Two young deer cavorted in a heavy downpour, leaping and chasing one another through a field of high grasses. I looked out my patio door on a Sunday morning and felt such joy as I watched them at play. Two days later on my daily walk around Blue Heron Lake, I felt this hard knock on the top of my head. It stung, like someone rapped hard with their knuckles. I immediately felt irritated, thinking someone had come behind me and wanted my attention.
Lo, when I turned around no one was there but a red-winged blackbird flying away. He landed on the top of a swaying reed and looked boldly at me, seemingly with a bit of a smirk in his eyes. My instant response was to find something to throw at him, a warning to not repeat that hit. I couldn’t find anything so I continued my walk. Later I remembered reading how blackbirds do this to warn people away from their nests. I wondered why the bird chose me instead of other walkers. What was this about? What was I to learn?
Several days afterward I awakened to the teaching: It was time for me to restore awareness of how I respond when I’m irritated. I try to be compassionate toward all, nature included. I felt chagrined that my first response was to want to revenge the bird, to display my anger. While easily finding joy in romping deer, I quickly turned to retaliation toward a blackbird protecting his young. I then recalled what I’d written in Boundless Compassion:
“The human brain contains an instinctual realm that responds to fear. This part of us (known as the amygdala) developed early in humanity’s brain when tribalism existed. In order to survive, people tried to protect themselves from marauders out to destroy their tribe and steal their life-giving resources. This resulted in aggressively defending themselves from those outside their tight circle of existence. Their brains developed fast-responding triggers to keep them from being harmed.
While this part of the brain can protect us, it more often sparks hatred, greed, and self-orientation. Think how subtly this happens in our society when personal space appears threatened: Don’t cut into my line of traffic. You took my seat. Don’t step on my lawn. You barged in front of me. Don’t shove your truth into my religion or politics. Stay away from my neighborhood. (Keep out of my country.)”
Fortunately, human brains have evolved greatly since tribalism ensued. Our brains now have a frontal lobe that allows us to pause, assess situations, and not respond with knee-jerk aggressiveness to fearful or uncomfortable incidents. We can take time to reflect, to move beyond a desire for revenge or destructive behavior, and gain a clearer viewpoint before leaping into harmful verbal or physical rejoinders.
About the time I reflected on this, Kathy Coffey’s latest newsletter arrived in which she noted something similar: “Humans can evolve beyond tribalism, beyond suspicion or hatred of anyone different. The insecure and anxious fear the ”other.” But many, despite differences, unite in common cause, with the same hopes, ideals, values and leader.”
Thank you, red-winged blackbird, for the bonk on my head.
Abundant peace,
Joyce Rupp
