This morning a bird flew into my house. I didn’t see how it came in, but I saw it struggling to get out. It wasn’t just an ordinary bird it was a Haardidaar. This huge bird was in my little house. The glass doors to the lounge garden were closed, and it was banging its head against the glass again and again. I was terrified and delighted. I was delighted to see it, but terrified it would hurt itself. Can you imagine hitting what must seem like an invisible force field and you’re a bird who is used to freedom and open spaces. The poor thing must have been completely freaked out. I admit to being a little freaked out, myself. I mean, it was in front of the glass door. How was I going to get to the glass door to open it? I had no choice. I couldn’t leave it there banging its head.
I went to open the door for it but as I approached it flew back into the house and into a beam and it fell. I feared a concussion, but then it saw the open doors from the hallway and it flew out. I was breathless. It didn’t displace anything, or break anything. It had pooped on the ottoman and on the floor. I immediately took that to be a good omen, even a blessing.
I love Haardidaars. They are huge and beautiful and regal, and I love that they come to my garden and feed for ages digging their beaks into the grass, and they drink from my pool. I’m always excited to see them. I always greet them and tell them how honoured I am that they have come, and that they are welcome. It’s a little crazy, I know. I’m a little crazy. What can I say? I’ve often thought about the separation of spaces. They walk around the garden, the come close to the open doors, but they never come in. It has often struck me that this is the unspoken agreement between birds and humans. However, this separation was challenged. Simunye, we are one the Haardidaar and I. That’s because of love.
A friend of mine told me that when a bird flew into his house it meant some encounter with the law, and not a pleasant one. It was a sign of trouble. My cousin is Makosi, a Sangoma, so I called her. She said it didn’t mean anything. I told her about my friend, and she said that it means that for him, but it means nothing for me. She said forget it; clean up the poop and forget it. So I cleaned up the poop and I sort of forgot it for a while, and then I saw two Haardidaars in the garden this afternoon as usual, and it came back to me. They were not the Haardidaar of this morning. They are younger looking and slightly smaller, not as magestic.
It’s funny, isn’t it, how whatever one wants to believe, one can find verification for it? That’s a wonderful thing, I think.
I looked it up online – a bird in the house. There are assorted views. The first opinion on the list said that a bird in the house is a good omen. I wonder if such a big bird is not, then, an omen of enormous good.
Another opinion is that it means death. Whose death, or the death of what? Surely, not my death. Well, if it’s my death I have no fear. I go out happy, fulfilled and feeling good about life. What is death, after all? We don’t know. It could be a promotion. But then, I like it here on this earth, in this life. I don’t want to die. I reject that one.
One of the opinions said that a loved one who has passed away comes to visit in the form of a bird. If that’s true, it’s my Mum. It would be her style to come as large, beautiful and regal as a Haardidaar. My Mum wouldn’t come as a pigeon or a weaver.
Naturally, I reject the opinions that say bad luck because that doesn’t suit me at all. I whole-heartedly accept the ones that say good fortune. I’m naturally inclined to believe the ones that say good fortune. Why wouldn’t I believe those? Why would I want to believe anything different? I suppose I could accept that it means nothing, but that would be prosaic. I embrace the romance of mythology.
In truth? I feel privileged that a Haardidaar wondered into my house. Who has that happen to them? No one. Me!
A Haardidaar flew into my house. Now that is extremely Groovy!