Listening to those Three Little Birds

In many ways, Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” must be one the simplest songs ever written. One repeated chorus, one repeated verse. 45 words. 3 simple chords. A pleasant reggae groove cycling over and over, driving home a simple message.

When I listen to this song, it carries me back to a Zen meditation center in Mountain View, CA.  Although I never once heard it there.

Two of the central ideas in Buddhist practice are those of ‘detachment’ and ‘presence.’  On the surface, these two terms seem to be at odds with each other – detachment indicating a separation from the world and presence referring to one’s immersion into it. But if you’ve had the opportunity to study this or related Eastern religions you come to understand the distinction: one detaches oneself from the illusory world in order to become more present in the actual world.

My mindset during my high school and college years was dominated by the ideas of science and rational thought. I planned to be a physicist and had little time for religion – let alone the (seemingly) more mystical Eastern ones. What little I’d heard about Buddhism led me to believe that it was founded upon the idea that the world was simply an illusion.  Science and illusion mix like oil and water, so that was all I needed to hear to shut the crack in my narrow mind for over a decade.

Years later, life events and a sequence of books led me a better appreciation of religion and in particular Zen Buddhism, which I actively explored for a few years. I also appreciate that the Eastern mode of communication tends to be much more subtle and laced with metaphor. In that sense, Three Little Birds could be viewed a simple Zen parable.

“Don’t worry about a thing.” In my interpretation, Buddha did not mean that the world is an insubstantial hologram or the product of some eternal dreamer. The illusion is the picture of the world and the world-to-be that we construct in our own heads in order to function in our daily lives. It’s all the labels and concepts that we create to describe the world, so that we can think, analyze, and plan in some orderly fashion. But all too often we become trapped by our own worldview, the world that we want, or more often, fear. Most of our worries are baseless in the actual world. It’s our visions – illusions – of what might go wrong that drive our fears. Though it’s not always the case, generally “every little thing” will be fine. And we’re much more likely to get ourselves to that point when we detach the baggage of fictional worries from our backs.

In the one repeated verse, Marley’s character stops to “smile with the rising sun,” and notices the little birds singing. This is presence. It’s the same sentiment expressed by “stop and smell the roses.” It is so easy to become entangled in the complexities of modern life that we can spend nearly all of it daydreaming.  Solving the most recent problem. Planning the next activity. Imagining the worst. Fantasizing about the best. All the while we miss the beauty of the world around us – the simple sounds, sights and smells that make it all worthwhile in the end.

Since my active Zen period I’ve been married, become a stepfather to two wonderful children, and had one of my own. It has been very difficult to keep up the practice and the mediation since taking on these new responsibilities. As a result, I feel less centered and more apt to fall back into old habits. More worry, less presence.

That’s why Three Little Birds is so important – in 45 simple words and three chords it reminds me to let go. And to wake up.