Little things, big lessons.

Just a few moments ago, I went out into the yard to smoke a cigarette. While I was standing there, I noticed a pair of Cardinals a small distance off. One of them was laying on its side and the other was standing next to it. At first I thought nothing of it, and then realized that the one laying on its side was dead. The one still standing must have become aware of me being there, for it suddenly flew onto the top of the fence, just a few feet off. In some way I felt as though I was intruding, so I stood there perfectly still. I watched them both with an air of solemnity, not wanting to disturb the other bird in its rite or ritual. I couldn't help but wondered to myself if these were the same two that I have seen chasing each other around the yard for the that couple of days, the one (which I can't but help believe is the one still holding on to its life) always pursuing the other, who was frantically attempting to get away while tweeting with passionate vehemency and vigor. While watching the two in their chase, I often wanted to catch the pursuer and punish it for torturing the other, but always decided against since I could not be sure if it was all really a game, the two birds just indulging in their avian fun. Now, I was quite sure that the one had killed the other. I watched the survivor land on top of the deceased, and at first I thought it must be claiming its kill or something (kind of like how when you watch an old gladiator movie the winner will place his foot on the dead mans chest, or a big game hunter will position himself in the same poise over his kill), and I was utterly disgusted. The act reminded me of all the base and beastly acts we humans inflicted upon one another. It's not bad enough to have just beaten your opponent, but then we feel we have to embarass them also, and it saddened me to think that it wasn't just humans who behave this way but all of nature. Here stood the bird gloating over its trophy. But then something positively amazing happened. I was so caught up in what I perceived as a killing and the survivors relishment, that it hadn't dawn on me that maybe the other bird had just died of natural causes. Then living Cardinal hopped off the deceased and stood next to it. This is when I noticed a piece of leaf hanging from the mouth of the living bird. I thought to myself, 'The living one's trying to feed the dead one, to help it, to invigorate it.', and then I watched it drop the leaf three times, hoping the other one would catch it in its mouth. Man, was the moment heavy, and boy, did I feel stupid. I couldn't help but feel so sorry for the living one, abandoned in this the big backyard of existance, perhaps its only friend laying dead at its feet. They may have been brothers, and who knows how deep a birds wound is felt. We humans seem to believe that we're the only conscious beings in this world, we believe we are the only ones to grieve our dead, but the longer I live the more our fellow species proves to me that this attitude is absolutely egocentric, disturbingly conceited, and abhorrently ignorant. Some could say that the dumb bird wasn't even aware that its friend was dead and that just shows how different and stupid they are as compared to humans, but my rebuttal would be, "Who hasn't witnessed a mother trying to resurrect her recently perished son who's laying on a sidewalk, or a doctor attempting to revive a corpse even though there really isn't any hope, the brain and body long dead." The point isn't whether the bird was aware that the other had died or not, it's the fact that it tried to help it and not just fly away unconcerned. I feel truly blessed that I was allowed such a phenomenal glimpse into the soul of all consciousness.