Fables for Grown-Up Children

6. Duck

Duck had been spiritual long before Goat's awakening, but that didn't mean that she was at complete peace. Just don't go telling the other animals this fact about their guru.

She had unburdened herself of possessions, shrank her ego a healthy amount, and devoted her life to providing a compassionate shoulder--insofar as ducks have shoulders--to anyone that needed to talk about their problems. To keep her wisdom in tip-top shape, Duck had various rituals she performed each day.

Aquatic yoga at dawn.

Contemplating the interconnection between herself and all other living creatures over breakfast.

After that, emptying her mind of all thought as she stared alternately into the sky and the water.

When she finished that, Duck usually named things for which she was grateful. A visitor arriving around lunchtime might hear her voice in the marsh before they saw her: "Breezes! My green feathers! Ooh, the blue ones too! Friends! This morning's sunrise!"

Lunch involved particular attention to the sensory details of eating.

You get the idea. Duck was present to life and reverent of life. But underneath all of this--or perhaps over all of, but it's hard to tell--was a tortured question.

Is it enough?

And it applied to everything.

Do I practice yoga long enough?

Was my meditation deep enough? I remember it feeling more profound last week.

Am I grateful enough?

Was my counsel really helpful enough to solve that visitor's problem?

And this was the biggest one: How can I find enough time in the day to do better? To go longer? To be more?!

Duck had purity and discipline and generosity. But Duck never had as much time as she desired. If she thought about it enough, she started to feel like a fraud. Others came to her for advice, but she couldn't manage her day adequately?! The sun set too soon, always.

One evening, when the sun dipped low in the sky before Duck had done enough, she cried out from the depths of her soul for an answer that would give her peace, or help her find more time. Either would be welcome.

And wouldn't you know it, the next morning, while Duck was marveling at the interbeing of all of life, Pigeon showed up.

"Morning, Duck!"

"Greetings, Pigeon. This is an early visit."

"I know. I just came by to thank you. Our chat the other day has made me a free bird. And I wanted you to have my first bit of writing."

"That's very sweet, Pigeon."

Pigeon began to hand over a piece of paper, but thought better of it and retracted the slip. Creatures that write have a tendency to prattle on about what they want to write, or are writing, or have written, as if the written words will not stand on their own.

"I visited Goat yesterday," Pigeon began. "And when I got home I wrote a long essay about it. But early this morning I edited it, and once I had cut away all the fat, this was all that was left." Pigeon nervously extended the paper towards Duck.

The paper said: Enough is a decision.

Duck could scarcely believe it.

"Pigeon," she whispered. "I know you don't deliver Chirps anymore, but I suspect you are delivering messages of a different sort now."

"I have no idea what you're talking about...what do you think of the writing, though?" asked Pigeon. Creatures that write need constant reassurance.

"I think it's quacking brilliant," Duck announced. "You're a genius!"

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Pigeon, obviously craving more praise. "Maybe Goat is the genius. And certainly you are a genius, Duck."

"I'm not a genius, my friend, but I'm clever enough to know good writing when I see it. Thank you for this. It's just what I needed to read! I'll treasure it always!"

Pigeon blushed under his feathers. "I guess I better write more today."

"Yes, you must," assured Duck.

Duck watched Pigeon take off, one free bird admiring another. She had been granted more peace and more time, and the sun hadn't even reached its highest point in the sky yet.