Pigeon Story
A spiritual short story about belief
“I swear to you by my last tail feather that I heard the Great Pigeon speaking,” cheeped Pigeon Moonchest.
The distraught bird twittered inconsolably as she addressed a group of dubious flutterers who graced the roof of the Holiday Inn on the Hoe, in the town of Plymouth.
Amongst pigeon kind, legend told of ‘The Great Pigeon’, who lived in the centre of the earth. Her body formed part of Dartmoor and her beak was buried beneath the offshore rocks of the Devon coastline. Of course, no bird had ever seen or heard the Great Pigeon, that is, until today, when Moonchest made her unbelievable claim.
Despite much disbelief, Moonchest was quite adamant! However, being a nervous bird, she was reputed to be prone to flights of fancy and also known to be unreliable with her reports of food availability. Despite the scepticism of her companions, Moonchest stuck with her story, insisting that she had truly met the avian deity.
“The Great Pigeon is only a story,” chirruped up a puffed up matriarch pigeon called Bigbeak.
“Not only did I hear the Great Pigeon rasping with her deep healing voice, but I actually felt the ground moving as her chest vibrated in harmony, as she called to all the pigeons of the earth to hear her voice,” insisted Moonchest.
“Well, she didn’t call to me,” replied the elderly Bigbeak, “…and I’ve lived here long enough to know that if the Great Pigeon had something to say, she would definitely speak to me!”
She ruffled her feathers, annoyed at having her status lowered by an inferior pigeon.
“I believe you Moonchest,” piped up a young, blue-tinged pigeon named Bluewing.
Encouraged, Moonchest decided to stand her ground.
“I’ll take you to the place where I felt her divine presence,” Moonchest suggested. “Follow me and then you will believe what I say is true.”
Reluctantly, Bigbeak agreed to be led to where the Great Pigeon’s voice was alleged to have been heard. Together with a flock of ten birds, Moonchest lifted off over the rooftop landscape and flew in a haphazard formation, over a mile inland to the district of Mutley. Landing on the highest rooftop, Moonchest stated proudly,
“Here, not one hour ago, the Great Pigeon spoke to me.”
The birds cooed their greetings to the Great Pigeon, preened their feathers and fluttered their wings.
“Speak to us, Great Pigeon,” called Bigbeak in her most spiritually, pigeon-like voice, heaving her powerful chest to show her strength and importance.
Nothing could be heard but the growl of car engines in the streets below.
After a period of ducking and weaving the band fell silent. Bigbeak pecked at Moonchest in disgust.
“This has been a wild goose chase,” Bigbeak hissed.
Moonchest felt embarrassed.
“But I know I felt her presence!” she insisted.
“I believe you heard her,” murmured Bluewing to Moonchest.
The young bird sidled up to Moonchest and lowered her head, cooing appreciatively in respect.
“What nonsense!” muttered Bigbeak, “Belief is not good enough! If you heard her, then I want proof!”
“I will keep a vigil with Moonchest. We will see if the Great Pigeon returns,” Bluewing suggested to the group.
