Chant of the Wind
A bird, lost in the skies, has always wondered if there is something beyond its identity. The burden of identity has weakened its wings to the point of disease. Suddenly, a rush of adrenaline covers body. It is the wind. She twists in hope to become free. She had thought that freedom meant being able to fly… Ironically, that which was meant to help her was against her. Why did the wind turn against her? Was it because she flew too far from her nest? Was it because she was too old?
Was it time to…
A gasp of celestial mist
oversees our fleeting actions,
firefly dust, . twinkling of pathways,
patterns of memories that press against each other
declare the truth of their reality:
a clock pointing toward the east,
tuning back, running in circles,
finding no trails, going west,
turning back, running in circles,
finding itself trapped within the compass
of a broken path.
Upon this realization,
- - - - - -> an expansive awareness, mist, shoots a sunrise
out of its smile.
No more limits exist
between the wind
and our voice:
a lub
declares our
existence;
a dub
expands our
experience,
a heart
in balance
.
I lay in the grass,
a rainbow pearl reflecting a miniature galaxy,
a timelessness held together by the superficial tension of the ego,
a tension that wishes to touch the other as himself,
so I do;
so
we
do:
we embrace the sunrisen mist;
as we do
we lose our feathers;
as we reflect our experience through cloudy waves
we release the universe of our existence;
as we let go of our cocoon
we become the chant of the wind.
Was that her death? Would a loss of identity mean the end of her consciousness? She did not know, but she had let herself go. The wind had taken her wings as its own. The division between herself and the wind had dissolved in a moment of extraordinary uncertainty. Not knowing, yet experiencing a kind of wisdom that cannot be measured. The bird was cured because she realized the answer was a question. The awe of an experience that allowed her for the first time to feel herself as truly free beyond assumptions. She had never understood the reason for her existence until that moment when the wind sang into the depth of her cosmos. It was not about the afterlife, but about the delicacy and ecstatic beauty that surrounded her all the time. She realized that death did not mean the end of being part of such delicacy. She was intrinsically united to that ecstatic beauty, the wind’s sunrisen chant. The invisible she had ignored, but remained always present chanting:
The answer was not given, but gaps of silence gave the space to say it all. Silence speaks beneath our acoustic range. It also speaks beneath the apparent when we become silence itself. Did you hear the silence? Search beneath the loop, and tell me… What did you find? Is the answer boundless creativity? Is it something immensely giving like unconditional love? Is there nothing to find? Perhaps… If you didn’t find anything, then there is nothing. If you found something, is it because I gave you a clue? In the same way, how can you find something beneath yourself if you haven’t been hinted that there is something greater within yourself than your layers of identity? Even after finding the answer, you might feel that you have really found nothing at all. Do not worry! The answer is not that fundamental. Rather, after observing oneself beyond identity, there is an essence, an emanating freedom, that remains. Likewise, the bird was not able to describe her experience to others. Her change was silent, but liberating. Despite her silence, it is said that her essence can be found in musty but dusty books. It is also said that those who can see her essence in one of those books is about to be embraced by the wind’s chant.
