Tag Archives: turkeys

. . . and returning


The first 24-48 hours after coming off a silent retreat can be challenging.  People move way too fast and speak too loudly. You have to cook your own meals, which are in no way as tasty or healthy as those that to which you’ve become accustomed in the dining hall. Since I’ve been home I find myself  just sitting quietly doing nothing as if  I’m still waiting for the bell to ring, calling me to the meditation hall.  And then looking around at my messy house, I realize I ain’t at Spirit Rock anymore.  And while I love being home with my critters and my comforts, I sure wish I could have a few silent sincere yogis come clean my house, cook my meals and ring a bell reminding me to meditate. Oh, and while I’m wishing, I want to adopt Sylvia Boorstein as the Jewish grandmother I never had.

This was a particularly sweet and easy retreat for me. Unlike previous retreats where it takes me a day or two to land and become accustomed to the schedule and the bed and that blasted hike back up the hill from the dining hall, I settled in rather quickly.  Since this is my third retreat there in 13 months, all that stuff that used to be new and scary is now familiar and comforting.  But, there was one new twist to this retreat, I wasn’t there alone.  One of my closest friends, Frank, decided to join me. This was his first Spirit Rock silent retreat and while I had no concerns that he could handle all the meditation, I was a bit worried how he was going to take to the silence. Me, I love love LOVE it.  I was really hoping that Frank would grow to love it too.

The focus of this retreat was on Metta (or loving-kindness for those whose Pali is a bit rusty. Some teachers even translate it as mere friendliness of heart). So for seven days, we meditated on cultivating a heart full of loving-kindness directed towards an ever expanding circle of beings.  If you are not familiar with the practice, Wikipedia has a pretty good description here.  The practice is quite beautiful and inspiring. In fact, on about the fourth day, the physical sensation of my heart expanding became so intense I thought I was possibly having a heart attack. I nearly tackled  poor Sylvia on her way out of the dharma talk, so badly was the need to be reassured that I wasn’t  dying. She assured me I wasn’t, and that what was happening was actually a good thing. (Yes, a heart full of metta, a concentrated mind and a tendency towards panic attacks makes for some interesting physical sensations.)

Some highlights of the reatreat:

  • I got to be a bell ringer! I’ve always wanted to ring the big bell that summons people to the meditation hall. And no one could accuse me of being tentative with that bell. I whacked the hell out of it. No one was going to miss the 4pm dharma talk because they couldn’t hear the bell. No, not on my watch.
  • Turkeys!! God, I love those stupid turkeys. I was actually quite concerned when I didn’t see them for the first couple of days. But when I finally saw the flock, I was so happy I almost wanted to cry (yeah, metta not just warms the heart, but apparently it supercharges the tear ducts).
  • On the sixth day, when the silence is lifted for a short period, Frank and I found each, embraced, and the first words out of our mouths were “I love you” (and I, of course, started crying).  He loved the retreat. I was filled with mudita. Plus, it was such a relief to finally be able to talk and laugh openly.  For the entire week every time our eyes met in the dining hall, we both had to suppress bursting out laughing.  Nothing was particularly funny, but I think we were like two naughty children in church who can’t help but giggle when everyone else around them is so silent and serious.
  • Coyotes! It’s hard to believe, but I think this may have been my first experience of hearing coyotes howl at the moon. When I first heard it while doing an evening walking meditation, I was transfixed.  And then when I was awoken by a pack of coyotes howling outside my window at 3am, I was in awe. But, when they woke me again at 5:30am, I thought to myself “Jesus, coyotes, it’s just the freakin’ moon. Give it a rest”.
  • When deciding which retreat to sit, there is usually at least one teacher that is the main attraction for me. In this case, it was Sylvia. But, as always, there were no duds, all the teachers add their own hearts to the mix. But, often there is a pleasant surprise, a teacher who I fall a little in love with. For this retreat, it was  Heather Martin. She didn’t  look like the typical Spirit Rock teacher, who tends to look a bit earthy, or at the very least, psychotherapist-y.  Heather looked like the prototypical middle-aged English Rose. But, she was delightfully honest, funny and very wise. I would love to sit another retreat with her.

I think that’s all I want to say about it. It’s funny, at previous retreats, my narrator seems to be ever present, and I tend to instantly translate all my experiences into stories. This time, she was notably absent, and my retreat journal, which is normally voluminous, was quite brief this time.  Which isn’t great for my writing aspirations, but I think it’s good progress towards my deeper aspiration to greet each present moment, no matter what it brings, as a friend.

May you be happy and peaceful
May you be safe and protected
May you healthy and strong
May you live with ease.

The Point Richmond turkeys


I wonder if the turkeys are going to come by today.  Even though they’ve been coming by two, maybe three times a week for the last three months, I still get excited whenever I see them.  I start talking in that tone of voice I reserve for kittens or puppies and can never just say the word “turkey” once.  It has to be “hi turkey turkey turkey!”  Yes, apparently being in the presence of poultry makes me act like a damn fool.

No one knows where these birds suddenly came from.  All I know is that the week after I got back from my retreat at Spirit Rock, which also hosts a flock of turkeys, these turkeys showed up in the lot behind my house.  Since where I live in no way resembles the peaceful, idyllic hills of Spirit Rock, I was so thrilled to at least have my own flock of turkeys.  And to further add to the appeal of these wild creatures, the flock of a dozen or so also included some baby turkeys, which I later learned are called poults.   They’ve grown up quickly, those poults, now I can barely distinguish them from the rest of the flock.

I’ve heard turkeys can become quite a nuisance in some neighborhoods.  I can understand that, especially neighborhoods where a well-tended lush lawn is valued.  But, that’s not the case here in Point Richmond.  This older, hilly neighborhood does not have a lot of lawns for them to tear up though I’m not sure how they feel about other kinds of landscaping.  They will always be welcome in the large hilly lot behind my house though.  At one point an ambitious/greedy developer bought that lot and had plans for a large apartment complex.  He got as far as building a huge concrete foundation and then ran out of money and then he was foreclosed upon.  It’s the most perplexing structure.  The boyfriend, who is a builder himself, is likewise baffled about what was going to built upon that unusual foundation.  I like to call it the Stonehenge of Point Richmond.  So, once again, that lot becomes open space, a perfect place for a flock of turkeys to hang out.

But, they’re not much for just hanging out, those turkeys.  They are quite focused, constantly pecking and digging for food.  To encourage them, the boyfriend scatters birdseed behind my house and it does appear these huge birds do like the same seed I feed to dainty little songbirds.  I’ll see them for about a half an hour outside the back of my house then they move along.  I’ve spotted them on the other side of town walking down the middle of the street as if they owned it.  After sitting for a minute or two waiting for them to cross, I gave my horn a gentle tap to encourage them to scatter.  Another neighbor a few blocks away said they wandered through a party she was having in backyard.

I think these turkeys were wise to choose our little community for their new home.  Every year on Thanksgiving morning, there is the tradition of the Point Richmond Turkey Shoot.  Fortunately, there are no guns involved, just bad poetry, our City Councilman’s goats and Wild Turkey whiskey.  Perhaps this year we find some way to incorporate and honor and new neighbors into the annual ritual.  That would be a nice way to officially welcome them.  We’re friendly like that.