The other day I woke up in a bad mood. I looked out the window and saw a tiny green bird. My bad mood vanished because of that.
Later on the thought occurred: “three things were needed for that to happen. First, the bird was there; second I have learnt to look at birds; third, whether by practice or grace, I was able to let go enough of whatever I was clinging on to that I could really see this one.”
And I thought that all the things I’ve thought about doing with my life have been related to one of those three.
F (ilGeco) said,
January 21, 2008 at 1:23 am
this morning, while I was going back home, a bird flew in front of my scooter for a while. a sparrow, a female. then she landed at a crossing and I stopped as well. we looked at each other. and then we went. it was 4 o’clock in the morning. unusual time. watching her flying in front of me gave me some relief. I smiled. I breathed. for a while.
my bad mood didn’t go. when I woke up, after very few hours, my bad mood was still there. but that relief had been precious, and magic.
and remembering of it through your little story is another relief. it makes me think that I know I will, quietly, keep searching.
see you soon
farandfew said,
February 4, 2008 at 9:26 am
see you soon.
So much time I spent in Oxford streets looking for sparrows at 4 o’clock in the morning, and so much of that time I was thinking either of my bed waiting for me, or of my data clocking up. And I will be thinking this morning of similar things. Sitting meditation this morning, and sounding the bell for an empty room and a wooden Buddha, I could see it again, a painful sort of question. There is a point where I lose track of things; watching my breath it is as if it dives, like a train through a tunnel. I don’t know what is happening in those moments. And, losing track of my breath, I can go anywhere – my mind is carreid off over the landscape in unwinding spirals and only much later, I see it emerge somewhere after who knows how many ups and downs. My mood has changed and I don’t know why. Perhaps, in fact, it is me who is underground. But it’s certain that moments pour through thicker than starlings at evening.
And so when I’m getting up to leave and I ask myself why, I feel uneasy because I do not know. Things change hands in carriages in the tunnels. The passengers I thought I knew in daylight engage in unknown negotiations and liaisons and dramas.