Birds Being Birds. Humans Being Humans.

We are all marching towards release

This morning, walking away from the shoreline, my back turned towards the generous sea, I rounded the corner and happened upon a bird pharoahing along the grassy edge of the parking lot between the ocean and a handful of cars. The sky was clouded over, Molokini at the horizon enshrined in ghostly haze.

This bird at the shore, usually unnoticed, delighted me out of slumber, and a hairline crack formed in the dull glaze that encases one moment and the next. The sun gilded the perimeter of the clouds.

I couldn’t name this bird if my life depended on it. Its legs bent pencils, its darting body swift, built for living in the gap of receding waves.

“Birds being birds,” the thought unbidden flickered through. A feeling rang like a bell and left its wake of sound. Suddenly uncovered, there was this knowing about the nature of things, about being beyond separation, about freedom from doubt. A koan spontaneously unwrapping into its tender center.

“Humans being humans,” came on its heels, pulled along by an invisible red string of truth. Nothing wrong, just nature, humans pecking at doubt and desire like seeds of grass at the edge of the lot, spying separation out of one eye, and freedom out the other. This is how it is for us, what needs to be known, the work that needs to be done.

Humans being humans, birds being birds, one and the same yet easily mistaken for different. Dancing on our spindly legs through the fields of this world, scampering in the tide, surviving just so. The endless journey playing out towards release.

*******

If you enjoyed this piece, please clap. To read other pieces go to https://medium.com/@abmartin. Follow me for more…