The Messenger

Writing is magic. A few magical signs drawn on a piece of paper create an image or a whole story in our mind and might even let us have a body sensation. This is true magic.

David Abram once wrote that there is no difference between the indigenous Navajo listening to a rock and us reading a written story.

Today I encountered this little bird. Curious he was looking at me instead of flying away.

Maybe he was telling me something in a language I cannot understand anymore. Maybe I have forgotten its words and symbols.

Maybe it was in a different life, that I would remember it in an instant and its magic would have been as real as words on a paper.

So today I met this little messenger.

Was he bringing me a message from a long-lost lover? He was waiting there for me knowing that I am drawn deep into the indigenous part of the forest. Something is pulling me there, to this place at the bubbling stream under the ancient trees. Something feels as if I have been here before, long before I was born into this present world.

I have been here before when I was hunting buck. I was looking for its tiny footprints in the soft earth at the edge of the water.

I cannot forget that I saw you when I was looking up.

Beautiful bright patches of light were moving on your brown skin. As our eyes met, you were caught, unable to run away.

I am drawn forever to the place where I met you for the first time. I wish I could understand the birds message. But I know it is a message of unending love.