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| wikimedia commons, rene boulay |
She studied the stretch of land between the sea and the swamp. With careful her strides, she turned towards a grove of reeds in the swamp.
The flamingo had decided to stay here, among the ferns and trees, the sand and rocks, the mud and beetles. She had remained when the flock left. She had known, when it happened, that her leaders were wrong to go. Besides, she liked the other denizens of the isthmus, the turtles, the alligators, the fish, and the flies. She enjoyed the drama of the marshlands and, on the other side of the land, the calm rhythms of the sea.
"Good morning," said another flamingo. This one and a few others had returned a few days ago when the flock had broken up, dispersed by a storm.
She nodded to her friend. Although her friend preferred the sea, she herself felt drawn to the marshes this morning, so she didn't change course. Her friend followed.
"You have your mystical power today," remarked her friend. Flamingos knew there were souls among them for whom life was different. They didn't always follow the flock and could go their own way. Now her remaining compatriots from her old colony regarded her as one of those. She had known the flock leaders were shepherding the rest into a storm. To her, it had been obvious.
At the time, unfortunately, she had found it hard to describe. The change in the sea waves, the way the wind swept north, how the dragonflies stopped darting, where the small flowers closed, and where the bigger and sturdier tree flowers angled to their boughs, all these things added up. No single, particular thing meant a storm was coming from the west. But when they were understood together, these things let her know.
She walked her usual path for a moment but she stopped. The alligator who liked resting on this muddy bank had adopted his fear pose. Her friend started to pass behind the alligator.
"No, wait," she said.
A moment later, the alligator pushed off the bank. In the dark water, he met a shadow. The two reptiles burst to the surface. They wrestled for a moment, reasserting the boundaries of their territories, reminding each other of their strength. To them it was a dangerous ritual but a normal one. For any other animal caught in the roil of the waters, it would have meant injury and death.
"Oh my," said her friend.
"It's fine now." She resumed her walk along the marshy shore. Nervously, her friend followed.
At the edge of the marsh, she stopped to nibble the bracken. She picked up a few seeds. She put a claw into the water and dipped in her beak to gather algae and snails. A snapping turtle backed up to watch her. On the other side of the patch of reeds, the terns moved to give her room.
"You have a mystical power," her friend announced. "The turtles feel it, even the alligators."
She thought this was nonsense. Her friend was not observing well, or she was interpreting events according to what she wanted to believe.
"The turtles felt me observing them," she began.
"Tell me more of your mystical power."
She closed her mouth for a moment and stilled her breathing.
"I will try to explain things." She stood, quiet and calm, for a while. Her friend fidgeted. "After a long time in contemplation, I realized I can detach myself from what I wish to be true. I can release myself from desires."
"Is that a power?"
"Perhaps not. The detachment is natural. But the consequences may seem powerful to you." She was sure everyone had the potential to release themselves from desires. "With detachment comes a sort of inner peace. The yearning part of your mind becomes quiet and doesn't interfere with the rest."
"That doesn't sound like a power." Her friend gazed around at the reeds, the flies, and the turtles. But then she said something perceptive. "Our leaders flew into a storm because they had the idea they should. You knew they were wrong."
"Yes. They followed their desires." This was the part she hoped her friend could see. "They remained attached to the ideas they had formed many days earlier."
"You knew better."
"Observing carefully is a sort of power. You can cultivate the skill of releasing yourself from ideas of how the world should be. You can see a little better about things as they are. You can know there will be a storm."
"That's not enough," announced her friend. "You can do more. I don't want detachment. I want your power to know things. I want the other animals to bow to my presence."
"They do no such thing for me," she replied.
"Well, they seem to do what you want them to do. It's the same thing."
Her friend had observed that she didn't want the animals around her to be other than they were. But she had mistaken the animals being that way as something they did for her. That made no sense. The plants and animals did not behave as she demanded. Instead, she had merely recognized other creatures for what they were.
When she was at her best, she observed what other animals wanted and needed, nothing more.
"You want power," she mused. "And I think I could give you better peace of spirit, better presence of mind, and more loving interactions with the world."
"Those are not enough."
"Those things seem small to you." She shook herself and resumed walking. "But the problem lies in your wanting. Even a small achievement would need to start with your detachment from wanting power."
She realized that her friend, and perhaps all the other flamingos, did not really seek any form of enlightenment. They wanted power. With a deep breath, she gazed across the reeds. She observed the turtles, the tadpoles, and the flies. Her feet took her farther, where her heart directed, and she wandered along the edge of the swamp.
Eventually, her friend grew tired of walking beside her in silence. She wandered away, back towards the sea.
