I sit in silent meditation and try to quiet my spirit, but some nameless

anxiety eats away at my small store of contentment and my mind grows weary

from far too many ideas running in circles. In desperation, I grab a

handful of peanuts in the shell and retreat to the front steps of my

studio. The liturgy of crushing the shell between my fingers, liberating

and savoring the nut, rescues me from endless thought peanut by peanut.  No

sooner do I throw the accumulated shells onto the lawn than a Scrub Jay

appears and begins to sort through the detritus to see if I have overlooked

nuts that might be gleaned.  Wanting to reward his hope, I throw a plump

peanut in his direction but my movement is too rapid and he retreats to a

safe distance, perches on the wall and studies me. He makes several brief

forays in the direction of the prize, but each time he decides I am a

threat and flies to a low branch on the Chinese Tallow Tree and takes stock

of the situation. He emits a couple of soft shrieks that I interpret as

signs of frustration but, evidently, they signal the need for

reinforcements because several minutes later two more Scrub Jays and a pair

of Stellar Jays —dark blue crests, gray upper, blue rump and

belly—appear out of nowhere. The result is a kind of wild Dionysian dance

in which there is much jumping about as both species of Jays strut around

showing great attitude and superior self-esteem.

I throw out several more peanuts each one a foot closer to where I am

sitting. The more reticent Stellar Jays fly near to the most distant nuts

and look in all directions before darting in and seizing them. The bolder

Scrub Jays edge ever nearer to me. It occurs to me that Master Jay has

become my Zen teacher and has instructed me to remain motionless, breath

softly and wait. My mind slows, the flow of ideas ebbs and I sink into a

timeless state in which the birds and I are alone in a cocoon of silence.

The quieter I grow the closer the Jays come. I trust that, in time, if I

become more practiced in the great art of silence, they will lose their

reticence and eat from my open hand.