Birding-by-ear

Written by Matthew Ramsay, San Francisco Zen Center, Monday, 17 July 2006

On a cool May morning a dozen people gathered on the front lawn at Green Gulch Farm in exquisitely attentive silence. But the air that morning was not silent; it was brimming with birdsong. Our trip leader, Zac Denning, counted at least 18 distinct bird species singing during the first few minutes of our walk. During the next hour he introduced us to a few by name as we all learned to recognize the species that we couldn't necessarily see. 

Zac has been a Zen student at Green Gulch and an ornithologist at the Point Reyes Bird Observatory, so he introduced us to the art of "birding-by-ear," clearly demonstrating that this activity is indeed mindfulness practice. In order to tune into the individual birds¡¯ songs in those first few minutes, each of us naturally assumed a receptive, concentrated mind. Hearing birdsong reminded us that there is an entire avian world conducting its essential life functions, such as finding a mate or declaring home territories. With Zac's help we came to appreciate the vital importance of birdsong to these animals for survival rather than simply hearing these sounds as either pleasing or harsh to our own ears. We were immediately invited into the point of view of the birds themselves, which enlarged our usual perspectives.

The story of the winter wren broadened our awareness and appreciation by virtue of its truly global resonance. In dense forest, the wren is often the first bird to sing at dawn's first light and as each male wren sings its song, it is followed by the next male wren in the adjacent territory to the west. Since the wren lives throughout the northern hemisphere its song accompanies daybreak around the globe: a ¡°dawn-and-wren wave.¡± The wren¡¯s activity places us in time and relationship with the turning of our shared planet. You can realize this worldwide connection each morning that you listen to birdsong while meditating, wherever you are.

As we walked on we learned to recognize a few of the species that inhabit this valley with us: the rising trill of Swainson's thrush, the han-like rolldown beats of the wrentit, and the sea-saw rise and fall of the black phoebe. While watching jays comb farm trucks for vegetable scraps our perspectives and prejudices were plainly revealed. The loud raspy songs of jays don't seem so melodious to human ears and their cunning predatory activity towards other smaller songbirds seems rather aggressive by some human standards of fairness or kindness. Yet, these tricksters are also to be respected for their superior ability to study patterns which enables their survival and for their function in the community that ensures the fitness of other breeding birds.

The lessons of birds and the attention required to hear their songs are delightful exercises in mindfulness that simultaneously inform us about the place we share with countless species. Perhaps through our appreciation of such species we can continue to learn to live in proper accordance with them.

Footnote:

For a more detailed account of the winter wren's story see:

The Singing Life of Birds: The Art and Science of Listening to Birdsong by Donald Kroodsma, 2005