Bird Meditation. The distinct, shrill sound of a bird stirs me from a restful sleep. As I gradually awaken, I hear it again. It is loud and full. Its unequivocal tone, pitch, and melody fills what would be otherwise silence, and I become aware of a vast container of space in which it resounds. I wait until again the sound comes.
In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence. ~ Robert Lynd
I am more awake now, more aware that this sound is new to me. I look to the window and notice that it is not yet light outside. I am acutely aware that I have never before heard this particular sound. Again, its lucidity astounds me. The sound reverberates through my heart center area, and I feel its subtle vibrations as it moves out into my arms, torso, and legs.
Bird meditation. I am aware of the sound moving both inside of me and outside of me. All that I can imagine is wide open space outside of the window. My body releases any holding on as it relaxes into infinite space and this one bird. This one bird, trees, and a forest. My mind imagines a forest, a tropical jungle. In my mind, this sound echoes in a tropical jungle.
My body and heart feel filled by the sound. It stirs something primitive in me that I cannot name. Name, name. I observe my mind as it searches for the name of this sound, the call that signifies the embodied presence of this bird. There is no name in my consciousness. The sound is new. Bird meditation.
In North America, I have a list of imagined possibilities of names and images through which I search and attempt to categorize in response to bird sounds. Here, in Colombia, I have no list. I have not studied birds of South America. I have no list, no images, no possibilities for categorization. There is simply sound.
The sounds of birds that I hear in North America feel smaller. They don’t fill me up, don’t come into me as the sound of this bird has entered me. I continue to listen, taking note of the seemingly empty space within which the call of this bird resides outside of my window. It remains the only sound that I hear for a very long time.
The sound is slightly rhythmic, yet its intervals are not quite predictable. The space that surrounds this bird’s call becomes nearly as palpable as the call. With each passing moment, I become more aware of the vastness and silence of this space when the echo of the bird call fades.
Within approximately thirty minutes, I hear another bird’s call, then another. The calls feel small in my body. Their sound carries so little weight in the space in comparison to the other call. Within moments, I hear the unmistakable sound of an automobile climbing the hill outside. Within two minutes, I hear other cars. The sound space outside my window has become transformed.
I am reminded that I am in a city, not a jungle. My perception of the vastness of the space shrinks as it is filled with sounds of car engines and horns. I hear the clip-clop sound of one horse’s hooves as the cart passes by outside, collecting recycling. I feel my body tighten slightly, moving with the sounds from silence to noise.
Jen Johnson is a mindfulness teacher, coach, and therapist. Learn more about working with Jen.
Try closing your eyes, and listen to the sounds of your place.