A Roadrunner On Buddhism

On sunny mornings as we approach winter, one roadrunner suns himself on our windowsill. He opens up his feathers, letting the warm sunlight come on in. He sits there with open feathers and a contented aspect, moving slowly as the sun moves slowly, for hours. When he leaves, he folds in his feathers, tucking in the warmth.

When you espy roadrunners, you often find them darting about. Did you know that they could also sit like Daoist sages? Did you know this? I didn’t.

Often, he’s only a few feet from me as I write. How quiet and content he is! I barely notice him!

(This morning it is cloudy and not seeing him, I can feel his absence. I wonder about him. I look over and still he’s not here.)

Years of meditation: what a generous teacher! Slowly, cockroaches, Black Widow spiders, carpenter beetles, and ants, even when they get inside the house, are lovely. They are like guests who, perhaps out of absentmindedness, mistakenly made a wrong turn. So easy it is now to greet them and to show them their way back home.

A roadrunner is no exception. He is a friend. And isn’t even the wandering mind one way that the Way plays? Even wandering mind is my friend!

When we wake up to the Way, we see that the sun has always been round, that we have always been home, and that, in the deepest possible sense, all beings have always been friends.