Three Turkeys and the Half Full Glass

I’m all soft and vulnerable from a three-day silent meditation retreat at Spirit Rock in Northern California. Yes, a Chatty Cathy like me enjoys the quiet. The not talking isn’t the hard part. It’s the sitting for long periods till your back throbs and your knees feel like door knobs. It’s the mind tripping that goes on, and the epiphany about oneself that’s pretty much guaranteed.  Those are the challenges. Sitting with yourself. Then comes the revelation - clarity. 

There are four wild turkeys that wander the hills at Spirit Rock, where golden-hued grasslands share a landscape with clusters of oak trees and ferns. My friend Konda, a teacher at Spirit Rock, reminds me that there are hundreds of these birds roaming around. In order to anthropomorphize them, I have decided that there are just four nervous ladies that hunt and peck their way across the land, like Gladys Kravitz in the 1960’s Bewitched television series. 

The retreatants are always delighted to see the turkeys, as if they’ve never witnessed wildlife before. After a few long days of meditation, everyone’s all waked up. Just the sight of these critters, these descendants of dinosaurs with their pretty red necks and shiny feathers, often make a meditator weep with joy and swear off the winged Thanksgiving tradition.

This time I saw only three turkeys, and I was concerned. Where was the fourth? Did a coyote get her? Sylvia, our amazing instructor/Jewish Buddhist grandma, worried about us hiking the hills where a mountain lion roamed, but that only one person has seen. Was that the big bird's fate? Was it old age? Every time I saw the trio strutting around or hurriedly crossing the walking path, I pondered and fretted.

On day three, as I prepared for reentry into the speaking world, up from the parking lot to my left swaggered the three turkeys. Then, to my right, appeared a group of five of these medium-sized birds. I let out a great sight of relief. Eight turkeys and apparently many more, if you ask Konda. What I had seen as the half empty glass was actually abundance.

I survived my scary diagnosis with optimism. While my chronic illness has changed my outlook, I still catch myself in the "what if” of worry. Is everybody like this? Sometimes optimistic, sometimes not? There’s something about bracing for the worst that makes one feel prepared, but I don’t want that world view.

That last day on retreat, the original gang of four turkeys were reunited on the path, yet one changed her mind and wandered away. She turned back alone and called out in a voice beautiful and unexpected. She continued on her own, but before I knew it, there they were. The four ladies, reunited, hunting and pecking until they disappeared from view into the tall grass on the hillside.