Past Life Story

You were born a magpie, in a small nest by a village. From your earliest days the village was your home. While other birds lived deep in the mountain, the magpie lives at the village's edge. Among people, but not of them. With people, but free. That was the way of the magpie. By thirty days, you flew for the first time. You moved easily between the village's roofs and trees. You watched the people of the village. The way the children played, the way the adults worked, the way the elders gazed at the sky. You came to know all of these. In your first year, you knew the meaning of the magpie. The magpie was a bird of good news. When the magpie cried, the villagers said, "There is a guest today." When the magpie cried, the villagers' faces brightened. The magpie was a bird that brought joy. In your second year, you brought first joy to a village. A village daughter who had been gone long was returning. Before she came, you cried. The villagers heard your cry. They said, "Today there is a guest." When the daughter came, the villagers were already ready. They received her warmly. That was your work. In your third year, you saw the village's sorrows. A village elder had died. The funeral was held. You did not cry. The magpie does not cry on the day of sorrow. You only watched in silence. The magpie has a discerning heart. It knows when to bring joy and when to keep silence. In your fourth year, you found your mate. A magpie that had crossed from a neighboring village. The two of you built a nest together upon the village's tallest tree. The villagers liked seeing your nest. "Their nest brings good fortune to our village," they said. You felt proud. In your fifth year, you raised young together. The village children watched your young. They cared for them. You came to know. People also have hearts that love the magpie. The relationship between people and magpie was one of mutual fondness. In your seventh year, you knew the joys and sorrows of the entire village. Whose daughter was getting married, whose son was returning, whose grandmother was ill. You knew all of these. You shared the village's joys and sorrows. That was the magpie's work, more than just bringing news. You were a being that walked the village's heart. In your tenth year, you grew old. Your young had departed for other villages. They had found their own villages and were now bringing news to those villages. The teaching of the magpie continued from generation to generation. In an autumn of your eleventh year, you flew above your village for the last time. The whole village. The houses where you had cried, the gardens where you had played, the trees where you had nested. You looked at all of them once more. And you cried one last time. It was a beautiful cry that day. All in the village heard it. That night, you closed your eyes. The villagers found you the next day. They buried you with care. They placed a small stone where you were buried. "Here lies a magpie that brought us joy." The magpie was a bird that brought joy. Yet truer than that, the magpie was a being that shared the village's heart. With both joy and sorrow, the magpie was always there. Your soul, even now upon some village, must still be crying. Bringing joy. If you ever hear a strange cry of joy in your life—that, perhaps, may be a magpie giving you news.