – – – just watching and wondering – – – the dove’s behavior so unique that surely s/he had cause. And there is sooo much for me to be filling my life with – — — all the illusions of it, anyway. And yet, I sit quietly watching a dove, silently watching, participating in wonder.
In these silent moments of birds and gentle cool breezes, smelling of trees and mulching leaves, floating in through an open window – – – I am at peace. I am happy. I am in stasis with the magic of this planet. Could one even say bliss? A state of bliss? In this space, it all falls away like a flaking psoriasis of the psyche – – – any and all of it, that might have been filling my head in the moments before the dove. I was clean again in those fragile precious moments. I was in the grand mystery – – – in a place between all places. I almost felt sad when s/he flew up and away. A spell was broken and like glass it fractured, shattered and floated away like silver dust adrift in the ether. I was left sitting in my room with a “to do” list. S/he had shown me “no time” and it was grand. It left me feeling a bit challenged to take “the list” to heart. After all, the heart is not a cupboard to stuff with absurdities and junk, but a treasure chest to fill with doves and magic.

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