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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When I wash dishes I look out at my bird feeder, noticing which political species are best at cooperating, easy democratic process, remaining focused on collective nutritional energy gains, "we're all in this together" feathers of kin kind And, which are more elitist, not so good with sharing a modestly seeded pot; blue jays predatively pecking, crows taking over with raucous self-appointed authority, ganging up against non-supremacists preferring win/win democratic health. But, this morning's meditation looks over at a nearby large bush, now January cold barren brown camouflage, more than shelter, for local birds of all species waiting their feeding turn, frightened by my neighbor's cat or a hawk flying ominously overhead or human noises leaking through my windows. This small bird sanctuary, Or is it an asylum?... Perhaps both, depending on the bird, harbors those waiting, patiently, impatiently, How would I know? for their turn at their nutrition tower, their seed Commons, their energy media feeding station, local source for economic and political exchange, gossip, social busyness. Each bird flies back and forth, some dressed in drab everyday, others more business-ready flashy, but all conjoining waves of flowing energy in-between asylum bush and open season feeding sanctuary. Sometimes listeners and watchers, and then short-flight toward feeders, communicants receiving sacred wafers, seeds, investments in cooperative multiculturing futures, gifts of a generous green Earth. Then, suddenly, they are gone. The feeder Commons abandoned. My meditative hiding and curiously waiting medicine bush bereft of waving winged energy breathing in and out, feathered wings up and down. Time to go back home to more private nests thoughts feelings, or, perhaps to visit my neighbor's cooperative feeder, another decaffeinated sanctuary outside his own warm interior asylum.
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