I think a spiritual journey is not so much
a journey of discovery. It’s a journey of recovery. It’s a journey of
uncovering your own inner nature. It’s already there. Billy Corgan
I was out moving the sprinklers in the yard when I happened
upon a pack of magpies on the south side of the house. Now, I know birds are
routinely said to gather in flocks, and if one wants to get technical, a group
of magpies is more properly referred to as a “Parliament” of magpies. I presume
that’s because they are related to Ravens (a group of which is called a
Congress).
It is tempting to theorize on why magpies and ravens are
given such illustrious titles when gathered in a group (inane squawking and copious
droppings come rather too quickly to mind), but such a mental exercise is
beyond the scope of this modest monograph.
I referred to the magpies next to my house as a pack because
they were engaged in a nefarious activity when I happened upon them. I’d
startled them with my cat-like approach, and they took off like Roman Rockets,
abandoning the focus of their attention, which was, surprisingly, an unopened
pack of cigarettes!
I didn’t realize they smoked, and have no idea where they could
possibly keep their matches. They had just managed to tear open the pack when I
caught them. The poor darlings apparently don’t know about the easy-open
cellophane pull-tab. It is a good thing I stopped them as I am sure they would
have ignored the surgeon general’s warning.
Many people dislike magpies, and I understand. They’re noisy
and obnoxious and seem intent on stealing whatever they can, wherever they can,
whenever they can. Now, in my line of work I don’t generally condone thievery, but
I admire magpies for their tenacity and for their ingenuity. On top of that,
they are simply doing what they do best. They are being magpies.
Whatever else one might say about them, magpies are smart.
You hardly ever see them getting hit by cars, although they’re always out there
on the road grabbing a quick snack off some inattentive creature that failed to
heed their warnings. You see, magpies have learned to warn one another to watch
for traffic and, interestingly, on those few occasions they get hit by motor
vehicles, more often than not they’re killed by trucks.
This has been both documented and studied, and behavioral
scientists theorize it is because they know to cry “caw” when they see an
automobile coming, but can’t say “truck”.
Anyway, I enjoy watching the local birds in action, and
magpies – love them or hate them – seem to be amongst the smartest of the
bird-brained neighbors we’ve got (and I think they know it).
You can never outsmart them and it’s illegal to shoot them,
so they’ve got us right where they want us. When they find something that
interests them, they grab it, fly off to a safe spot, post a lookout, and then
explore their new-found treasure to their hearts content. If you stumble upon
them, like I did, they fly off a few feet, stop, look, and either scold you for
spoiling their fun, or laugh at your inability to catch them.
If they only knew. I have no desire to stop them in their frivolity,
and I certainly don’t want to catch them. I like peace and quiet, and I’d have
none of that if I had a house full of magpies. And if I COULD catch them, would
I want to surround myself with the slowest and dumbest of the bunch (for that’s
what they’d be)? Of course not!
I guess birds don’t bother me so much, even if they are raucous
and messy, because they are what they are. It’s not my job to change or control
them. It’s not my place to shoot them or run them over. In fact, if I accept
them for what they are, I find my petty irritations pretty much disappear and I
can get down to the business of actually appreciating what they have to offer.
It could well be that by stealing a pack of cigarettes, they
were speaking to their victim on God’s behalf: “Listen to the surgeon general,
fool!”
God certainly speaks to us in many ways in this, our valley.
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