December 5, 2010

This morning while I sat writing at my desk, I heard a sparrow chirp as it flew from the tree in my backyard and I wondered what it meant. I’m not talking about the fact that the bird was probably communicating with its own species, maybe warning fellow sparrows that “This is my territory, so don’t even think of moving in while I’m out looking for breakfast.”

I’m talking about what it meant to me and why I had heard its voice in the first place. It reminded me of when all our family members used to go camping together at Steamboat Lake. There was a species of bird native to the area there, one I’d never seen or heard before, and its song was “swee-pee-pee, swee-pee-pee…”

Being a lover of wild birds, my dad found this quite amusing and did his best to imitate the bird. My father has been gone for years now, but we still talk about the swee-pee-pee bird with fond memories of Dad’s impressions of it.

And now, I wonder what that bird’s song meant too. It’s as if, to my ears, there’s a hollowness that follows the sound—something the bird’s voice has left behind in me that germinates in my soul and begins to grow.

It’s the same with the stars. When I look at them, I’m filled with such awe that I wonder what their message is, because I am certain that they carry a message just for me. And the ocean and the rocks of Land’s End in Cabo. When I look at them too, there’s this soundless sound that comes to me—and it reverberates in my entire being, telling me there is something out there that I just have to know and if I listen hard enough, long enough or sincerely enough, I’ll be able to decipher its meaning.

It’s a language my head doesn’t understand, but my heart does. And somewhere within it, lies the key to my soul.