Monday, February 28, 2011

The Duck

I heard this story in 2007 and it often is what keeps me centered. My post yesterday was choppy, but that is what happens when you try to recreate the impossible. I think that I will be coming here more frequently to share thoughts to get them out. Anyway, I often refer to myself as a duck, and this is why.

Charles Garfield shared this story with me and it has great meaning to me. Some days I need to be reminded of it!
The Duck
Donald Babcock

Now we’re ready to look at something pretty special. It’s a duck, riding the ocean a hundred feet beyond the surf. No it isn’t a gull. A gull always has a raucous touch about him. This is some sort of duck, and he cuddles in the swells.

He isn’t cold, and he is thinking things over. There is a big heaving in the Atlantic, and he is a part of it.

He looks a bit like a mandarin, or the Lord Buddha meditating under the Bo tree.

But he has hardly enough above the eyes to be a philosopher. He has poise, however, which is what philosophers must have.

He can rest while the Atlantic heaves, because he rests in the Atlantic.

Probably he doesn’t know how large the ocean is. And neither do you. But he realizes it.

And what does he do, I ask you? He sits down in it! He reposes in the immediate as if it were infinity – which it is. He has made himself a part of the boundless by easing himself into just where it touches him.

I like the duck. He doesn’t know much, but he’s got religion

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