from
Jonathan
Livingston Seagull,
an excerpt
Richard Bach
"I
don't understand how you manage to love a mob of birds that just
tried to kill you."
"Oh,
Fletch, you don't love that! You don't love hatred and evil,
of course. You have to practice and see the real gull, the
good in every one of them, and to help them see it in
themselves. That's what I mean by love. It's fun, when
you get the knack of it.
"I
remember a fierce young bird, for instance, Fletcher Lynd seagull,
his name. Just been mad outcat, ready to fight the Flock to
the death, getting a start on building his own bitter hell out on
the Far Cliffs. And here he is today building his own heaven
instead, and leading the whole Flock in that direction."
Fletcher
turned to his instructor, and there was a moment of fright in his
eye. "Me leading? What do you mean, me
leading? You're the instructor here. You couldn't
leave!"
"Couldn't
I? Don't you think that there might be other flocks, other
Fletchers, that need an instructor more than this one, that's on
its way toward the light?"
"Me?
Jon, I'm just a plain seagull, and you're. . . "
". . .
the only Son of the great Gull, I suppose?" Jonathan
sighed and looked out to sea. "You don't need me any
longer. You need to keep finding yourself, a little more
each day, that real, unlimited Fletcher Seagull. He's your
instructor. You need to understand him and to practice
him."
A moment
later Jonathan's body wavered in the air, shimmering, and began to
go transparent. "Don't let them spread silly rumors
about me, or make me a god. O.K., Fletch? I'm a
seagull. I like to fly, maybe. . . "
"Jonathan!"
"Poor
Fletch. Don't believe what your eyes are telling you.
All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding,
find out what you already know, and you'll see the way to
fly."
The
shimmering stopped. Jonathan Seagull had vanished into empty
air.
After a
time, Fletcher Gull dragged himself into the sky and faced a
brand-new group of students, eager for their first lesson.
"To
begin with," he said heavily, "you've got to understand
that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the
Great Gull, and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is
nothing more than your thought itself."
The young
gulls looked at him quizzically. Hey, man, they thought,
this doesn't sound like a rule for a loop.
Fletcher
sighed and started over. "Hm. Ah. . . very
well," he said, and eyed them critically. "Let's
begin with Level Flight." And saying that, he
understood all at once that his friend had quite honestly been no
more divine than Fletcher himself.
No limits,
Jonathan? he thought. Well, then, the time's not
distant when I'm going to appear out of thin air on your
beach, and show you a thing or two about flying!
And though
he tried to look properly severe for his students, Fletcher
Seagull suddenly saw them all as they really were, just for a
moment, and he more than liked, he loved what he saw. No
limits, Jonathan? he thought, and he smiled. His race
to learn had begun.
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