The Green Eagle

Illustration by Abigail Loevy

Heart Chakra

Funny how little a bee can see, as it searches for pollen, as it lives without knees. Without problems, without pleas, it just flits about. Having sex with all flowers, enjoying life without doubt.

And then, there is me, and woe it to be. Walking and trudging and with two knobby knees. Wondering when the next pollen will show; are there flowers for me too? How many, do you know?

So I sit and I wait for the smell that’s just right. To remind me, hey you! your pollen is in sight!

Yet the smells come and go, and my heart says go left. So I turn and keep walking, and the waiting never ends.

One day, I was looking at the bees and the trees. I saw all the yellow and green in these. I thought, my! I haven’t looked at the forest this way. For some reason, my eyes often turned down towards the gravelly grey. 

Well, onwards and upwards, staying grounded is good. So I take off my shoes through squished mud and soft wood. I wonder if Mother Earth will relinquish, the smells that I long for, the flowers of abund…ish.

In my own heart and soul I keep searching and knocking, asking please tell me, what is it that I’m longing? What is it that will bring me back home to all love? To inherent and unconditional, soft joy, incredible dove? And with the thought of a flight, I look up to white light. And there, just above, flies a shadowy eagle heading right.

So I trip and I stumble, and I move through the brush. I untangle my path and press forward with a push. And there goes that eagle, not mine, yours, or his. Even the universe can only say that it is. I notice, while flying, through the crackling leaves, that the eagle is me and we are together in these. So I relax my head steady and I keep pressing on. And now and then we relax on a tree or a lawn. Sometimes I misjudge, and my eagle flies by. But, well, sometimes I catch that I judged and I owned, so I let go of both and eagle shows up right along. 

There he is flying, all sun and all focus. Heading directly towards whatever the motive. And under my feet, the Mother, the Child, play with twigs and muddy puddles, and fruits from the wild. With the two, yin and yang, I go past many shrubs. I see flowers a plenty and I dance with all love. I try to reach out, but they just wiz on past. I wonder if I’m not meant to have them? I ask. 

I look up towards the eagle and I see he’s turned green. I look down towards a purple-y earth with blue streams. It seems that despite all my separate thinking, the universe stayed complete, one single whole connected being. 

So flowers wiz by, but I smell them all the same. And Mother Earth and I laugh at this silly running game. Sometimes we let eagle fly on and we sit, to play and get dirty and giggle a bit. Sometimes I start running and I feel I can’t stop. I’ll run forever with all the energy I’ve got!

So the game keeps on going, and i wonder and such. I can’t say I don’t keep on falling and getting stuck. But it seems more and more that this pollen I long for, is already in my nostrils and in my grumbliest core. The abundance coats my heart and beats through veins with every pulse. And the wind moves through me and feeds me with a rush. We are we, there is no me, and behind all the thoughts, we all float with ease, and what we don’t need simply rots. 

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