The Goose

The other day I dyed my hair with bright blue and purple feather highlights. It was my response to the national crisis of 9/11. The hard way of shopping arises from a mentality. At least I haven’t started overeating. Not yet, anyway. I love the hairstyle. I went to my friend’s office building to show him how crazy his friend was; to spread some joy on days so heavy and gloomy. I found more than I expected.

My friend’s office is located in Mercer Slough in a park-like setting. It’s secluded and quiet right on the southern edge of Washington’s second largest city. I parked my car and started to approach the big double glass doors of the office. There in the lobby was a huge live Canadian goose honking in front of me!

My focus fell on the center of my heart as I listened to her story. She was very talkative and had a lot to say. Her right wing was terribly deformed. She showed me her disability. When she spread her wings and flapped those huge feathered structures, her wings were normal. All of her feathers fell in a line and looked normal. But something was wrong. Right in the center section where the “V’s” of the wing, a large section had split in two. Her arm bone had snapped back somehow and this important part was left dangling at first, and now it had become firm but misshapen. It was shown when she closed her wings.

I didn’t say anything as I tried not to stare in mutilated fascination. You know we can’t look away from blind eyes. We want to see what a blind eye looks like. It’s a different color. Or how we want to look at the one who is tied to a wheelchair. We want to see what paralysis is like. Or how we are drawn to look at the bellies and buttocks of the obese. We are curious about what fat looks like. We do all 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 heartless human questions that we forget we must tame. We forget who is at the center of that distorted thought process. The Evil One is not the one who is not normal and does not fit in and is the least among us. We forget about this, often.

Either way. I look. I can’t help it. She’s still honking at a mile a minute. I find her beautiful. I’m curious because I can’t understand why I feel like this when I look at her. She is big. Too big to be female. She is dull in color. Gander geese are gray, brown, and dirty cream. Her bill is frankly incorrect. It’s too spread out on her face. And too thick. She just doesn’t need as much beak and mouth to eat grain and bugs or whatever the geese eat.

His eyes are black and bright. And then there’s the matter of her feet. Oh good grievance! Orange! And wide and WORD of all things. And those nails without manicure. The poor thing is a pigeon to boot. She stumbles as we walk together down the path to the main office. She has a good size chest. Her breasts are nice for presentation and posture. Her tail moves correctly. Her tail feathers curl at the ends and finish her off perfectly. But that mutilated and deformed wing is of all prominence. There is no way to cover it up or camouflage it. She is disabled. She can not fly.

That’s the summary. That’s what’s been yelling at me. You can’t join the others when they leave for the winter months. You’ll have to make Mercer Pond your home here among the water lilies and reeds. I pray for her out loud. Right there in the front doorway. I say: “May you be free from suffering, may you know your greatest peace.” She visibly relaxes. Her long thick neck lowers. I wonder if she is going to attack me or what. No, that’s not all.

He has bowed his head to receive my blessings. She tilts her head and motions for me to follow her. She starts talking about the streaks of blue dye in my hair. She has mistaken them for feathers. She thinks we could be birds of a feather for a season. That’s what she wants to talk to me about. She is taking me on a tour of her kingdom. She shows me that it is quite a safe and secluded area. She shows me the picnic bench in the back of the building near the swamp. There are leaning willows that caress us. She points out that they are a wonderful shelter from the rains. She introduces me to some of her cousins. I watch my step.

A couple of businessmen run out the side doors with their cell phones. We stand firm. The one is frankly hostile towards us. He is dismissive that I am praying and chatting with a silly goose. He openly dislikes the gander. He stops talking on his cell phone long enough to explain to me that this goose is confused and he doesn’t know that she doesn’t belong in his building or that close to them. She doesn’t know how to go to the bathroom either, he explains. I see my new friend reply. She is silent as a stone for him. Then she has a bowel movement all over the sidewalk and waddles on the grass. I like her. In fact, I think I love her. That is why she seems so beautiful and special to me, she is a creature of God and I love her. She is doing her best to make the most of the bad circumstances she has found herself in. Who couldn’t love her? I watch the suit go by and wonder what’s wrong with it. I think he is the disabled one among us. The gander honks in agreement. She loves me back.

I excuse myself and go in and visit my friend. He is a friend who brings me joy and cheers my spirit. I made him laugh today. He needed me. He left. The silly goose is waiting for me IN the lobby! She finishes her tour and invites me to join her for the season. She gently explained that I’m just not a goose goose and that I’m a different kind of bird of feather. I promise I will visit often and next time “WE WILL HAVE LUNCH”. I’ll try. Turns out she’s craving a mint mocha latte. I will remember that. It is a simple application for me to fill out. She walks me to my car.

I think it’s wonderful that he has come to terms with his environment. She will be fine and I suspect she will have the company of other kindred spirits when she returns for our next meeting. With her kind of spirit and personality, how could she avoid finding others with whom she shared herself?

FINAL