Susquehanna Meditations: Mourning Dove

Mourning Dove

Coo-ah, coo, coo, coo.

Did you hear it.  Shhhhhh.  Be quiet.  Listen.  

Each bird has its own song, even when some special birds, such as our Northern Mockingbird, have developed the talent to mimic the songs of other birds.

Listen. 

Coo-ah, coo, coo, coo.

The Mourning dove.  Mourning, rather than Morning. 

Soft, doleful, touching, tender.

So we name this grey bird after how it makes us feel.  

Likely as not, however, the Mourning Dove isn’t in mourning.  Does the dove even notice death when death happens to another dove?  Can we assume the dove is even conscious of being a dove? 

Coo-ah, coo, coo, coo.

Mourning is what we apply, what we attribute to the bird.   It says more about us. 

Our bird isn’t grieving.  Our bird is trying to attract a mate, it wants to breed.  Coo-ah, coo, coo, coo.  Bird coos also to warn others that this is my territory.  Instinct.  Not choice. 

Not sure our bird is capable of grief.  Unlike us.   Such is for us the price of self-consciousness.  The price of knowing we are we.  The price of choosing and being able to choose.  The price of being able to talk about talk.  The price of looking into a mirror and knowing that the image is us.  The price of counting time.  The price of watching time and marking the seasons that become the present memory of the past.  The price of being haunted by self-awareness.  The price of knowing we are alive.  Which is the price of knowing death.  The price of knowing there will be time when we are not.

Coo-ah, coo, coo, coo.