remember eating. The raven plucked it up, careful not to let it go to waste. “That can’t be. I can’t be dead … ” “Is a worm in the belly dead, or is it merely on its way to breathing new life?” “It is dead!” Nolan screamed. “Of course it’s dead!” The raven shook its head, dismayed. Then it stabbed its enormous beak at Nolan’s eyes. Nolan hopped back. “What the hell!” “You do not see,” squawked the raven. “What use does one who does not see have for such magnificent eyes?” It pecked again at him. Nolan fluttered his wings madly, finding, for the first time, the pulse of the wind, and managed to thrust himself backward into the woods. He flapped furiously, not daring to look back for the raven, flying himself into a dense thicket. He crashed into the earth through the brush and looked up to find a grouse peering down at him. “Who are you?” asked the grouse. “Me?” Nolan thought on this and found that he could no longer remember his name. “I — I’m not sure … ” “Then it has already begun.” “What has?” “Your next life.” “But, no … No, I — I had a family!” “Well, then, you should go and see them.” “What?” “Just because you are a bird does not mean they are.” “How?” “How does a bird learn to find the roost of their ancient ancestors? Do not think. Fly. Let the wind carry you.” “I can’t even fly!” “You will learn. But be forewarned: the raven will come for you.” “Why?” The grouse shrugged. “It is the way of the raven. They are responsible for carrying forward the samsara. Visits to one’s past are forbidden. But birds always find the way to their roost. It is within us.” It took time, but Nolan followed the advice of the grouse. The more his own memories faded, the easier it became to let the wind be his guide. He flew in the direction he was called, and stopped questioning why. By the time Nolan arrived, he was no longer Nolan. He had entered the Great Kingdom of the Finch. But there was something within him still, a memory preserved as an instinct. He descended upon the red house that called to him like a beacon. He circled high above it and spotted a woman sitting at a picnic bench in the backyard. He swooped down and landed on a branch beside the bench. He looked at the woman, whose eyes were puffy and red. He did not know her, and yet he longed to hold her, to envelop her in his wings. He felt her sadness, and he wished for it to end. He chirped, and found that he had said, “I am always here.” The woman looked up at him then, studied him, and when she smiled, he felt that he had finally found his way home. No. 134
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