Listen to the Birds
The Sage and his companions went for a walk before dawn. There was a chill from the moisture hanging in the air. As the group made their way along the road their breath formed little wisps of smoke with each exhale, as though they were a small, silent train gliding through the woods.
Turning off the road, the Sage led them along a trail and finally to a small clearing. There were logs arranged in a circle and the Sage bade them sit down.
“Listen to the birds,” he instructed.
It wasn’t hard to do. All around them, birds cooed, chirped, whooped, and tweeted.
Some screeched, some warbled.
Some sang, some shouted.
Some told a story, others called a warning.
Some declared love, others mumbled depression.
Some told of their journeys elsewhere, others heralded their return home.
Some issued a call to prayer from the sky, others transacted business from the forest floor.
Some rallied others to defend their territories, others spoke peace at the water’s edge.
Some laughed, some cried.
Some demanded attention, others whispered alone.
Some shouted the world’s profanity, others chanted the temple’s incense.
The Sage and the companions sat for a long time in awe of what they heard.
“What do you think they’re saying?” asked one of the companions, suddenly. At once, the birds hushed and the world went quiet. The other companions glared at the questioner.
“Do not be angry with him,” the Sage said. “He was only asking what we were all thinking. And by asking, he got an answer.”
The companions were confused. “What answer?” they asked.
The Sage gestured for them to follow him back down the path. “They clearly told us it is not for us to know. Not all things exist for our involvement. Let’s just be grateful they let us listen as long as they did.”
And they walked down the silent path, in awe of a world that did not need them.
