by Al Drinkle
Prior to a recent vacation, I set up an email auto-response that referenced a poem by Wang An-Shih called "Here at River-Serene". Most resonant for me is the closing thought of this almost 1000-year-old poem wherein he states, "birds seen become thoughts felt".
It's a brilliant synopsis of how delightfully impressionable a peaceful mind can be. When one is relaxed and immersed in idyllic surroundings, far away from the chaos of quotidian life (or perhaps under the influence of psychedelic drugs!), the stirring of nature is benign stimulation. And what better emblem for psychological freedom than the flight of birds? From the soaring of eagles to the levitation of hummingbirds, they inspire us by occupying a sub-celestial realm that we cannot. At our most receptive, our imaginations emulate their heights achieved as we pursue a sense of serenity akin to their grace. "Birds seen become thoughts felt"... it’s nice.
Late one evening while enjoying said vacation, I was on the balcony of my hotel room in a village on the southern coast of Crete. I had been reading in the twilight until dusk was subsumed by the night, having consumed a fair amount of the local wine. Not to be discouraged by the paucity of light, I poured myself a generous glass of raki and let my mind wander as unseen waves broke upon the shore. Just then, a bat flapped past the balcony.
Ever seen a bat fly? I love those creatures, but they're neither graceful nor elegant. They almost seem to stumble through the air, flitting ineffectually like wasted, leather butterflies. I took another hit of raki and smiled to myself, "bats seen become thoughts felt". If so, then drunk thoughts! The bat passed by again and I heard somebody laughing—it was me, marking the time to leave the night to my winged spiritual kin, and to go to bed like a responsible grownup.
