Thy Secrets Should Be Sung

Chapter Fourteen: Two Short Conversations

 She sat under the sacred fig tree. The clouds drifted lazily above, the butterflies danced, a solitary ant crept across the lacquer face of the Princess's birdhouse.

She folded her legs, she straightened her back, she rested her hands on her thighs. She sat in silence, the only noise the sound of her own breathing.

The air smelled of honeysuckle.

The Princess focused on her breath. In and out. In and out. Slowly, rhythmically. She did not control her breathing, did not force it, did not hold it. She merely was aware of it, of the steady rising and falling of her diaphragm, of the cool air she breathed in through her nose, of the warm air she breathed out through her mouth.

A thought crossed her mind. She acknowledged the thought and returned to her breath, to the breeze that tickled the tip of her nose.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Another thought. The Princess acknowledged this one as well, as one would a passing cloud, and returned to her breath.

A third thought entered her mind, and her heart beat a little faster. She frowned. Once again, she acknowledged the thought, as well as the sensations and emotions it had aroused in her.

She did not judge them—the thoughts, the sensations, the emotions. She recognized their impact, and then, just as she had done before, she returned to her breath. Her heart quieted.

Slowly she became aware that she was being watched. She opened one eye. A raven was perched on a branch above her. It cast a long shadow over the Princess, and when the bird spoke, it spoke with a rasp:

"Do you seek freedom?" the raven asked.

"All beings seek liberation," the Princess answered.

"But you will not accept my brother's help?"

The Princess considered the question. "No," she said after a moment's hesitation.

"Let me free you, then. I ask for nothing in return."

"No," the Princess repeated.

"You will suffer," said the raven.

"Yes," the Princess agreed.

The raven fluffed its wings and hopped up and down on one foot. "Well, what do you want?"

"The cessation of suffering."

"For yourself?"

"For all living creatures."

"For the Knight?"

The Princess nodded. "For the Knight."

The raven turned its head sideways. "Do you love that Knight?" it asked.

"I care for all living creatures," the Princess said.

"But do you love them?" the raven asked again.

The Princess breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She felt the air on the tip of her nose, felt the air fill her lungs, felt the air escape her lips.

"You don't talk very much do you?"

The Princess did not answer. The raven tried again: "A good little Princess aren't you?"

"I speak when I have something to say," the Princess replied, "and when I speak, the world listens."

"Perhaps—were you not a holy woman, you'd make an excellent Queen."