Murmuration

Late to the game, I have discovered the many wonderful videos of Starlings en masse. It is easy to get lost in the sensation it produces, whether it's awe or curiosity or anxiety or joy. When I came across the video, the pulsing cloud of birds brought to mind my community of friends. For a few years we have hoped to "share life abundantly" - the only words I recall from our mission statement as we sought to buy land together and form a legal entity. And we have come to share life together in meaningful ways. A meal here. A shared moment there. But with a goal in mind, a very clear picture of our ultimate destination, every step along the way has seemed to fall short. 

And so I watch the collective herd, tight one moment, and loose the next; flying to the left and then to the right; and then in every which direction. I get a familiar feeling in the open spaces within me; that feeling of bated breath I connect to community discussions. Close, but not quite. Almost, and then it's gone. Panic and retreat. A desperate grasp, relief, and then that helpless sensation of it slipping through our fingers. I imagine the individual birds chasing after the tail feathers of the bird in front of them. Confusion. Concern. Chaos. 

There is a quote attributed to the Buddha that says when the cloud transforms to rain it does not panic like us. Maybe this is true of all non-domesticated beings. I find assurance in natural patterns. I gain a new vision of the individual starling, caught in a motion so grand; so fragile; un scripted. The starling has no manner of seeing the full murmuration. I catch a momentary vision of my own life, my movements, my community, my world past to future, from the viewpoint of something bigger. I imagine these things spread across the sky like starlings. Not a destination. A dance. 

Some have called a murmuration a selfish herd. The theory is that each starling desperately competes for the center to avoid predators, resulting in a moving center. But some research has shown that this sort of collective behavior results in less predation for the entire herd. Maybe our community will never settle. But perhaps in our attempts to group we can evade the predators that would consume an individual. And maybe it will be beautiful to behold. 

Starlings in Winter

by Mary Oliver

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

they are acrobats

in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;

they float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can't imagine

how they do it

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard, I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.

"Starlings in Winter" by Mary Oliver, from Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays. © Beacon Press, 2003.