The gift of calm presence and taking moments to pause or rest (as shown by two collared doves)

As we continue to navigate these challenging times, I long for some wisdom or a guide that lays out what to expect in each new chapter of this pandemic story.  If there was a self-help book written by experts reflecting on people's experiences of the emotional journey through pandemics, I would have read it and highlighted key phrases to encourage me.  But of course, we are writing this guide as we go because very few people have lived through a pandemic, until now.  So this week, I am turning to some birds, in particular two collared doves for some wisdom on keeping calm and steady.  Collared doves are the most gentle and intelligent birds, who are generally quite comfortable being close to humans.  They are also experts at being calm, far better perhaps than us humans at the moment as we struggle with how to deal with coronavirus while trying to live alongside it.

 

The simple gift of calm presence

Cooey, a gentle collared dove arrived one morning, as I was eating my breakfast on the kitchen windowsill a few years ago.  He sat there for a while, looking relaxed and settled, making a "coo" noise (hence his name).  Without thinking, I sprinkled a little sunflower seed onto the ledge, closed the window and watched him happily tuck into his breakfast.  The next morning, he returned at the same time and has rarely missed a breakfast (or supper) in over two years since.  He now has a companion (Lulu) and they come together to tuck into bird seed and navigate eating along a narrow ledge at the same time.  

Cooey and Lulu seated ready for yoga!

They are delightful company, often sitting on the ledge above my neighbour's house across from us where I can see them for much of the day.  Cooey's first appearance coincided with the time when I was feeling emotionally sore after three bereavements and redundancy.  Most days I would do my yoga practice in the morning with the two birds sitting across from my window.  It lifts my heart and I often wonder if they actually enjoy this calm energy as I stand in "tree pose"?  Of course, they could just be resting after their breakfast but I like to think of their calm, steady presence as a gift that I can share with them.  

When dealing with the latest challenge of the pandemic, I am trying to be more collared dove-like and a little less frustrated.  Last week I was informed that my father's care home now has their first Covid-19 case and of course that stirred up a lot of concerns.  So while I can email or phone to get an update regularly,  after that I am returning to my collared dove calmness.  If I can sense the gentle energy of two small birds it could equally be possible that my father can enjoy the steadiness of those around him.  And while I cannot visit him in person at the moment, I can send the gift of my presence in energy, just as the collared doves do.

Replenishing our energy through moments of rest 

The collared doves are comfortable with just "being".  Sometimes they just sit on their ledge, fluff out their feathers and sink into their resting position.  I'm amazed at how long they can stay like this for.  Sometimes they spend time preening feathers, taking it in turns to help each other.  But mostly they rest, still awake but conserving some energy or enjoying the moment.  They then fly off on their next part of the day's adventure, until it's supper time. 

The pandemic could be inviting all of us to explore a different mode of operating in life, perhaps with a little less rushing about while we are socially restricted?  Even though I have a fairly comfortable pace of life right now compared to my non-stop teaching years, I still have a slight tendency to cram a lot into a day.  I could easily pause between parts of the day, just as the collard doves do so naturally, yet it does not come automatically.  So if I'm writing about feeling exhausted with the pandemic, maybe I can adopt a more collared dove approach and take those little moments of rest or pause when needed? 

Healing will happen in it's own rhythm, somehow.

Not long after these collared doves joined our household, we woke one sunny morning to see that they had started to weave twigs and branches into the mechanism of the open bedroom window.  One of the doves was sitting happily on this very precarious looking partial nest.  Apart from thinking about the practicality of having them build a nest where we'd be unable to close the window, the image suddenly reminded me of one of my mother's watercolour painting.  I felt the hairs on my body tingle with that recognition.  

My mother's painting of a dove

The nest was built a few months after having completed the emotionally difficult process of clearing out my parents' house following the death of my mother and moving my father into a nearby care home.  I asked to keep a few of my mother's watercolour paintings that she did at an art class during her retirement and before her dementia became developed.  I'd never seen her art work until that moment and I was amazed that some of her paintings were of things that I also connected with.  I quickly chose a painting of penguins, mountains, a tropical beach and a garden.  There was also a fifth picture of a dove flying over a nest, which I didn't have any special interest in, but I for some reason added it to the pile.  I had forgotten about it until I saw the nest by the window.  And when I did, it felt like a tiny strand of connection back to my distant mother. 

When my mother died suddenly, without having had time to prepare or be with her, it felt excruciatingly painful.  Especially as I had experienced a distant bond with her, even more so as she slowly became affected by dementia.  Seeing the vibrancy of her paintings and discovering that she had painted birds and places that I also know and love has felt healing.  A ray of light at the end of the painful times of seeing her forget how to carry out daily tasks and latterly how to walk, feed or to recognise me.  

As the pandemic rumbles on, slowly affecting little pieces of our daily lives still, I occasionally dare to wonder how on earth this is going to end?  But then I remember that healing can come in all kinds of ways, in the form of people who guide us, animals that accompany us, nature that inspires us or even a sense that there is something greater than all of this human experience.  Cooey and Lulu have definitely been a light to warm my sore heart just at the time when it was most needed.  I don't know what the healing moments will look like in recovering from this pandemic yet, but it's good to be reminded that we will find ways to heal.  It may take plenty of time, but healing is possible and necessary and our lives will continue to grow, in ways we might not yet know.