Behold: A Cardinal
What is it to love a river? To love a moonbeam? What is it to love a cardinal?
What do I see looking at the photo of the cardinal? A first impression is the dominant colours of green and red, complimentary colours on the artist colour wheel. Complimentary colours to our brain are appealing, compel us to look.
When looking, my eye is drawn to the cardinal’s eye. More precisely I am drawn to the brightest point in the eye, the catchlight, that little white dot. The little white dot is the sun. I can see the sun, the whole of it, in the eye of the cardinal.
From the dot of light, I see the form of the eye. I pause there, eye to eye. For us the eye, as is said, is the window to the soul. When looking eye to eye with another, we seem to see into the other, be seen interiorly by the other. Our souls seem to meet when locked eye to eye. It’s hard to do, to look into another’s eye, because they are looking back, we exposed to them.
It asks a lot to be that exposed to each other, eye to eye, to be that known to each other, no masks, eye to eye. Honesty is hard for us, being honest with another, for we fear how we might be judged, fear we fall short. If meeting eye to eye is possible, if in that look we experience understanding and empathy, even love of a kind, then nothing could be more freeing to our soul.
If eye to eye we experience hatred or resentment or jealousy from another, nothing can be crueler, more painful, more soul destroying. Why it’s hard to do.
What do we see meeting the cardinal eye to eye? What is in the eye of the cardinal? What kind of connection might be in our meeting eye to eye. For me, it is as if something unsaid could be said. Something alive between us is possible, if only I could understand. In the cardinal’s eye, this cardinal who came into our back garden, something critical seems at stake, even some accounting. The eye of the cardinal and its foreboding beak seems to tell me, take heed, pay attention. The look is asking that I take him, the cardinal, seriously.
My focus moves from the cardinal’s eye to its beak. The bright illumination on the beak with its shiny surface, shows the hardness of the beak. In my imagination, I can feel how that hard, pointed beak if pecking my arm, would hurt me. The cardinal has force, self-will.
The image shows only half of the cardinal’s body. Unlike a full view of the cardinal where the bird would appear small, light, and delicate, the half view, filling the bottom right corner of the frame, adds weight and size to the body of the cardinal. The cardinal looms large, substantial, strong. As I see it.
Once the colours of the image attracted me, the eye held my attention, the beak impressed me, my gaze then turns to the feathers. I see different kinds of feathers layered over each other. Sharp in focus, they appear soft to the touch. Stroking them I can imagine would be pleasurable.
By spending time with the image, not glancing and moving on to a different visual stimulation, but rather resting with this image, staying with this image, breathing in and out, letting the image reveal itself to me as my eye moves about the image, over and over, so I find myself on a journey with the image, experienced over time as I begin to feel the gaze of the cardinal on me; the hardness of the beak and what that feels like; the softness of the feathers, and what that feels like.
Time spent with the image allows the image to come alive to me, speak to me, …speak to me. In this way the cardinal becomes distinct from me, from my perspective, my judgment, my assumptions. No longer do I feel dominant to the cardinal. In seeing the cardinal for itself, I see it not as a reflection of me, but as one other, its own self, outside of me, other than me, with its own life.
Oddly in this human way of ours, as I begin to see the cardinal for what it is, less what I think it is, the more the cardinal becomes my equal. The cardinal is no longer an object for my use, some pleasure for my indulgence. When I begin to recognize the cardinal as another being, as alive as I am alive, as distinct as I am distinct, then the cardinal becomes a subject to me. I now see the cardinal as another, with its own stake in life, as another with whom I am sharing the same space and time, that is, sharing a common life.
In this new intimacy, one with the other, as the cardinal becomes more known to me – and in the way our brain works – in the intimacy of knowing each other, seeing into each other, the cardinal becomes me. Two become one. The cardinal becomes me, I the cardinal, eye to eye, the two of us, as if one soul.
What is it to love a cardinal? Love is not to regard the beautiful cardinal as something pretty to indulge my pleasure. Rather, to love is to see the other as other, see it as beautiful for itself. Love is to admire its beauty, acknowledge its dignity, recognize that the cardinal is as alive as I am alive, as full of its life as I am of my life.
To love the cardinal for itself, not as my own indulgence, is to see the cardinal as a companion along the way, together with me, sharing this mystery of life. Even more, as the sages tell, to love the cardinal is to see that the cardinal is wise in a way we are not, has a wisdom we don’t have, has something to teach us. If we could but see.
