Past Life Story

You were born a crow, in a small nest upon a tall pine in a deep mountain valley. The first scenery you saw was a black world. Your siblings were two. The three of you, of black feathers, sat side by side in the nest, gazing out together upon the world. From your earliest days, your eyes were different. Other crows saw only the black and white of the world. You saw deeper. The look in another's eyes, the wind's path, the boundary between life and death. The crow already knew that this world was not all. There was another world. In your first year, your mother taught you a great secret. The crow is not merely a black bird. The crow is a messenger. A messenger between this world and the next. The crow sees the souls of the dead. The crow leads the souls of the dead. That is the work of the crow. You came to know your work for the first time. In your second year, you saw your first soul. An old man had died beneath a tree in the village. The villagers buried his body. But you saw. The old man's soul still hovered around the village. The soul did not yet know it had died. You went to the soul and let it know. "It is time to go." The soul looked at you and at last departed for that other place. That was your work. You became the silent witness of the village. You did not speak. You only saw. Whenever someone died, you flew above their house. Even if no one knew of the death, you knew. The villagers came to know. "When the crow flies, someone has died." In your third year, the villagers feared you. The black bird that knew of death was a frightening being. Yet you did not falter. You only did your work. Without the crow, the souls of the dead would not find their way. That was a more important work than what the villagers feared. In your fifth year, you saved the soul of one young woman. She had fallen in love and died, refusing to leave for the afterlife. Her soul wandered the village. You went to her. "Even if you stay, your love will not return. Go now." The young woman wept long and at last departed. In your seventh year, you understood your true mission. The crow is the bridge between life and death. To be that bridge, the crow must understand the depth of the world. The crow must understand the truth: that life and death are not separate, but are one. With this understanding, you grew deeper. In your tenth year, you flew over the entire village. Each year more souls were sent off. Each soul had its own story. Some had lived happily, some sadly, some with regret. You guided them all without distinction. In a winter of your fifteenth year, you sensed your own end. You had finally come to know the world you would go to. You had been a messenger for many lives. Now your turn came. You flew alone to the mountain peak. There you closed your eyes. There was no other crow to see you off. Yet you were not lonely. You knew. There were countless souls awaiting you in another world. Black feathers conceal the universe—that was your life. You were the witness of all living and dying, and the bridge of all souls. Your soul, even now somewhere over a village, must be in flight. If you see a black bird suddenly fly over your head one day—it may be that an old story of the bridge between life and death is whispering close.