Feeling Unsettled
Dear Friends -
One of the oddest joys of the Avian Rebbe work is the nonobvious - OK, flat-out strange - connections that somehow, somewhy just seem to leap out. Today’s Interrupted Walk is an example of how a single word and a fleeting glimpse of a flying bird conspire (literally “breathe together”) to teach us all a lesson. So come on along!
Last week I wrote about seeing the unexpected and being attuned to seeing, not just looking. I’d like to build on that a bit this morning. A couple days ago, sitting at my desk, I was looking out the window. I’ve seen all kinds of birds this way, some typical cardinals and doves, others one-off owls and vireos. But I have to confess I was pretty shocked when I saw a Crested Caracara flying overhead. The caracara is a falcon. A big one. And despite being the national bird of Mexico, it’s not actually the bird on the Mexican flag. OK. Regardless, I was very happy to see it. It’s a beautiful sight, especially in flight, and it drove home yet again what a special place the most ordinary of places can actually be.
A gave a little thought to what this big ol’ falcon is doing cruising over my house in Austin. Old Timers will tell you that caracaras used to get no farther north than San Antonio. In the 6 years that I’ve been paying attention to birds, I’ve seen plenty of them in Austin but only ever out in pretty rural areas. These birds tend to like hunting over open fields and of course taking advantage of roadkill carrion. Either way, my Austin ‘hood doesn’t seem like the most likely place for a sighting.
Even assuming climate change, there wouldn’t be much difference between today and yesteryear in terms of habitat or food sources that would obviously account for their expanding range. It seems equally unlikely that massive competitive pressure from other similar birds like vultures would make much difference. So what gives? Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have a definitive answer.
It was at this precise moment of contemplation of the soaring bird that the single word that I’d been mulling for a decent bit popped directly into the forefront of my consciousness. Unsettled. Maybe, for reasons (at least to me) entirely unknown, the caracaras at the northern end of their range were… unsettled. Some instinct, some small push, some something gave them just enough of an unsettled experience that they decided to strike out for better parts, which brought them to Austin and my home.
I recently met a new homeowner. As anyone who has ever moved into a new place will attest, buying a new home, especially if it requires any kind of repairs, can be a very unsettling experience. The new floors that keep you from moving in your furnishings, or the new electrical or plumbing work that turns off the hallmarks of 20th century life, or even just the presence of strangers doing work on a myriad of other projects, all can create a psychological barrier between the person and the structure; until that’s all resolved, it’s tough to turn a house into your home. It’s unsettling. You want to roost, but you just can’t.
In the cycle of Torah reading, we’re currently in the Book of Exodus. Most everybody knows the story of the Israelites finally leaving Egypt after the plagues and the upcoming wandering in the dessert for 40 years until entering the Promised Land. It’s an epic journey and an epic tale. But at the moment, this week, we’re on a seeming detour to an odd cul-de-sac. This particular portion completely stops the narrative and instead recites a long list of laws covering subjects as diverse as how you treat your work-bulls to the famous “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth.” I’ll confess that I’ve always found this list a bit jarring, for being out of place.
Perhaps there’s a lesson in this strange placement. Life is easily predictable when it follows implicit narratives. We don’t have to think too much when we just go with the flow. But when we’re unsettled, when we’re out of synch with what we’d otherwise assume, we have to pay more attention. The unexpected - even when it’s disruptive or disconcerting - can teach us appreciation for the humblest pleasures. After the plumbers have fixed a broken water main after 3 days, turn on the kitchen tap for a glass of water. Sweeter than fine wine!
I don’t anthropomorphize, and so I certainly won’t ascribe the caracara’s atypical behavior to some deep-rooted psychological need. But I also won’t hesitate for an instant to point out that the bird’s jarring presence left me unsettled - in a good way. Maybe I’m more attentive. What else might I see? Maybe I’m more appreciative. How lucky am I to see such a magnificent critter right in my own backyard. Maybe I’m more unsettled - and consequently open to challenging long-held assumptions and willing to entertain new possibilities. Things that make you go, Hmmmmm….
Be Grounded. Fly High.
The Avian Rebbe