Unseen Beauty: A Journal

A matter of perspective

Human beings are naturally self-absorbed. Mythology warns us about our fascination with our reflection, about the obsession with looking back at ourselves, but even when we cannot see our own faces, we must by our very nature, see things from only one point of view – our own. Our world is filtered through our own eyes, our own minds, and our own spirits. Like the stained glass of a gothic cathedral, every image we see, every encounter we have, while retaining its nature, is ineffably changed by its passage through our perspective.

Working at a college, each semester is a new challenge. No two are ever alike, but inevitably the end of a semester brings a mixture of exhaustion and relief. This semester is no exception. If anything, I am even more grateful than usual to see this school year end. It has been a traumatic time, and it seems on some days that each blessing must be paid for in suffering. Some days I feel as though the universe hates me.

And then I am reminded how small I am allowing my vision to become. I am reminded that my eyes allow me to see the world, but that the world is frequently unaware of my observation and my importance.

Take, for example, the new miracle in my life.

The prior owners of my house were an elderly couple who were very interested in setting their residence apart from the broad spread of pre-planned layouts spaced across the development. As a part of that campaign, they planted four shrubs across the front of the residence. In the intervening years, those shrubs grew and spread, shading the front of the house and sheltering the front window. My husband and I spend a good bit of time in front of that window, sitting on our couch drinking tea, studying, and talking about all of the things we share.

About a week ago, we heard a repeated chirp outside the window. Peering through the glass, we caught a glimpse of a blur of deep mahogany feathers and a brilliant orange beak. A tiny female cardinal, her dignified brown feathers counterbalanced by the brilliance of the red of her under-feathers. A few moments later, a metallic vibration marked the tiny bird’s return – this time with a branch twice her size clamped in her beak. Sitting on the windowsill, the little female cardinal cocked her head at us, bright eyes sparkling, dragged the end of the branch along the screen one more time, and then hopped into the sheltering branches of the bush. With grace and determination, she dragged the branch through the shrub, finally reaching the clump of intertwined sticks she had begun to compile near the trunk. Clinging to a branch, she bent her head, tucking the end of the new twig in among the others.

She worked on that nest for almost three whole days, flying in and out of our window with a variety of sticks, lichen, and bits of plastic bags. And we watched her come and go, fascinated by her determination and by the remarkable mastery of the rising nest within the shrub. But the fascination went even deeper for me. I watched the tiny bit of nature, her feathers catching the light with the deep browns and auburn hues that only nature creates, and I was reminded of how utterly unimportant we are in the grander scheme of the universe.

This tiny miracle outside my window was doing what she did best – weaving a complex bit of architecture in preparation for perpetuating her kind. She understood that we were no threat, and since we were no menace to her, we were irrelevant. The life-force of nature, the complex inter-working of the world around us keeps flowing without any concern for our problems. The human interpretation of life, filtered through our own eyes, that sees existence as shifting tides of good and bad may be legitimate for the individual, but it is artificial in the light of nature.

That little cardinal is still in the shrub outside my window, and I am still an eager voyeur each morning, peering out at her bright eyes, and the brilliant orange of her beak in the morning sunlight. She is a tiny miracle, a wonder of nature that I am blessed in sharing. But more than that, she is a reminder, a “reality check” for me. When I feel as though the world is against me, I look at her. She reminds me that, regardless of my vision, it is not all about me. I have to remember that, when the beauty within me begins to fade, I must look beyond my own ken and find the wonder around me, oblivious to me as long as I am not a threat.