Sunday, 19 May 2013

Laughing Dove

An example of the Mask of God manifesting in a strange and beautiful way is the pair of young Laughing Doves that has been sharing our bit of landbase for the past couple of months.

As you all know, we already share this portion of Earth with two energetic and devoted PitBulls, who exhibit their essential PitBull-ness on occasion by catching and killing any bird silly enough to strut on the ground too close to them.

Scylla, in particular, abhors flying things, and won't have them in her territory - never mind inside the house. Taranis has been known to kill a Hadeda Ibis and then eat the beak. Please look at the beak on a Hadeda when you next encounter one.

Yet these two Little Ones regularly walk casually into the kitchen when the back door is open, sit in Scylla's food bowl, and scratch around in the soil just centimeters from Taranis' nose. The dogs make absolutely no effort to chase them, letting them do whatever the hell they want wherever they want.

I find this mysterious and lovely.

Just as mysterious and not so lovely are the other-dimensional activities which have been going on inside the house ever since we bought it - ten years ago now - involving missing keys, Mag lights and sundry auto parts.

Now, I'll admit that a lot of this could just be two people who are a touch negligent about putting things down and remembering where. Except that, while Warren does tend to be this kind of person, I most certainly am not. I'm a little OC about knowing where stuff is at all times. So when things go missing and turn up in plain sight a couple of days later, it's a bit strange.

As an example, Warren misplaced his bright yellow Bic lighter a week or so ago. Since I'm in charge of the laundry, I would be the one expected to retrieve it from whatever washed-and-ironed pocket it had buried itself in.

But this wasn't happening, so Warren bought himself a new lighter.

This morning, I see the lighter sitting in full view on top of an employee timesheet Warren keeps for his casual hired man, Alex. Sitting on top of these sheets, very visibly on the study desk. The same desk I had dusted and polished the day before. A bright yellow lighter would not have escaped my notice then - especially as we had been on the lookout for it for some days.

Both Warren and I,as has become commonplace, assumed that the other had found it.
When both of us denied responsibility for turning the damned thing up, we agreed, sighing, that we had "faerie" activity once more in the house.

It's nothing more than a little annoying, and frankly, it serves to keep both our minds open to the possibility that what we register with our senses is often not all that is going on.

Like those Laughing Doves, walking safe and unharmed in PitBull territory.

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