One of the most inspiring stories I have ever heard is the Buddhist tale, The Little Bird. I have retold this tale in my book in progress, Journal Workbook for Finding Peace Within (It's a working title.). I have a question for anyone who would comment. Many tellings end with a god being moved to bring the rain by the little bird's actions. I removed "god" from this retelling. Do you think it is still warm with that caring consciousness when told this way? Click on "comments" below to share your view.
The Little Bird
Once there was a little bird whose nest was high in the treetops of a beautiful, living forest. On a clear, blue morning the little bird awoke to a sense of panic all around. The forest was on fire. Looking down, he saw his four-legged, six-legged, and many-legged friends running away from the flames. Looking up, he saw all the birds of the forest flying in fear in every direction.
The little bird flew high above the forest. He saw that the flames were coming much faster than many of his friends could flee. To the west was a river. Quick as he could, he went to retrieve water. “Come with me,” he cried to the other birds, who were flying away from the dangerous heat. “Help me put out this terrible fire. See how our friends are suffering below in the forest.” The little bird filled his beak and began to fly back to the fire.
“Turn around, little bird,” the other birds pleaded. “You are flying into harm’s way.”
The little bird shook his head. He flew so hard that his wings ached. Below him the fire licked the heels of a family of deer. He opened his beak and dropped the water. His beak was so small that the little drop of water it held fell glinting in the sunlight only to evaporate in the fire’s rising heat. The little bird did not notice. He was already half way back to the river.
This time, he filled his beak and dipped his feathers in the river. The water made his wings heavy, but he flew back to the forest where so many of his friends had no means of escape. He opened his beak and shook his wings. Still, not a drop reached the fire below. Back and forth the little bird flew from the river to the forest fire.
His wings were scorched, his eyes watered from the smoke, his muscles ached, and his tiny lungs burned. Now, standing alone at the river, he gathered the last of his strength to make the journey back to the fire. The little bird did not notice the rain clouds gathering behind him. This time, as the little bird flew, silently, rain clouds followed. And back at the forest, just as the little bird shook his wings over the fire, the clouds burst open, and it began to rain. Tiny drops from the little bird’s wings fell with giant raindrops from the life-saving clouds. Rivulets traveled sizzling down tree trunks, and rolled across the scorched forest floor extinguishing every spark of the forest fire.
The little bird flew into the cloud to see who had saved the forest. But the cloud was heavy; it was hard to see, and wherever he flew, it seemed it was he alone.
Bird photo by Rob Palmer.
