On a day of particularly painful anxiety, I decided to write out these feelings in the theme of hope instead of despair. The people close to me in my life who have helped me represent the wisdom in this story.
There once was a little bird that couldn’t stop shaking.
This little bird was born into a loving nest, lucky to have her mother and father bird love her very much. As chicks, her sister and brother had so much fun with her, learning to fly around all the trees in the forest and picking out berries to throw at each other.
The little bird was a little different from a good amount of other birds her age – she would shake constantly, but the other birds wouldn’t notice if you didn’t look carefully. If you looked at her wings, you could see the trembling.
The little bird also had a soft voice that shook, too, which she worried about all of the time. Her mind didn’t tremble with her opinions and ideas, but she couldn’t seem to connect the dots. A lot of other birds saw her as shy, or worse -- weak. When the other little birds were learning their morning songs together, she would go to the side and sing to herself.
She wasn’t the fastest bird or the sleekest. She loved flying, but she found herself getting lost a lot or flying higher in the clouds than a lot of the other birds, away from them. The clouds were peaceful, and they didn’t remind her of how she should eat less worms in the morning. The clouds made her feel smart because she made sure to learn every kind there was and which ones were safe to fly through.
She grew up and it got worse; the comparisons she made in her mind. Every bird she met got to have their own pro-and-con chart in her mind. Sometimes the shaking would be so bad that she noticed it in her claws.
She lived a full life, though, thanks to the birds that loved her, and because of that, her voice became stronger. It became so strong that sometimes she had the courage to sing in the morning light. But she still felt best to do it by herself, which, she learned, is okay, too.
She became even better at flying to new places. She still wasn’t the fastest, but she was so good at finding old, abandoned nests or berries that hardly anyone saw before.
One day, she discovered an opening above a ledge on the side of a hill that she hadn’t seen before. She flew in and walked through the cavernous entrance.
The tunnel was dark and echoey, but she kept walking. The dripping water beginning to crawl into her mind. Her trembling was now something that most other birds would feel in this scenario.
She saw a light a little up ahead. Pressing onward, she came to an old, wizened vulture. A small fire lit the vulture’s beak, with black eyes glistening madly.
“Oh, oh I’m sorry,” said the little bird.
“Why are you saying sorry?” the vulture asked, voice matronly and low.
“I didn’t mean to encroach on your home,” said the little bird.
“And how would you have known that? I made no effort to show this was my home,” said the vulture. “Do not readily give out apologies.”
“Oh… Okay,” the little bird said, surprised at the vulture’s calm tone.
“Why are you here?” the vulture asked.
“I was exploring. I like flying to new places.”
“You shake so much for such a bold adventurer,” the vulture said, lowering her head towards the little bird.
“I get nervous a lot.”
“What for?”
“For everything,” the little bird said. A slight tone of annoyance in the words, she was tired of saying it over and over again.
“I know how that feels,” said the vulture. “That’s why I like this cave.”
“You… You don’t just stay here, do you?” the little bird asked.
The vulture cocked her head to the side.
“We must all interact with others,” she said. “Of course I go outside. But I can see the same trembling heart in you that I have in me. Remember to rest. Remember to let your mind be blank and dark and warm like this cave from time to time.”
“But I can’t do that,” said the little bird. “I can never stop thinking.”
“It’s not stopping thinking, it’s allowing your mind to have a break,” said the vulture. “We birds live perilous lives if we fly beyond the forest. But it’s worth it to try. So remember, as you fly, as you find more vultures in caves, remember to return to your place of rest to find your inner blankness. Your inner peace.”
“That’s what I would love to do but I don’t know how. How did you do it?” asked the little bird.
“It doesn’t matter,” said the vulture and the fire was beginning to dim, along with the light outside of the tunnel. “You have to find that for yourself. Just believe that you can.”
With that, the vulture turned away and walked into the darkness of then tunnel, the fire simmering to a dull glow.
The little bird walked back onto the ledge, the sunset lighting a hazy purple sky. The breeze felt nice as it ruffled her feathers gently. She could smell the flowers dotting the side of the hill.
In that moment, she forgot to check to see if her wings were shaking and began to fly home for the evening.
