While tilling my vegetable garden, I am interrupted at times, by the scandalous alarm of cawing crows as they repeatedly dive bomb and mob an escaping hawk caught in its intent to snatch a newborn chick from the crows nest. Ironic to watch one built for speed and kill, a predator rarely challenged as it soars above all so majestically, now desperately fleeing a couple lowly crows.

You would never place odds on a crow in a match-up with a hawk, but from that apparent hopelessness, courage is sparked and burns bright. Faced with overwhelming odds, reasoning is shrugged aside for the instinct of survival, more often than not, the survival of family or tribe over that of the individual or of the few embodying courage.

In this case, of course, the powerful hawk is out for quick and easy pickings, while the crows are protecting their family, their flock, their very existence. While the hawk displays ability, skill and hubris, it will never experience or embody courage; that attribute is reserved for the underdog, willing to sacrifice all.

An easy metaphor mirroring our human condition, as the powerful, seemingly at will, prey upon the weak and powerless. And yet, without regard for life and limb, appear those with the conviction and courage to resist and push back. Countless examples through history, throughout the world and even within our own experience. Friends and comrades, some fallen along the way, others standing, still somehow, none unscarred.

Were the story to end here, our metaphor of good versus evil fits our narrative of right and wrong very well. Before we can get comfortable, however, our hero the crow muddles up the image dramatically.

Almost invariably during their return, perhaps exhilarated by the feat of running off the hawk, the crows raid the mockingbird nests found in the shrubs along the fence-row, looking for eggs and young chicks. The victims converting into oppressors, how so embarrassing. This is where the humble mockingbird gives its lesson in courage, with frenetic energy, singlehandedly chasing off the horde of crows. Once again, survival instinct winning over brute power.

The drama comes to an end and I go back to pulling weeds, pondering the quandary of the crow. Both victim and oppressor in one, and why has this caught my attention? Given the principal that the exterior world only reflects our interior consciousnesses, I am prodded into asking myself in what circumstances have I played the role of the crow.

I would rather it be a rhetorical question, but I fear it may not be so. I am drawn toward my shadow-side, dark corners yet to be cleaned, where I come face to face with a trait that reeks of self-righteousness. I wonder if the preference to “my chosen people” lead me to turning a blind eye and dismissing others, equally vulnerable yet not as deserving according to my judgment? Did I use and discard others along the way, because of the cause? Did I put the “greater good” over friends and family? The justifications once abundant dissipate over time and distance…

The questions come as observations and lessons, not as regret: understanding rather than rejection. On this tortuous path towards self-knowledge, they remain open, yet unresolved, questions…

RAB
25 July, 26