The Gander I had my hair colored with bright blue and purple feathered highlights the other day.
It was my response to the Nation's 9/11 Crisis.
The tough go shopping sort of a mentality.
At least I haven't started to binge eat.
Not yet anyway.
I love the hair do.
I went to my friend's office building to show him how loony his friend was; to spread some cheer to such heavy somber days.
I ran into more than I bargained for.
My friend's office is located on the Mercer Slough in a park-like setting.
It is isolated and quiet right smack dab on the south end of the second largest city in Washington.
I parked my car and started to approach the large double glass office doors.
There in the vestibule stood a huge live Canadian honking gander facing me! My center of focus dropped down into my heart core as I listened to her story.
She was very talkative and had much to say.
Her right wing was horribly misshapen.
She showed me her handicap.
When she spread her wings and flapped those immense feathered structures her wings were normal.
All the feathers fell in line and looked normal.
But something was wrong.
Right in the central span where the wing "V"s, a large section had been broken in two.
Her arm bone had been snapped backwards somehow and this important part was left to dangle at first, and now had grown firm but deformed.
It showed when she closed her wings.
I said nothing as I tried not to stare in mutilated fascination.
You know how we can't keep our eyes off of blind eyes.
We want to see what a blind eye looks like.
It is a different color.
Or how we want to stare at the one bound to a wheelchair.
We want to see what paralysis looks like.
Or how we are drawn to observe the bellies and behinds of the obese.
We are curious about what fat looks like.
We do all of these things naturally.
We can see how natural it is for children.
We have a human need to validate our internal checklists about ourselves.
Most of us are all so innately insecure.
"Am I more normal than this or that person?" "Do I belong MORE?" These are the human heartless questions we forget we need to tame.
We forget who is at the core of that distorted thought process.
The Evil one is not the one that is not normal and does not fit in and is the least among us.
We forget this, often.
So anyway.
I stare.
I can't help myself.
She is still honking a mile a minute.
I find her beautiful.
I grow curious because I can't figure out why I feel this way when I look upon her.
She is LARGE.
Way too big to be feminine.
She is dull colored.
Gander geese are gray and browns and dirty creams.
Her bill is downright wrong.
It is much too spread out over her face.
And much too thick.
She simply does not need that much beak and mouth to be eating grain and insects or whatever it is geese eat.
Her eyes are black and beady.
And then there is the matter of her feet.
Oh good grief! Orange! And wide and WEBBED of all things.
And such unmanicured nails.
The poor thing is pigeon toed to boot.
She waddles as we walk the path to the front office together.
She has a nice sized chest.
Breasts are nice to have for presentation and posturing.
Her tail flicks correctly.
Her tail feathers curl up at the ends and finish her off just right.
But that mutilated deformed wing is of all prominence.
There is no covering it up or camouflaging it.
She is disabled.
She cannot fly.
That is the short of it.
That is what she has been squawking about to me.
She can't join the others when they leave for the winter months.
She will have to make the Mercer pond, here, her home among the water lilies and reeds.
I pray for her right out loud.
Right there in the front threshold.
I say, "May you be free from suffering, May you know your greatest peace".
She visibly relaxes.
Her long thick neck lowers.
I am wondering if she is going to attack me or what? No, that is not it at all.
She has lowered her head to receive my blessings.
She cocks her head and motions me to follow her.
She starts talking about the blue colored hair dye streaks in my hair.
She has mistaken them for feathers.
She thinks we could just be birds of a feather for a season.
That is what she wants to talk to me about.
She is taking me on a tour of her realm.
She shows me that it is rather safe and secluded an area.
She shows me the picnic bench in the back of the building near the slough.
There are willows bending down caressing us.
She points out they are wonderful shelter from the rains.
She introduces me to a few of her cousins.
I watch my step.
A couple of business suits come storming out the side doors on their cell phones.
We stand our ground.
The one is downright hostile towards us.
He is disdainful that I am praying and chatting with a silly goose.
He openly does not like the gander.
He stops talking on his cell phone long enough to explain to me that this gander is confused and doesn't know she does not belong in his building or this close to them.
She is not toilet trained either, he explains.
I watch my new friend reply.
She is silent as a stone to him.
Then she makes a bowel movement all over his sidewalk and waddles on into the grass.
I like her.
In fact I think I love her.
That is why she looks so beautiful and special to me, she is one of God's creatures and I love her.
She is trying her utmost best to make the most of bad circumstances she has found herself in.
Who could not love her? I watch the suit pass by and wonder what is wrong with him? I think he is the handicapped one among us.
The gander honks agreement.
She loves me right back.
I excuse myself and go inside and visit my friend.
He is a friend that brings me joy and brightens my spirit.
I have made him laugh today.
He needed me.
I leave.
The silly goose is waiting for me IN the lobby! She finishes up her tour and pitch to have me come join her for the season.
I gently explain I simply am not a silly goose and that I am a bird of a different feather.
I promise her I will visit her often and next time we will "DO LUNCH.
" I will treat.
Turns out she is craving a mocha mint latte.
I will remember that.
It is a simple request for me to fill.
She walks me to my car.
I think it is wonderful she has come to terms with her surroundings.
She will be just fine and I suspect she will have the company of other kindred spirits when I return for our next encounter.
