More Awakenings
The Birds That Would Not Fly A bright little bird convinces the flock it's impossible to fly. Thinking jams the machinery. Awareness sets them free.
Peepers Behind The Wall The key to happiness is living your true nature. Here a hundred peepers show how this is done.
The Rabit Crossing A rabbit anxious to get someplace discovers he's already here. An Enchanted Log Story, this fable opens our eyes to the uses of stillness.
The Birds That Would Not Fly 
by Pinkerton Little
High atop a maple in a grove lived three tiny robins in a nest. So alike were they, you could hardly tell one from the other. One however, was a bright little bird. “A real thinker,” said Mother Robin. “Smart as a whip,” agreed Father.
Now mother bird had warned the three: “Sit still in your nest and be careful! An egg once fell to the ground and broke.”
All day long they sat still as can be. This gave the thinker plenty of time to think. Long he thought on the egg that fell. “Why did it fall,” he wondered? Finally he puzzled it out: “There was nothing there to hold it up!”
This frightened the bird, and the more he thought, the more frightened he grew. He warned his brothers: “There’s nothing to hold us up either,” and clearly there was nothing there. “Surely,” concluded the bright little bird, “it's impossible to fly.”
On Mother’s return, the little birds were in distress. “What’ the matter,” she asked?
“The egg, Mama," chirped the bright bird, "I know why it fell! There was nothing to hold it up.” “There’s nothing to hold us up either,” said a brother. “It’s impossible to fly,” concluded the third. “He’s right,” gasped Mother Robin. “It's impossible to fly!”
She cried the alarm to father bird perched on a nearby limb. Knowing his son was smart as a whip, Father Robin did not doubt this. He chirped the news to a nearby wren who spread the alarm to the whole wren flock. Soon frantic chirps went from wrens to sparrows, bluebirds and doves: “There’s nothing to hold us up,” they cried, “It’s impossible to fly!” The birds swooped down to the safety of limbs and one by one, all stop flying.
The sky emptied; the grove filled. Dusk came. Darkness fell, and worrying birds perched wakeful into the night.
Toward dawn a windstorm came that tossed them from their perches. Fearful, their wings trembled, and lo and behold, the trembling brought flight. Fly they did in spite of themselves, even bright little bird and his scrawny brothers. Fly they did in one giant flock: swirling, swaying and swooping in darkness.
Dawn brought calm and the birds circled in graceful flight. They were happy now – happy and free. So happy were they that they rose up higher than ever before. Up, up to the heavens they soared and disappeared out of sight.
o - o - o
Peepers Behind The Wall
Peepers Behind The Wall - All can realize their true nature: their full potential.
There might have been a hundred of them! They were lean and green as peepers are and they hopped about as peepers do, yet there was something odd about these peepers. These peepers did not “peep.” They were as silent as the willow; silent as the wall around the meadow where they lived.
A pond lay beyond the wall, but the peepers did not know this. All they’d seen of water was raindrops from the sky.
One peeper however, had a dream of swimming. When he looked at his lean long legs he could almost feel a glide. On rainy nights he’d stay up late and listen to the drops with dreams of swimming.
One night from behind the wall he heard a “plunk” he’d never heard before. He wondered what could make this sound, and then he knew. A pool of water! Now he knew he had only to cross over to swim. Straight off he hopped to the wall and jumped, but though he jumped and jumped and jumped again, he could not cross it, and giving up, he went to sleep.
Next morning a bright idea dawned. He could jump higher if he made his legs stronger. He started right in with peepers on his back. Up and down he sprang with a load of two, and then three and four and five little peepers. Others laughed and teased him. They called him “Peeper-the-Leaper” and “Leaper-the-Peeper,” but he didn’t mind. He kept it up until he knew for sure he could cross the wall.
On jumping day, others came round. They saw him get ready. They saw him get set. They saw him go! Over the wall he soared in one great leap. Then a “plunk” was heard, and then a “splash,” and then a strange new sound - a surprising sound - a sharp, clear, high-pitched, glorious “PEEP!”
