A Moment's Pause

                    Do you spot the flock in this photo? Tap and zoom in

In a world whose new tapestry is a shrewdly-woven contexture of factual and virtual, concrete and digital, the feeling of constant bewilderment has become part of being human. Hitting one's head against a thousand mirrors at once and wondering which one is the real me, befits the reigning confusion centered around identity crisis. The mind reeling out of control with its volley of questions lands up hurtling against a wall of dissatisfied lame answers. "The world is too much with us," the famous poet William Wordsworth had once opined. Two centuries later, we pause to pose ourselves the million dollar question, "which world?" It is amidst such writhing turmoil that the being cries out, "Be with me, O Almighty! Help me through this chaotic stretch. Grant me a vision ... "

Like a fervent prayer, the  beseechment rises under a grey-bellied sky, solemn in its austerity. Empty eyes gobble up its indifference. Ears perk up as the cotton tree hisses, swaying violently to let the Spirit pass. And then, out of the heavy unrelenting gloom of the  firmament, It manifests: a flock of Great Frigatebirds flying above the gutted sag of cumulonimbus in an ever changing formation. Where did it come from, from which direction? How could its grand entrance escape my view? A hand raises itself to wave as it moves southward. Then, suddenly, it makes a tight u-turn to circle above the waving silhouette: lo, the Crown Chakra set in motion in the unfathomable zenith  ...a smile spreads across the being and lodges itself in the eyes alongside the leisurely gyrating of them frigatebirds. The formation changes to a grand V and then to a spiral..both hands go up to embrace this vision of Light and thank the Universe for such an unexpected rendez-vous. Capsuled somewhere within the senseless onrush of this newfangled existence, the primitive instinct persists to flow with the inner rhythms of Life and quiver like those restless pinions answering to a peremptory call. 

Someone comes up the steps..."it is your lucky day, I say. Look at that beauteous flock of birds," I invite the person to join me in this regalia.  

"Which flock?" A question is hurled into the space between us; a squint follows.

"I don't see any birds...just that one crow." But, I see it...until cocooned in timelessness, it vanishes under the hazy pall of clouds.