In a nest on my porch sits a lone hatchling. I am likely responsible for the death of its siblings.
A month ago on my porch I checked the hanging plant that last year hid a nest. But this year I didn’t find one. And yet I sensed there must be one because I had seen a finch fly in and out.
With the garden hose I watered the plant. Still the finch came, so I checked more deeply and underneath the miniature daisies found a nest. To my horror, three of the eggs were sitting in the leaves. Only one remained in its rightful place.
My heart clenched with the sight. I assume the water I poured into the plant floated the eggs out. With a stick, I gingerly moved them back in and then I waited, hoping I hadn’t interfered too much with the finches’ lives.
One day a baby hatched. It was a breath of fur and pink skin, an image that made my heart leap with joy. And then I thought maybe another egg had hatched as well. But in subsequent days I peeked in only to find the remaining eggs unbroken.
The sight brought a similar weight of sadness that I have felt lately in conflicts with my mother.
Always, she wants more of my time. I give what I can—many hours a week—but ultimately I must disappoint her. I don’t mean to, but I hurt her.
My spiritual teacher assures me that in God’s eyes, all is perfect, and when I center in Divine love I see that It is an omnipotent creator. The life that was to fill those little eggs will flourish elsewhere. Nothing can stop the Divine from fulfilling Its purpose.
Next time I will follow the quiet nudge that told me there was a nest in that plant.
And that is my lesson here: To listen more attentively to the subtler reality around me.
And to stay in the Divine love, where all is perfect.
I have spent my life trying to atone for the hurts—the lapses in judgment, the bursts of anger, the jealousy and greed—that I have manifested with lovers, family members, friends and animals.
I now see that there is only one solution: give them to God.
I come into the now and live my life from the highest vibration possible. Only that movement dissipates the karma that is far too complex for me to make right—far too tight a coil for me to unwind.
What this soul in the body of my mother owes me, what I owe her—who can calculate? How could I ever fix the “mistake” of floating those precious eggs out of the nest?
It is not up to me to balance the scales of justice. What I can do is center in my Beloved and be true to me. From that place all balances automatically.
As Rumi says,
“You are not meant for crawling, so don’t.
You have wings.
Learn to use them and fly!”
The lone hatchling?
Now he flies about my porch and beyond into the broad world.
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