Now peepers are born swimmers and swimming makes them “PEEP.” The sound made the others want to “PEEP,” and Peeper-the-Leaper was eager to help. He flew back across and showed them how it’s done. Soon every one: every last peeper was a leaper.
Back and forth they flew, jumping and swimming and swimming and peeping. All night long from meadow and pond came:
“PEEP.”
“PEEP.”
“PEEP-PEEP.”
“PEEP.”
“PEEP-PEEP-PEEP.”
“PEEP-PEEP-PEEP.”
“PEEP-PEEP.
“PEEP.”
The sound of peepers peeping could be heard for miles around. Listen well on a summer night and you can hear them still. There’s no time for sleeping when you could be peeping, and they peep to this very day.
o - o - o
The Rabbit Crossing
An Enchanted Log Story
by Pinkerton Little
Not too far from where we are now lies a forest. Deep within it long ago, a mighty oak tree fell. It left a clearing where sunlight penetrates the dense wood. In the center of the clearing lies the trunk of the great tree, hollowed with age. Forest animals know this place, for the log they say, is enchanted. From within comes a voice of wisdom. A brown rabbit once visited. Let me tell you his story.
He’d traveled far but had far to go when he came to a river. Its waters churned and crashed against rocks. Anxious to cross but unable, the rabbit hopped nervously about the bank.
A black bear happened by. “I need to cross,” said the rabbit. “I’m in a great hurry. How can I cross?”
“I’ll catapult you,” replied the bear. Bending low a pine he placed the rabbit on top and let go. Straight up flew the rabbit tumbling in circles, then straight down with a thud.
“Sorry,” said the bear. “Why not ask the log for help,” he suggested, lumbering off into the woods.
The rabbit had passed the clearing and knew of the magical voice. He took the bear’s advice, retraced his steps, hopped straight to the log, peered into the darkness and spoke.
“I must cross but the river is wild. I’m in a hurry. How can I cross?”
“Sit still and be quiet,” came the voice from the log.
“Sit still? Be quiet?” protested the rabbit. “What kind of answer is that?”
No other sound came and dismissing the words, the impatient rabbit returned to the river. A pale moon shone on the water that night, but he missed its beauty. Nor did he rest. Sunrise found him impatient as ever.
An eagle tried to help. Tearing bark from a tree he said: “Hold this in your teeth. I’ll take the other end and fly you over.”
“I’d be frightened,” complained the rabbit.
“If you’re frightened,” said the eagle, “signal me and I’ll return you to the bank.”
The rabbit bit hard on the bark and up they flew, but right away the frightened rabbit saw he had no signal. Whaaaaaaaat…?” he cried as he fell, landing on a rock in the swirling water. Hopping and flopping rock to rock, he barely escaped with his life.
Downhearted, he returned to the log. “I’m bruised and tired, and near despair. Please tell me how to cross over,” he begged.
“Sit still and be quiet,” echoed the voice.
So tired was the rabbit that this time he took the advice. Motionless on the bank he sat. Hours passed. Hours became days; days, weeks, still he sat. Birds flew above; insects lighted, but nothing disturbed his stillness.
Then from the stillness came sound: “Listen, Brown Rabbit,” murmured the water. “There’s much you have not heard.” And listen he did and heard the river’s song.
Then: “Look, Brown Rabbit. There’s much you have not seen.”
The rabbit looked and saw what he’d missed: a silver gleam on the water at dawn; a golden glow at sunset.
Then quieter still, the rabbit heard more. “Stay, Brown Rabbit. There’s much you do not know.”
The rabbit stayed and came to know. He came to know the river’s source in mountain snow, melting in spring. He came to know it grew shallower every day and soon he could easily cross. Strangely though, his hurry had ended. He’d stay on the bank and help others to cross.
And so Brown Rabbit became the river guide. His place on the bank: The Rabbit Crossing. Friends visited. He taught them to sit still and be quiet. Soon they too heard the endless sound – the river’s murmuring song.
o - o - o
