Nest of Blue Bird
With the creak of the dawn, the little gray bird opened its
eyes. He was standing in the ruin, which was his nest last night. The storm in
the night has taken it away. He was painstakingly building it, straw by straw;
the blue bird he met, made him dream of the Eden he heard about. She made a
silent promise, – a promise no one saw and she never spoke about. But he knew,
he felt in the air, as she flew off. And he started building the nest; but now
it’s gone. Is it never to be? Is it what everyone said – he is jinxed?
He remembered what his friend the little ant taught him –
when he was trying to carry the grain of sugar to his nest. He remembered, he
knew, – he has to build it. The breeze bought a smell; he knew it. She is
around. He can’t see her – he need not see. He knows! A drop of dew dropped on
his forehead, and he remembered a kiss. A dead leave flew and hung from one of
the twigs of his nest. The winter is coming.
He thought of the promises he has made; he knew she will be
waiting for the day; the day when she comes out of the fog, the day she wipes
of the tears from her eyes for good and takes the flight to his dreams. He has
promised the warmth of a nest that will guard her from the spikes of the cold
winter gales. He has lots of work to do; build the nest, build up the stocks
and have all that she knows as her. He keeps flying down for the right twig,
the right straw and the right glitter. The sweat glistening, wings tired.
Tired? No, it’s just getting the right exercise to make them strong; strong
enough to carry her to the nest. He knows she is coming. The fog will lift; the
clouds will part – at least once, for just enough time, for her to see that the
way to her promised nest, the nest she has dreamt and deserves.
When I tried to find the answer to Phoenix’s plight to
death, and failed, some came forward to give consolation; some even extended
the had of compassion; but did I get the right answer? One thing is for sure –
he is destined to burn to death and be born again. No, death is never painless
– it either pains the one who dies, or those who are close to the person dying.
But if he is reborn again, then there must be a reason. What puzzled me was,
what can be a reason that he has to keep coming back? Can’t he do a thing right,
so that he can die in peace?
The answer that emerged from my heart – faults are always
there; pains exist throughout the world. And people are afraid of accepting
those faults and pains. They are afraid of accepting that they themselves might
be the reason for their pains. He sees all around him to be in pain, and knows
that even if he burns down to death he will be coming back. So when they say
that it is he for whom all the pains exist, he takes them on his fiery red
shoulders. Collecting all those pains and faults and misery he flies to his
pier of death. On his way he makes sure that his tears heals all those he
loved, and sits on the fiery pier to burn, burn all those he carried on his
shoulders, taking them too the land of death, and come back again to those he
loved. Ready with another life to soothe and give all he promised.
Its version – it does not exist in any myth or mythology.
Not in one I am aware of. I simply know that the Phoenix dies and is reborn
again; not for himself but for those he loves, again and again and again.