When we are alone on a starlit night, when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment when they are really children, when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet, Basho, we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash - at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, all these provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.
A wee child toddling in a wonder world.... I prefer to their dogma my excursions into the natural gardens where the voice of the Great Spirit is heard in the twittering of birds, the rippling of mighty waters, and the sweet breathing of flowers. If this is Paganism, then at present, at least, I am a Pagan.
Bicycling is the nearest approximation I know to the flight of birds. The airplane simply carries a man on its back like an obedient Pegasus; it gives him no wings of his own.
__Louis J. Helle, Jr., Spring in Washington
Did you ever see an unhappy horse? Did you ever see bird that had the blues? One reason why birds and horses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses.
Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there, I do not sleep; I am in a thousand winds that blow; I am the diamond glints on snow; I am sunlight on ripened grain; I am the gentle autumn rain; When you awaken in the morning's hush; I am the swift, uplifting rush; Of quiet birds in circling flight; I am the soft starlight at night; Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I do not die;
__Mary Elizabeth Frye; - I Did Not Die