A psalm of geese
labours overland

cajoling each other
near half…

The din grew immense.
No need to look up.

All you had to do
was sit in the sound

and put it down
as best you could…

It’s not a lonesome sound
but a panic,

a calling out to the others
to see if they’re there;
~Dermot Healy from A Fool’s Errand

We are here to witness the creation and abet it.
We are here to notice each thing so each thing gets noticed.
Together we notice not only each mountain shadow
and each stone on the beach but, especially,
we notice the beautiful faces and complex natures of each other.
We are here to bring to consciousness the beauty and power
that are around us and to praise the people who are here with us.
We witness our generation and our times.
We watch the weather.
Otherwise, creation would be playing to an empty house.
~Annie Dillard from The Meaning of Life edited by David Friend

Over the past week, the cacophony from the constant calling of migrating geese has been deafening at times. They pass overhead by the hundreds on their way to their winter homes, sometimes landing in nearby harvested cornfields for a snack.

Soon they are on their way again. Their voices call out, commanding my full attention during the brief time they are here:
going home, going home, I am going home.

I can’t help but notice; they are calling out to anyone who will listen.

It reminds me of my past doctoring work in my clinic; at times I felt overwhelmed by the amount of “noticing” I needed to do as part of my job. Each patient – and there were so many – deserved my full attention for the few minutes we are together.

I would start my clinical evaluation the moment I walked into the exam room, taking in all the complex verbal and non-verbal clues sometimes offered by another human being.

How and why are they reaching out to me? What do they want and need me to notice and understand? I must listen carefully.

I become audience and a witness; even more, I must understand it in order to best assist them. I must rise to the occasion of taking in another person, offering them the gift of being noticed and being there for them, just them.

The doctoring work I did became its own kind of love: the patient became the entire focus for a few moments. I was grateful to be watching and listening.

As my patients called out to me, on their own life journey, may they never have felt they were playing to an empty house.