The Hummingbird

Are you that little hummingbird? The one with the hazel colored plumage and the energy of youth. Wouldn’t it be nice to know that when you shuffled off your mortal coil, your story was not yet done. Reincarnation, yes, surely that’s right, right? If not for you, then for me. So that when I find myself on a dusty path on a beautiful blue sky day , and up ahead I spot the captivating dance of a hummingbird sipping from the red and purple wildflowers, darting to and fro and in and out of the foliage around me, but never straying too far; can I assume that it’s you? Always moving forward, often times guiding, sometimes forging her own path. Yes that seems like you. Although the vessel that carries you has transformed, I have to believe I would still sense your soul.

Maybe you are you this sapling in the forest that sprouted up to greet the world in the exact spot where we left you. A sapling that you traded your life for—a sapling and the ecosystem full of harmony that it will usher in. You will be back with the Earth, where you will go through a never-ending cycle of feeding, and growing, and carrying, and nurturing, and decaying. I know I’d like that, but do you? Can you even still hear me? Perhaps next time the leaves start to shimmer and sway on a cool Autumn day, I'll trace my fingers across the gnarled bark of a growing valley oak and think of you. You must be in the forest right? I have to believe I would still sense your soul.

What a beautiful irony it would be if you find yourself you're enjoying what lies beyond the pearly gates of heaven. Perhaps the priests of the world were right; heaven is a place in the clouds above where you are greeted by a saintly figure. Perhaps the reverends of the world were right; heaven is surrounded by golden fencing that opens up to a world of dazzling white and friendly faces. Perhaps the Imams of the world were right; inside heaven lie gardens of pleasure and prosperity as far as the eye can see. I know you did not contemplate this as the answer, but surely we all could do worse. Would you still make time for us? Surely yes you would I have to believe I would still sense your soul.

Wouldn't it be nice if you have found yourself in a space of your architecture? Instead of St. Peter in the clouds with harps and halos, that your experience is bespoke. Perhaps you're playing Mahjong with Judge Judy on the background. You've surrounded yourself with art and color and the vibrant essence of a life yearning for brightness and joy. Perhaps chilled white wine and laughter pour into your cup and you have everything you need while you wait for the rest of us.

Are you surrounded by the dark? Perhaps, having ceased to exist, you will never exist again; the likeliest outcome of them all; an outcome both terrifying and tranquil. Perhaps that’s all you needed, and certainly what you deserve: tranquility. Peaceful, pain-free, and quiet. If this is the outcome, then I’m here writing not to you, but to me, and others like me.

For we find ourselves the lost souls wandering the depths of our memory for any glimpse of you. We look both internally and externally in an attempt to grasp the meaning of what transpired. Why you? No, that's not it. Why ME?

We are the ones who shoulder this burden shrouded in mystery; always contemplating , rationalizing, vindicating, justifying, meditating and musing. Always asking the question: where did you go? Perhaps one day we’ll meet again, and I can ask you at that time. But, for now, I’ll keep following this hummingbird as she dances from flower to flower.