I found a bird trapped in the concrete and glass stairwell of the parking deck the other day. It was a squat little cedar waxwing with a blunt orange beak. He was frantically trying to escape by slapping against the large panes of glass. Seeing me, he became even more panicky and nearly knocked himself out with a pounding rush against the hard glass surface. He flopped down on his side, but then quickly righted himself and sat on the ledge, somewhat stunned (little birdies circling around his dizzy noggin). He let me cup my hands over him and walk him out onto the open 4th floor deck. He sat on my finger like a pet parakeet, blinking stupidly, too disoriented to fly. Finally, after a minute, he recovered himself and made a short flight to the opposite side of the parking deck. Licking his wounds.

I think of all the other suffering things–the abused and starving creatures of the world, the tortured, the dying, the suffering. Dogs being beaten. Babies smothered. Murders. Stabbings. Primal hate. To take in all living things at once like this, to breathe them into you like oxygen and wrap your arms around the world is an act of profound sadness, I think. There is so much more suffering than happiness in this world. I forget that and think my life is somewhat normal. Getting through the day means forgetting about these things.

Now it is Friday. I have had a nap and an after school snack and a tinkle break and am now ready for the swirling, jangling weekend. Off to RVA tomorrow for the last day of the film festival and the Buddhafest on Sunday for some rockin’ meditation and sublime quietude.