Buried treasure: The Thought Birds

I am tired. I am busy. I have sick kiddies, again. It's moon time. It's raining....

For all these reasons and the fact that I have a dozen drafts that I can't knock into shape, instead I am unearthing buried treasure from the Dreaming Aloud archives to share with you... This is one of my favourite posts...ever... I only wish I'd kept it to submit to Tiny Buddha!

Sending you LOVE for Valentines Day. 

Image: www.dipity.com

Sometimes we get our knickers in a knot about our thoughts. They seem to fly round and around. We are told to control them by the self help movement. They're only thoughts, so stop thinking them.

But what if you can't?

Because what if YOU are not thinking them?

What if they are not YOUR thoughts?

Listening to Byron Katie's Loving What Is (of which I have mixed opinions), and she says. You can't stop thinking your thoughts... they come to you, you do not create them, nor can you stop thinking. Your choice is not to attach to them.

Buddhist thinkers including Thich Nhat Hanh talk of thoughts as like clouds, floating over the clear sky of the mind. We need to not focus on them, or attach to them, simply observe as they float by.

But like much in Buddhist thought I find this too bland and beautiful an image for my jingly, jangly, chattering mind.

And then it came to me.

They are not clouds, calm and serene. They are birds. The thought birds. Flying over, squawking and chattering to each other. Migrating to warmer climes. There, on the chimney of my mind, they alight to refuel from my brain juice.  The collective unconscious becoming manifest within the consciousness of an individual. And so I feed them with my own life force. They are wild things and soon ready to fly on, sustained for their journey to another soul. But I, being human, seek to hold on to them, imprisoning them in my head.  I put them in cages in the zoo of my mind. See, people, these are MY thoughts, look at them all here on display. And so they sit and pine, their heads droop, and so does mine as the task for caring them all overwhelms me. I am tired and sad from being their keeper. Their colours fade. They begin to bang their heads on the walls of my mind. Let me out, let me out! The noise of the rattling cages is overwhelming. I become angry, depressed.

But wait. The answer is simple. Open the doors of the cages and let them fly free. The thought birds are wild creatures. They are not my burden. Let them fly free. To visit another soul with their messages, to sing in another ear. Let them fly free. Welcome them to stop by for a moment, then watch them fly free.