What is all this? Some mumbo jumbo? It’s about seeing. What we see. The peculiarity about our opinions is that the world we think we see out there is actually in our head. We do not peer out at the world through portholes in our heads observing the outer world. Our eyes are not portholes in our skull, but receptors. They take in data as electro-magnetic waves. The waves hit the sensor and are interpreted by our brains to become the image we see. The key word is that the data is interpreted, not just data in and data out. It’s why different people can be exposed to the same circumstances and see those circumstances very differently. Even have very different beliefs and opinions about the same set of data. Our brain interprets the data based on the formation of our particular neural pathways that are different to someone else’s.
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As primatologist and neuroscientist Robert Sapolsky points out what is in our conscious mind – a judgement or a choice- comes to us at the end of a process, travels along a particular neural path. And most of that journey is through the unconscious, determined in the unconscious and at the end of the process appears to us in our conscious mind as a thought, a judgement, an opinion, one shaped along that unconscious journey. Billions and billions of electrochemical computations done in split seconds, all inside our unconscious. It’s not our conscious mind thinking all this out.
That final conscious thought, as Sapolsky demonstrates, is the product of the particular brain organization we inherited at birth entwined with the environment and events of our life we experience. He says that what happened a minute ago -something said to us, the colour of the room we walked into; five minutes ago; a few hours before; the day and days and weeks and months and decades leading up to our conscious thought, and even hundreds of years ago in our genetic passing along of neural determination…all of that other stuff, buried in our unconscious is part of the ordering and firing and shaping of the trillions of neural connections and neural pathways becoming our conscious recognition.
Neuro-scientists warn us not to confuse our brains with a computer that is data in and data out. The brain spends most of its time throwing out data for ever stimulation comes through our senses. The unconscious work of the brain is to notice what is important, at least what it ‘thinks’ is important. That loud sound. The brain pays attention, needs to decide if this is something to be alarmed about or decide it’s no threat. The makeup of the brain and the experience stored in the brain goes into that calculation. Some people feel more vulnerable to threat than others: our brains are all differently composed. This is to say that each of us responds in our way to the same stimulus, similarly some of us, but in our own ways. Everything built into our brain’s particular structure is a perspective and that inner perspective is imposed on the data coming in. In other words, what the brain throws out and what it keeps, is determined by a kind of extrusion that is our particularly formed mind, deep within us, imposed on the data, that for all that becomes a thought, judgement, opinion conscious to us.
Even Robert Sapolsky looking at his own research says it’s hard to fathom how much of what we think to be an objective world out there is in fact a construct deep inside our heads: our way of seeing.
So this stimulating look at how we see, how our brain sees, is a wonderful discussion of its own but not the topic here. The point for us, I am suggesting, is that we can be in the same world as another and read that same world quite differently. Of course we know that, never more clearly than right now. Many family members have different political views and can’t even speak to each other about them.
It is also true that our brains are quite plastic. We can under various conditions, begin to see differently than we have before, shift to different world views over time; that is, change how we see things. We are not locked in. The shift can go in any direction. Immersion in talk radio, in social media silos, for example, change people, how they see. They become the world they spend time in.
Art is another means that might shift a perspective. So, looking at the image of the cardinal, spending time with it or some other image you are attracted to, can lead you to see the world differently. That’s the key though, not seeing the surface, but over time listening to the image or whatever, giving time so the image can speak to you. It’s all to do with the worlds we immerse ourselves in: they make us.
Maybe more than viewing the image, seeing a real cardinal or being out in the world of the cardinal, and being there fully, giving oneself to nature, not there to control nature, have nature serve one’s interest, but rather see nature as a mystery, of its own self, wise, even a wise teacher for us if we but see, if we but listen. Nature, for example, would become us, we take on its wisdom for ourself.
That’s all this is: for us to imagine an alternative, to consider an alternative to the one sold us on the screens that speaks to our impulses; for the possibility to let go, let control of life go, and allow for the other to speak to our soul.
To get out of the places and to get away from the sounds that damage us, poison us, disturb us is possible. It has to do with how and where we choose to spend our time.
No, the world is not always a pretty place, certainly right now, not pretty at all. So all this is not about running away from that world. All this cardinal stuff is about putting ourselves in the way of the cardinal or the river or the moonbeam; it is about making ourself strong, rooted, connected to our deeper inner self which, the wise ones teach, is our only strength. Only being deeply rooted in who we are, in our strength, only then are we able to be in the messy world, to play our part in healing a damaged world.
If the damaged world becomes us we succumb to its perspective. If we find strength in our belonging, our being our own selves, companion with the world, then we are better able to weather the storms of life and help others along their way; that way to make a better world.
Love, as the sages tell, is about attuning ourselves to see the inner quality of the outer world -attuning ourselves to the soul of the world. Soul, as Robert Sardello tells us, is out there, in the world, the soul of the world. Soul is not our possession; rather soul possesses us. As we open ourselves to the world, see into the inner quality of all things, see the world as animated and alive, ancient and wise, then might the soul of the world possess us, teach us, lead us on the path of life, reveal to us the secrets of living life. Eye to eye with the cardinal, the ancient of days.
