Across the street in the high branches I can see from a distance, a flock of eight or ten black birds moves in harmony from one unleafed tree to another. I don't know what kind of birds they are -- only that they are black and that I suspect they are the ones that periodically crap on my car.
But their movements are interesting. They fly from one tree to the next and, when they land, each one takes up a position looking in a different direction. They do not look directly at each other but rather look out in some direction that will detect any danger that might approach the group as a whole. In this way, my eyes become your eyes and your eyes become mine and we all take care of each other.
There is nothing forced or "good" about it. It is just the way things work best. I take care of you. You take care of me. But in truth there is no you and no me. There is just careful watching, sangha-fashion.