An eagle flies in a different world than mine, where he is king, or she is emperess. The arrogance with which he or she surveys his, or her domain is unmatched, unparalleled, and the eagle cares little, or in fact not at all, for borders, seasons, hunters or words.
What odd ants we must appear to be to these solitary masters, who fly into storms without any qualms, spotting prey fifty miles away and leaving the clucking and pecking to the nervous hens and pigeons.
This eagle, who cares for its young like no other except the wolf, who regenerates itself at about thirty years of age, going into a clifftop cave for about five months to pull out feathers no longer aerodynamic, and knock off beak, not before pulling off aged, degenerated talons, well, this eagle reappers after this retreat renewed, fresh, feathers fully-grown, ready to live life again – the eagle is the true phoenix, reinventing youthful grace and power, and can thus show us as much as any zen master or mountain shaman.
We must connect with nature. We too must find a hilltop in order to meditate, rejuvenare, and seek to soar once more; always.
only from the mountaintop
do the trees not block the view
bow, shaman, to your future