The world can be superficial, something for our use, to use up and then discard. Trees are lumber. Lakes are platforms for our motorized boats. Nature is something out there to exploit, of which to make things to buy and sell or cater to our entertainment.
A different view is to appreciate the inner quality of all that is out there in the world. To see the world differently. As we see soul in the birds and the rocks and the sky and the sea, feel more their living presence, treat them as subjects, with a life, as living a life, so does it seem we become more alive to life. The relationship with the other is not how useful others – people or things – are to us, but rather to see the other as companion and guide along the way. Even the rock buried in moss can be a companion, tell of secrets. The lichen on a tree trunk can give us joy if we could but see.
That perspective on life, that relationship with the world becomes an appreciation for all of life. And what seems to come naturally from that is a gratitude for life; a feeling grateful for the life we have.
From a perspective where the world is a blessing to us, so then are we in a place to bless the world, to bless each other. To feel blessed is to have the capacity to bring blessings to others. So say the sages, and the cardinals, and the rivers, the mossy rocks and the moonbeams. So say.
What is it to love a river? A moonbeam? Traditional societies that lived more closely with nature saw the river as transportation, facility for washing, source of food and drink. They also saw the river, that very same river, as a goddess. The river met their needs. The river was their superior. Before the goddess they stood, head bowed, in awe, grateful for the gift of the river, grateful to the goddess who blessed them. To the river goddess, they expressed homage, gave gifts, listened to the goddess for her wisdom.
The society we make for ourselves today is driven by consumption. Our jobs and our dreams depend on consuming more this quarter than last. We use nature as a product to fuel our consuming machine. Constant entertainment is our stimulation, moment by moment. Keeping this consuming engine running takes continual distraction for that keeps us on an edge, no time to contemplate or evaluate, no time to slow down and ponder, for being on an edge, feeling an emptiness to be filled, drives us to buy things, fills the emptiness, fuels the machine.
It’s based on stimulation-response-reward. Base human behaviour. Nothing deeper. Keep it there. No solemn time allowed; no sacred time to stand in awe at the wonder of life; no end to the advertising of sugar stimulants masquerading as food, no end to shiny things tantalizing our desires for what we just must have, on and on, more and more, no end to the scrolling, no end to the liking and wanting to be liked, no end to the noise in our earbuds, no chance for silence; no chance for peace of mind.
What if we chose to see things differently, live with a different perspective? Is it possible to choose to live in the world of the cardinal, the world indigenous people tell us about, yet also live a modern life? Indigenous peoples are working toward this, working towards a different way to live in the modern world, a modern world that honours traditional values. Maybe we could stop and listen to the indigenous elders instead of the noise. In the world of the cardinal we would slow down, begin to see the other, take enough time to notice the inner quality of the other; then maybe our lives would feel differently as well.
We might begin to ask what is the inner quality of the person who collects our garbage? Let us begin there. What if we paid attention to seeing the inner quality of that person who happens to collect our garbage, saw that person as another, learned how they have dreams and hopes as much as ourselves, came to know their loves and hopes and dreams. We might discover that person to have a wisdom to teach us, discover that person is not just somebody useful taking our trash.
How does that work? Recognizing that person might simply be a smile in passing, a thank you. With that simple gesture is the experience of relationship, meeting eye to eye. If, but for a moment, spending that moment to notice the other, so follows a recognition of the other, a relationship, if for a moment, each alive to the other. For that, another kind of world becomes us.
How often am I walking along our neighbourhood streets early in the morning and two of us pass by, only two of us on the street, passing by within inches of each other, and I look to make eye contact, to say good morning, and the other person is rigidly staring straight ahead, unable to see me. What world is that which we have made for each other? What have we come to?
What is it to love a river? To love a moonbeam? What is it to love a cardinal?
What is it to love Marie, one of us, a sister, who has no place to call home, homeless, unhoused, surrounded on all sides by billions and billions of dollars of real estate: high-rise towers, low-rise buildings, homes and gardens, stretching forever across the GTA. Countless warm buildings, buildings full of bright light. Why is Marie, one of us, living in the cold and dark, hungry, wearing thin ratty clothes – with all of us around her, millions of us around her, millions of us making billions of dollars, spending billions of dollars on ourselves? How is Marie, one of us, left alone on the cold concrete sidewalk, by herself, without a place to call home. How is that?
If we would but see her, the few thousand like her, abandoned to the streets or confined to horrid shelters. If we could but see.
What is that to love life?
To love Marie?
To love a cardinal?
To love a river?
To love a moonbeam?
What is that?