Death is My Teacher

On the morning of my birthday on May 6, 2020, I relaxed on the floor, engaged in my morning meditation and yoga practice, breathing in the cool spring air, and bathing in the delightful singing and chirping of the awakening birds just outside the open window.

Suddenly and abruptly there was a distressed bird chirping loudly that drew my attention and pierced through the calm of the moment. I tried to ignore the bird’s pleas by remaining focused on the floor with my eyes closed, but I couldn’t. I was being called to the window by this bird’s painful chirping to see for myself the source of the distress.

There it was, a beautiful little red, white and black bird, crying and struggling in the mouth of a big black crow. The bird’s gut wrenching pleas for help continued until suddenly there was an immense quiet. There was deafening silence.

And in this utter quiet the crow gracefully flew away with the silenced bird in its mouth.

Through my tears, a voice inside of me said, “I know of death. Death is my teacher.” And through the pain of the moment, I wept and smiled at the connectedness of joy, sorrow, life and death.