food

This week I hope to write about what strikes me as lessons from a kingfisher.

Last week in Bend, Oregon, along the Deschutes River, I saw a kingfisher there on a human-created, steel-poled perch. Just sitting there — still, quiet. I bet it wasn’t wondering about what it would do later in the afternoon. I bet it wasn’t thinking about a resentment it had for somebody last week. Or about Christmas presents. It was just there, still and silent, its entire attention on the river flowing below. Focused on survival. Focused on food.

I have tried to bring that degree on single-pointed attention into my meditations since returning to San Diego. I have failed badly, in hopes of being a kingfisher, but I have failed in the right direction. They say when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.

It feels like food to me.