It was another inspirational day today and a quiet one this morning in the city on this last long weekend before the cold sets in. It was even a bit eery not hearing the usual rush hour hum from the highway and constant construction clatter that comprise my daily tapestry of sound.
Like many aspects of our lives, it is the absence of something that we notice as we become numb to its presence. The void left behind creates a vacuum which needs to filled and if we are not conscious of that fact, what replaces what has left can be worse than the loss of what was.
Luckily, the emptiness left by the habitual noise was filled with silence. And in that silence came a sense of calm, room and air to breath, and a glimpse of what a sane pace of life feels like until…
…the air show at the CNE (Canadian National Exhibition) kicked in.
Now how is one to hear a duck approaching with the roar of fighter jets doing loops overhead?
My own thoughts were getting hoarse trying to speak to me above the engine blasts. It’s difficult enough hearing if the Ducks Are Quacking while my regular brain chatter invades my head space let alone a crazy decibel downpour from the sky. I was forced to wait until the windows stopped rattling before Lola, my sensory endowed poodle, could perk her ears in the direction of webbed footsteps beating the pavement.
Whoops. I take that back. I would NOT wait. I almost violated my own Womanifesto there. Phew! I would enjoy a nice a refreshing and delicious glass of fruit-infused water (or two) and a paradigm shifting book until the show ended.
As I became engrossed in the writings of Napolean Hill, the engine assisted aerial performers seemed to slip into another dimension…or was it I who tapped into a parallel universe— a universe where Earth was pristine, intact, and peaceful, where people pushed around wheel barrows filled with gold.
This new universe sat on the edge of a portal to the reality happening before my eyes where gold existed as well but not in the abundance and brilliance I could see within. The slight of hand by whoever created these two realities is that the portal is a one-way entrance to riches while simultaneously being a one-exit from the illusion of riches.
The road map to said riches lay in my hands with an arrow shaped by the Woman Not Waiting version of Napolean Hill’s words pointing straight up at me:
“More gold has been mined from eggs of ducks than Gaia herself.”
At that moment the jet engines stopped and I could hear a steady sound coming from my bathroom. I looked over at it and the door was shut. How strange? I don’t remember closing it, but I sometimes do to keep Lola from sneaking in there and decorating the floor with toilet paper confetti.
“Yes. That must be it”, I told myself, but I could have sworn I heard the shower going and I know I would not have left that wasting. So I decided to investigate.
I approached the door and paused to listen. What I heard sounded like…sing-quacking?
“Qua Qua Quack Quack. Qua qua qua qua quack quack…”
I creaked open the door and peeked around the corner and sure enough there was a duck, wing up high, scrubbing her wingpit with a loufah and literally singing in the rain. She was wearing a pink polka dot shower cap, facing the shower head, and lathering herself up with my soap.
With her tail feathers to me and the echo of her serenade in the stall, she was unaware of Lola and I spying on her. Covered in suds, she flew up to the nozzle and turned on the shower. A relative of the Enviroduck, I presumed. At least I wouldn’t be Cleaning Up the Duck Guck after this one.
Once she had washed all the suds off she flew back up, turned off the shower and reached for the squeegee, still quacking as if no one was watching. She started with the tiles then worked her way around the shower clockwise until she reached the glass door where she froze face-to-face with us and turned orange. She then quacked loudly once, dropped the squeegee, and covered her breasts with her wings.
The shock startled the golden egg right out of her.
A staring contest ensued with me just as shocked as she was until she wiggled the water off her feathers, pulled back her shoulders, and stood up tall. Slowly her colour returned to its normal yellow and she was happily quacking away again. When she finished her number, she pushed the glass door open, bowed, scurried out the bathroom, and waddled right out the front door, blowing a raspberry at Lola as she took off in flight.
However, someone was still singing in the shower. I squinted at the golden egg on the tiles and saw it wiggle in pace with a tune I had sealed in a dusty corner of my mind many years ago. This duck had found it, had dug it up, and had brought it forward. No wonder she needed a shower.
I picked up the egg and proceeded to dry it off with a towel when a duck genie appeared with a keyboard, guitar, sheet music, and lyrics and handed them to me. She pointed to the top sheet. I read the title.
“The Table” written and arranged by Musiduck.
Whoosh! My mind flew to the Bahamas.
I stood on stage, shaking in front of a crowd, terrified that all the years of people telling me I had no talent was true. Just like Musiduck in my shower, I froze when I saw the eyes watching me, then as I slowly relaxed and realized no one was booing, I was right back alone in my shower.
Musiduck came here to remind me of the courage it took and that the courage is still within me.
Geez! If I could do that for a frackin’ Sandals talent show T-shirt, just imagine what I can do for something life altering like say…leading, inspiring, and challenging humanity to embrace their roles as Stewards? I could even be Quacking The Red Carpet to bring awareness to a broader audience through film.
What are you willing to brave for YOUR dreams?
“Quack like no one is watching”.
