This morning I was woken up ridiculously early by the blackbird singing his heart out in the rowan tree outside our bedroom window. I didn't mind at all: at least he's a bit quieter than the song thrush who has occupied the topmost branch of the tree for the last several mornings, and all day long too, but who now seems to have been usurped by the blackbird. The thrush has a huge variety of musical phrases that he sings twice or three times each. To quote Robert Browning: 'That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, / Lest you should think he never could recapture / The first fine careless rapture!'
Recently, Gillian Clarke, the national poet of Wales, chose the blackbird's song as her favourite desert island disc, but I would choose the thrush every time. His song is less melodious, but his tone is amazing - rich and loud. When you hear him unexpectedly whilst walking in the woods, he makes you stop in your tracks to listen.
The birds seem to be occupying my thoughts a lot at the moment: it must be the time of year. On Sunday I joined a vaguely Buddhist meditation group which meets once a month for a morning of sitting and walking meditation, interspersed with discussion. The leader of this group is a follower of Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk who is probably more responsible than anyone else for bringing mindfulness to the attention of people in the Western world. The rest of the people in the group are a motley bunch with many different beliefs or none at all. During the sitting meditation, my attention was distracted by a chaffinch singing incessantly (and rather maddeningly, to be honest - musically he's not in the same league as the thrush and the blackbird) in a cherry tree outside the window. It was hard to concentrate on my breath, as I was supposed to be doing, because he was quite intrusive. Afterwards, people were making profound and thoughtful observations about the meditation practice and about Buddhism in general (of which I know little as yet). When everyone else had had their say, I indicated that I wished to speak, and talked about the chaffinch, and how here we were in the room meditating and trying to live in the moment, while he was out there on his tree, living his chaffinchy life, singing to the world that he was the best and handsomest chaffinch in the garden. I observed that actually he was practising mindfulness, to which we aspire, without any effort at all. Well, I thought that they were all going to dismiss my simplistic and naïve observation, but actually everyone responded to it, some admitting that they too were distracted by the bird, and we ended up having a general chat about how chaffinches, and the rest of the natural world, had got it right. Whilst we are struggling with deep and difficult ideas, they just get on and fight for survival, and that's all they care about. So maybe we should take a leaf out of the birds' book, and sing our hearts out!
Happy Easter, everyone.
