The Wisdom Of Geese - A Fable

Story Telling Introduction

I was very creative as a kid, but a seeming- lifetime of investment yields, business appraisals and executive reporting knocked it out of me.

During the winter before COVID existed, when I was newly divorced and had no dreams of coaching, I felt lost and alone in the world and so attempted my first silent meditation retreat in Kent with a good friend to see if I could find something of what I needed. 

I remember it vividly because I was hugely intimidated by the thought of silence (clearly not something that comes easily to me) but also because it had such a profound impact on my relationship with myself.  The weekend was littered with little ‘ah ha’ moments.

Whilst I was there, I wrote a short story after a very loud and rather embarrassing clash with a gaggle of geese at silly o’clock in the morning whilst everyone else was still asleep. I had completely forgotten all about this little fictionalised rant until I found it this morning.

Reading it back made me a bit emotional, because it seems clear to me that this was the moment I started my journey towards figuring out who I was and what I wanted.   And that in hindsight, though oblivious to it then, coaching people though their blocks and demons was a blindly obvious next step.

And so, dear reader, I thought I would bare my soul and share it with you in the hope it sparks some delight for the journey in you too.

Be kind; sharing things like this is never easy.

The Inner Wisdom of Geese – A Fable

I upset the geese. They know a tourist when they see one.

‘What are you looking at?’, they chatter, like a group of intimidating women, stopped for a brew and bemoan their partners, kids, aging and demanding parents.

‘I’m just here to see’, I say.  ‘That is all’.

‘Aren’t they all’, they cackle and call. ‘Troupes of city dwellers in their comfy jumpers and fancy biscuits. Shuffling around like emotional zombies in their ridiculous paid-for silence’.

‘I didn’t mean to offend’, I say. ‘I am seeking a new inner voice, the one I have and I don’t get on. I saw you and thought how much I would like some of this calm you have’.

The geese laugh at me.

‘Calm?!’, they shriek. ‘Calm?!’. I shift my weight in my discomfort.  ‘Calm is not on this pond. It is not on the wing. And it is certainly not in there with your vegan options and left-leaning politics!’

‘Well then, where?’, I enquire, a little bruised. ‘Please give me a clue’.

They spy me. They glance at each other. Some look at the sky as if suddenly a peculiarly shaped cloud interests them greatly, others stare at the stretched skin on their feet.

I feel the tension. I have overstepped the mark, gone too far, said too much, out-stayed my already strained welcome.

‘Sorry’, I mumble and start to edge back up the muddy slope, trainers wet, socks uncomfortable.

‘Wait’, they chant.

I glance over my shoulder. Their eyes are beady, deep and disconcerting. They are mocking me, I am sure.

‘Wait’, they say. ‘Why do you suppose we know the answer? We stand together, we look the same, we have our patterns and our paths. But what makes you think we know?’

I look at my nails, manicured for Christmas.  Glitter at odds with the natural tranquillity of the duck pond.

‘I suppose I saw that you were, and I trusted it’, I say.

They laugh at me again. How geese love to laugh.  A scripted chorus of spiteful cackles.

‘You ask us and make assumptions’, they say. ‘And that is ok. But it is your inner voice with whom you are at odds, that makes these assumptions for you’.

I blink. Their words settle on me thickly. Of course! ‘I am sorry’, I mumble again.

They shuffle, feathers are flapped, mud pushed down. 

‘We listen to our inner voice’, they say. ‘We trust his wisdom and his knowledge.  But we never trust his intention’.

‘His intention?’, I repeat. I realise I am beginning to come across simple minded.

‘Yes, his intention’, they squawk. Impatience is obvious in geese. ‘Because the truth is, no goose has calm, though he appears so with other geese.  If you listen to your inner voice with cynicism, the flock will never feel like home. Us geese know that however we feel, whatever we hear, we all have the same feelings and voices. We listen to it all, but we choose what to hear’.

I am confused. ‘You share an inner voice?!’, I ask.

‘We all do’, they say. ‘You just only hear your end of the conversation’.

I stand still for a moment. I feel the cold air bite my cheekbones.

They laugh at me again. They are cruel, I know.

I nod at them and make my way back inside to embrace my paid-for silence and nurse more fruit tea, contemplating my new knowledge.

I hear my inner voice, calming, soothing, mocking and playing tricks.

Oh inner voice, will we ever truly get on?