‘Be, be who you are, sing it out!’ tweeted the little bird, warbling its sweet song, ‘For we are all nearly dead.’
That is what caught my attention.
‘ Enjoy,’ it sang on, ‘of life, of being alive, of enjoying life as it comes.’
It comes along, this that I wasn’t expecting, couldn’t have imagine. It came along and I had to learn to accept. That was the rub. Though I could try not to, could grumble, could crumble into tears, could shout loudly for it to go away, could even fall to the hard ground, cutting my knees and plead, plead to the skies. But no – this, this thing called life will not go away.
‘But I have imagined it so differently,’ I moan to the little bird, shitting from above on high. I imagined myself so long ago into this life. It was not this and it was controlled, easy. It was after the ‘and they lived happily ever after’, that was where I was heading to. I am the story, but I yearn for after the end.
‘But how can you be so naïve you humans?’ asked my feathered friend, ‘How can you be so blind to the Truth?’
The Truth of What?
‘Of happening, of arising, of passing away? Humankind can bear so little…’
I imagine a life, an age, a year, a season, a month, a week, a day, a second, a billionth of a second, 13 billionths of a second, an exploding universe, an imploding star.
‘Life is what Life is!’ tweeted the little bird, ‘Not what you imagine it to be,’ and then flew away.