Undulations

I saw a juvenile green woodpecker in my garden the other day. I was on the phone to my mum when I spotted it, so she (being more ornithologically knowledgeable than me) got a running commentary as I put her on speakerphone and grabbed my binoculars. She always has her bird book close at hand, and looked up woodpeckers as I described what I was seeing down at the end of the lawn, just in front of the trees. The description she read out for a young green woodpecker matched the feathered friend in my binoculars’ view, colours emerging on its plumage but not yet fully distinct. My mum continued to read, saying that the woodpecker had an “undulating flight” - and sure enough, just then the youngster took off, and undulated up to the hidden height of the beech tree.

Undulating: what a wonderful word. The sound of the word, its very feel, does the very thing that it names. (I had to check - onomatopoeia only relates to words that sound like the noise they denote, eg “splash”, not words that sound like the action they describe. There should be a word for it though.)

I often wish that my emotions just gently undulated, like the flight of the green woodpecker. All too often, they seem to soar and nosedive, an unpredictable wave upon wave that carries me along with it. It’s tiring to live that way; fabulous on the upswings and grim on the downswings. I know that when the moodswings get too exaggerated, that is one of the signs for me that pressure is starting to get to me. But even in a relatively healthy state, my emotions never fly straight and level for long. People comment quite often on how calm I seem, and once someone even described me as ”serene” - oh lovely thought! But inside it’s a right old rollercoaster much of the time.

The photo below is of a doodle in my journal written a few weeks ago when I was down in the dumps. I‘m an inveterate doodler, because my hands tend to fidget and need to be occupied, and my brain is usually running on several channels at once and doodling, weirdly, calms it down. So me doodling in a meeting is not inattentiveness, but actually helps me to concentrate. Well, most of the time...! And doodling in my journal is a way of processing stuff and letting my thoughts wander around and out onto the page, where sometimes they look like the messy tangle they are, but at other times they find a bit of order and coherence.

So the doodle below was on a low day, but actually took me to a more positive place. The words start with the “Why” on the outer edge and work inwards; I’ve reproduced them below for ease of reading. The shape has no particular significance beyond its - yes - undulations, and the colours are just because I like using lots of different coloured pens as I doodle (and especially the sorts of gel pens which you can erase as you go if you need to - I do like nice stationery!).

Why do I go up and down and in and out and round about instead of staying straight and level, finding my equilibrium and managing to balance on the beam of life?

I long for the level plane and smooth path, the mountains brought down and valleys raised up, for routes mapped out and steady progress marked by milestones along the way.

But even as I long, I know that such a road would have no view, no hitch of breath at splendour seen around a corner, no rush of downward swoop or sight of snowy mountain height.

A level life is safe and paced, predictably prepared; and oh, how boring that would be! No exploring to be done, no undiscovered territories to find, but only smooth, soft safeness.

The jagged rock that hurts me underfoot is twin to the granite peaks that invite my spirits upward, there to soar. The sinking downward spiral that sucks the joy from heart and guts can only come if I let the thermals lift me, first, up and up and up.

And ah! That high flight with birds and angels in realms of blue and gold is worth it all; that grace beneath, around, within, that fills and frees and speaks of heavens sensed, unseen.

PS: This doodle took me to a good place. But, honestly, I still love the times when the undulations are gentler and less dramatic, and I hope that as my health continues to improve I’ll spend more time on the sedate rise and fall of the gallopers at the fair, rather than the swings and swoops of the rollercoaster.

PPS: Am feeling very pleased to have written a blog containing the words “undulations” and “ornithologically”. Satisfying, somehow.

PPPS: Wish I had a photo of the young woodpecker too, but it was too far away and didn’t stay long enough. S/he was very fine.