With her type of spirit and personality, how could she help but find others to share herself with? END
It was my response to the Nation's 9/11 Crisis.
The tough go shopping sort of a mentality.
At least I haven't started to binge eat.
Not yet anyway.
I love the hair do.
I went to my friend's office building to show him how loony his friend was; to spread some cheer to such heavy somber days.
I ran into more than I bargained for.
My friend's office is located on the Mercer Slough in a park-like setting.
It is isolated and quiet right smack dab on the south end of the second largest city in Washington.
I parked my car and started to approach the large double glass office doors.
There in the vestibule stood a huge live Canadian honking gander facing me! My center of focus dropped down into my heart core as I listened to her story.
She was very talkative and had much to say.
Her right wing was horribly misshapen.
She showed me her handicap.
When she spread her wings and flapped those immense feathered structures her wings were normal.
All the feathers fell in line and looked normal.
But something was wrong.
Right in the central span where the wing "V"s, a large section had been broken in two.
Her arm bone had been snapped backwards somehow and this important part was left to dangle at first, and now had grown firm but deformed.
It showed when she closed her wings.
I said nothing as I tried not to stare in mutilated fascination.
You know how we can't keep our eyes off of blind eyes.
We want to see what a blind eye looks like.
It is a different color.
Or how we want to stare at the one bound to a wheelchair.
We want to see what paralysis looks like.
Or how we are drawn to observe the bellies and behinds of the obese.
We are curious about what fat looks like.
We do all of these things naturally.
We can see how natural it is for children.
We have a human need to validate our internal checklists about ourselves.
Most of us are all so innately insecure.
"Am I more normal than this or that person?" "Do I belong MORE?" These are the human heartless questions we forget we need to tame.
We forget who is at the core of that distorted thought process.
The Evil one is not the one that is not normal and does not fit in and is the least among us.
We forget this, often.
So anyway.
I stare.
I can't help myself.
She is still honking a mile a minute.
I find her beautiful.
I grow curious because I can't figure out why I feel this way when I look upon her.
She is LARGE.
Way too big to be feminine.
She is dull colored.
Gander geese are gray and browns and dirty creams.
Her bill is downright wrong.
It is much too spread out over her face.
And much too thick.
She simply does not need that much beak and mouth to be eating grain and insects or whatever it is geese eat.
Her eyes are black and beady.
And then there is the matter of her feet.
Oh good grief! Orange! And wide and WEBBED of all things.
And such unmanicured nails.
The poor thing is pigeon toed to boot.
She waddles as we walk the path to the front office together.
She has a nice sized chest.
Breasts are nice to have for presentation and posturing.
Her tail flicks correctly.
Her tail feathers curl up at the ends and finish her off just right.
But that mutilated deformed wing is of all prominence.
There is no covering it up or camouflaging it.
She is disabled.
She cannot fly.
That is the short of it.
That is what she has been squawking about to me.
She can't join the others when they leave for the winter months.
She will have to make the Mercer pond, here, her home among the water lilies and reeds.
I pray for her right out loud.
Right there in the front threshold.
I say, "May you be free from suffering, May you know your greatest peace".
She visibly relaxes.
Her long thick neck lowers.
I am wondering if she is going to attack me or what? No, that is not it at all.
She has lowered her head to receive my blessings.
She cocks her head and motions me to follow her.
She starts talking about the blue colored hair dye streaks in my hair.
She has mistaken them for feathers.
She thinks we could just be birds of a feather for a season.
That is what she wants to talk to me about.
She is taking me on a tour of her realm.
She shows me that it is rather safe and secluded an area.
She shows me the picnic bench in the back of the building near the slough.
There are willows bending down caressing us.
She points out they are wonderful shelter from the rains.
She introduces me to a few of her cousins.
I watch my step.
A couple of business suits come storming out the side doors on their cell phones.
We stand our ground.
The one is downright hostile towards us.
He is disdainful that I am praying and chatting with a silly goose.
He openly does not like the gander.
He stops talking on his cell phone long enough to explain to me that this gander is confused and doesn't know she does not belong in his building or this close to them.
She is not toilet trained either, he explains.
I watch my new friend reply.
She is silent as a stone to him.
Then she makes a bowel movement all over his sidewalk and waddles on into the grass.
I like her.
In fact I think I love her.
That is why she looks so beautiful and special to me, she is one of God's creatures and I love her.
She is trying her utmost best to make the most of bad circumstances she has found herself in.
Who could not love her? I watch the suit pass by and wonder what is wrong with him? I think he is the handicapped one among us.
The gander honks agreement.
She loves me right back.
I excuse myself and go inside and visit my friend.
He is a friend that brings me joy and brightens my spirit.
I have made him laugh today.
He needed me.
I leave.
The silly goose is waiting for me IN the lobby! She finishes up her tour and pitch to have me come join her for the season.
I gently explain I simply am not a silly goose and that I am a bird of a different feather.
I promise her I will visit her often and next time we will "DO LUNCH.
" I will treat.
Turns out she is craving a mocha mint latte.
I will remember that.
It is a simple request for me to fill.
She walks me to my car.
I think it is wonderful she has come to terms with her surroundings.
She will be just fine and I suspect she will have the company of other kindred spirits when I return for our next encounter.
With her type of spirit and personality, how could she help but find others to share herself with? END
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