This mind likes the sounds of the day. The birds chirping in the distance have been exceptionally kind today. There is a crow outside the window somewhere high up on a branch cawing every now and then yet being mindful of this strange silence. The lady cooking in the kitchen drops a few vessels. A common ringtone emanates from a mobile phone. A street hawker passes by calling out his wares. Amidst all the sounds of the unfolding day, the silence that is growing inside shows tremendous perseverance, leaving one with absolutely no choice in this matter.

The occasional honking from the streets below is hardly a deterrent. The soft cooing of a pigeon perched somewhere on my rooftop heightens my senses. The flutter of wings, the sudden gush of breeze, the gentle rustle of leaves — these everyday sounds tell a truth that hardly reaches human ears.

There is an intensity about which one cannot speak. It is here NOW! This energy! I’m not sure if it is inside me or if it still outside. One feels a strange child-like awe. What is this thing?

“What are you?” I ask reluctantly, fearing that I might make it stop or that it might go away. What if it hurts me physically?! This ‘me’ is afraid. I’m not sure what this energy wants or whether it wants. It seems to prefer stillness and silence. This energy has brought with it the gift of ‘Great Peace’.

It is evening. There is a different quality to this energy now. The breeze outside the window is light and easy. If one strains to listen, there is a faint song playing somewhere in the distance.

The bird calls get closer and louder. Once again the mind is grateful to the birds, the breeze and the everyday sounds.

This energy has pushed me out of my own being. It has invaded me, conquered me and surrendered me to the feathered beings outside my window. This energy has no teaching or message, no matter how hard I try to listen for one. Instead like a dear and gentle friend it engulfs me and indulges me in quiet celebration.

This mind now awaits the sounds of the night.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.