The Morning When the Birds Fell Off the Sky

Something profound happened this morning.

But first let me say this, after almost four years I’ve been living here in Osaka, I hardly see road kill of wildlife (or domestic pets) as compared to Southeast Asian countries like Thailand, Malaysia, Laos, or Myanmar.

Once I saw a cat, probably a stray got run over by some vehicle and was left on the roadside near Hanakawa shrine. 

Then there was a weasel, an animal I never saw in any city street, but there are quite a few populated areas here especially by the Yodogawa river. This guy also got run over by a smaller vehicle in the alleyway next to the playground on a rainy morning. I still remember the faint pool of blood that was mixed with the rainwater, not much of it so I guess maybe it was a bicycle, not a car. 

Then there was a dead Chihuahua floating face down on the river bed one winter. It was a rare find, but there he was. 

Oh, and there was a head of a cat randomly found on the sand at the river, and countless mutilated ducks (not at one time) scattered around the river banks, now that I recall. 

Come to think of it, being in Osaka is like living a full HD experience inside a National Geographic channel in the city, free of a monthly charge.

Then this morning, a bright sunshine day after two days straight of continuous rain, and we were all excited to soak up the warmth of the morning sun. Wallie and I were on the way out for our walk at 6.30, and as we were about to turn the corner of our building to the walkway that leads to the front gate, we heard a loud noise. It was a painful sound of an object hitting a hard surface, so hard that it later made a heavy thump when it hit the concrete floor.

Right there at that moment, Wallie barked. He was alarmed, I was too, but then what we saw when we got there was worse.

A pigeon, on the ground with eyes wide open in terror or pain, I wasn’t sure. Then there was a bright red, thick blood seeping out from behind his head in a slow motion like in the scene we see in the movies when the culprit finally got shot in the head by the police and the director wants to communicate a clear message to us that he is very dead let’s make no mistake about that. 

My first thought was how thankful I am for not turning the corner a second too soon, or I would have witnessed this entire horrible accident. And I thank Wallie for not barking any more than that first one in order for me to keep my cool. He circled carefully around the bird but not too close, while I froze in fright.

I didn’t want him to hurt, but I knew he did.

I didn’t want him to suffer, but he probably still was as I stood there observing his slow, possibly painful passing.

And there was absolutely nothing I could do to obliterate his pain or turn back time to undo his death, no matter how desperately I wished for it.

Reminder one: Death (and all things that happen in time) is irrevocable. 

I thanked him for not showing any kind of struggle or painful attempt to fight for his own life, or my heart would break even more than I could cope with at that time of an early, hopeful, sunshine morning.

I was mad at humanity for always having a way to sabotage nature; like putting a concrete jungle everywhere, and this bird somehow didn’t realize that it was something he shouldn’t fly into so fast, the same way he flew in and out of a shrub.

I stood there investigating the scene, feeling the rage at us humans for building this concrete monster I actually live in. 

Bad thoughts had crept up as the blood continued to seep out. I sent the bird my metta, a loving kindness thought, hoping it would rest in peace. All of this happened in seconds before we proceeded to our usual morning.

Life goes on. Things arise only to pass away. 

I am thankful to all my Great Teachers for pointing me in the way to the path of Dhamma — the law of nature. Without the understanding of this simple concept, yet at times so difficult to grasp, I wouldn’t know how to navigate through life this blissfully in the midst of all the sufferings we face throughout an entire lifetime.

Especially now than ever, in the madness of the world we live in.

As we made our way back home, there was another freshly dead bird; this time, it was a tiny sparrow. His death was quick and painless — I hope, as he was crushed by what seemed like a bicycle, all gutted out but the head was fully intact. 

I was brave enough to stop and take a picture of him. I stood there sending metta for a few seconds, and we moved on, as this time was a lot easier than the first because of a few seconds of awareness earlier at the scene of the pigeon. I was conscious of the ultimate truth — life goes on as it is in spite of anything we can, or cannot do.

Emotions arise and pass away; sadness, pain, anger, joy, love, anything-it comes and it goes. We pass it by, notice it, then put it down. Let it go, and we move on. 

Everything about anything is impermanent; there’s no point in trying to cling or be averse to the passing of impermanence. It passes so fast that it becomes nothingness. 

If we can see this, we will see the transitoriness of life, and we will be grateful for the time we’ve already been given in this present moment. 

Life isn’t short if we don’t waste time clinging to it. There is an extraordinary surge of peace and contentment in my chest every time I come to this understanding.

It takes a lot for an animal that lives mostly off the ground to fall down to its painful death, especially two of them in the same morning. If it’s not a deliberate lesson given to me to learn from, then what is it? 

I feel privileged to have witnessed something so rare, with as much impact as it did break my heart. 

These two birds were my teachers, they granted me a brief moment to connect with my consciousness. 

Taking a look at these gruesome pictures of death now is like a kind of exposure therapy. I used to be so terrified of the sight of anything dead; a dead animal, a dead body, a pool of blood at an accident scene, a coffin, a funeral — all things about death, but now it doesn’t overpower my emotions. 

This is one of the reasons why I knew there must be a meaning for me to find. A light that will lead me out of the darkness of the unknown I was in. I am forever grateful to Dhamma; the meaning, the purpose, the blissful hope of my life (and all the previous ones).

I hope you all have a good day.