Today several Bald Eagles swept in from the West. Riding the wind, they paused on the edge of the bench. Eyeing me while riding the currents, they danced, pitched and rolled. Soaring mere feet from the edge of the cliff, I heard the sound of air under their wings. I could not look away.
They were so close, I felt if only I might catch the slightest stirrings from their wings, touching their feathers, I'd know in an instant the gentle wisdom of the highest spiritual creatures in Native American lore.
When I lifted my hands, they vanished.
Gone as soon as they'd appeared. Still the moment remains.
Reminding me that sometimes wisdom cannot be caught. I've heard it said, the sage know that enlightment sometimes arrives when we are not reaching, but when we are content to remain still. Merely being open to its arrival, sometimes that gift arrives only when we are patient enough to let it come to us.
And so I wait. For the Eagles return.
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