Birds Get Stuck, Flap & Fly

It may sound ridiculous to attribute a pigeon rescue in the Columbus Circle subway escalator to my T’ai Chi Chih practice and to “Bird Flaps Its Wings.” Yet, I am convinced it led to the bird’s escape and safety.

I had been practicing Seijaku regularly since attending the Boulder conference and the TCC and Seijaku versions of “Bird” were becoming vexing. I couldn’t get my students to shift from their t’an tien. I couldn’t convey that they were holding themselves back or that they needed to trust more. I was developing a hang up about “Bird.”

When I started practicing it on my own, birds began coming into my life. My oldest cat was having a hard time with his kidneys and needing daily hydration. He was like a bird, a light, ethereal creature that could leap to high places and take a bird’s eye view of the household. As he lost weight, he sat with the plants, looking to the sky, as though he would soon become one with it. Pigeons started visiting him, and it was a nice gift for Cyrus during his last month of life.

The slow part of coming back to polarity in “Bird,” where we again allow the t’an tien to straighten the legs (so no muscular effort from the legs), also felt like a losing battle to teach. Over Labor Day weekend I took a floor barre class to get out of the apartment. A substitute teacher reminded me that I had gotten too complacent with the class. Taking a different path home led to my bird encounter.

As I ascended the escalator (like the part in “Bird” where we let go quickly), I heard an awful banging sound and saw a pigeon mesmerized by panoramic windows. He was hitting his head, repeatedly, trying to get out. He didn’t have the sense to turn around to fly up and out.

I didn’t even think about not helping. I felt the stillness inside me and asked some young people working nearby to help. Although they said no to my pleas, I left my bags with them and climbed over a bar to the window ledge where the bird was stuck.

I felt perfectly balanced and safe as I walked the ledge towards the still-banging bird. It’s a busy subway station and people were riding up the escalator. One guy called me a crazy lady and I replied that I was no birdbrain and was perfectly safe. Although a lot of people witnessed this, I let go of them and focused on the task at hand. I asked people on the down escalator to wave their hands upwards (so the bird would fly away). Yet much like teaching TCC, the one lady who did it motioned the bird to go down. I almost laughed. That’s when I had to find my center and take on the task fully despite everyone milling around. It took moving further along the ledge, following the bird and swinging my pocketbook (using just my wrists and hands of course) to get the pigeon to go with the flow. It worked.

A guy from my Buddhist organization, the only happy face I saw out there, rode up the escalator to meet me and shared that people were scared seeing my pigeon rescue. I appreciated it yet told him I was perfectly balanced, that it wasn’t a big deal for someone who practices TCC.

This to say that perspective makes a big difference. The adventure with the bird freed me up a lot and now my students are doing “Bird Flaps Its Wings” a lot better. I have a feeling that Justin made “Bird” a preliminary movement because he felt how freeing and topsy-turvy it was to take that bold leap forward so soon after Rocking Motion. I noticed a Midtown pigeon walking up some steps recently and couldn’t believe how spindly its legs were compared to its body. Yet it was graceful; it accomplished the climb elegantly.

Sometimes our legs get in the way of us moving. Justin, ever Zen-like, took this koan on immediately, before we ever get to yinning and yanging. I wonder if it has to do with joy. I was all joy on my perch helping that bird. Peter noticed it when I returned home.

Since joy is such an integral part of TCC, I am certain that despite the hustle and bustle of Columbus Circle, I was doing my best. Two weeks after the pigeon caper, Cyrus succumbed to his advanced kidney disease. It wasn’t easy saying goodbye, yet I understood he was ready to spread his wings and fly. May he rest in peace.