Some gentle soul created the first bird 100 million years ago from the slender bones of a fish and the downy plume of a thistle. They made it majestic and whimsical. They made it flying and musical. But what manner of creature are we? Why are the wires of the human mind so easily twisted? If we pierced the tips of feathers into our skin and sang in the morning, would we be free? What if we ran naked outdoors and filled our heads with branches and our eyes became broken blue eggshells? What if our bodies became sunlight and piles of broken nutshells? Heaven will be the shedding of the human mind.

A small animal with a musical reed in its throat was living in my yard. Each day in the quiet hours before the sun rose it gave a recital. Its melody drifted through the open window and into my sleeping head. My dreams blossomed under this creature’s spell. I feared it might leave, so each night I placed a small plate of food under the umbrella of an evergreen tree. I enjoyed preparing its meals and it enjoyed eating them. I fed it all sorts of things, but its favorite was raspberries in salad oil.

When the weather turned cold, the creature found some small hole and moved into my house. When the house became dark its song would start and not stop until the sun came up. Its song sounded different within the confines of my home. It was very loud for the ears and I never noticed how shrill it was. No one slept. My family searched high and low but couldn’t find the creature. Was it inside a shoe? Was it under the bureau? Was it stuck between the walls? We roamed the rooms trying to identify its location but the squealing seemed to radiate from all directions at once.

“Do something!” my family demanded. “This is because you fed that thing, and now it wants more!” Unfortunately I knew what I had to do. I got a sharp knife and cut a plate of salad. I placed the salad on the floor, turned off the lights and hid. Soon the animal scurried from its hiding place to the food. I heard its rapid chewing as I crept toward it holding a heavy wooden block in my arms. I stretched my arms out, lined up the block and dropped it onto the creature. I stood motionless for a minute then slowly lifted the block. There was no blood. In fact the creature looked fine, only flat.

For the first time I was seeing my muse. The one who had entered my soul and conducted my dreams. Then I heard its reed. It sounded a shallow wheee - heee - wheee - heee. I realized, although flattened, the creature was still alive. I froze for a moment then stood back. I picked up the wooden block and quickly dropped it onto the creature again. The music stopped.

I scooped the creature up with a small scrap of cardboard and lifted it close to my eyes. Its hair, so clean, smooth and fine, was a color I had never seen before. Its feet were bald and looked like four tiny human hands. Its body was softer than dough and very light, in fact, it weighed almost nothing. Its head was like an egg. Its eyes, nose and mouth looked glued on.

I thought of the reed inside. I punched a small hole in the top of its head with a pencil and put my pinky finger in to feel around, but it was empty. I grasped the head with my fingertips and pulled until it came apart into two equal halves. The inside looked like plush terrycloth. There was no reed. I cut its neck with the salad knife leaving a hinge. I flipped it back and a small felt flap dropped out which was hiding the reed. The reed was painted red and glued in place. I pried it loose with a pair of needle-nose pliers.

I put the reed on the table to dry and went to bed for my first night of sleep in days. Around 3AM the creature came to me in my dreams. I told it I was sorry for killing it. “You didn’t kill me, you killed the feeling you had when I sang” it said. “Will you sing to me now?” I asked. “No.” it said. “Tomorrow?” I asked, “How about tomorrow?” “Never.” It said. I looked down and noticed I was holding the wooden block in my arms and then the creature was gone. I suddenly awoke with a jolt. I went downstairs and got the reed. I took it to the sink and washed it with a bit of detergent. I shook off the water, grasped it with the needle-nose pliers and plunged it down my throat.

The first song I played with the reed, I titled “The Cosmic Mirage”. I didn’t tell anyone but I dedicated “The Cosmic Mirage” to the creature. The theme of the song states the world is as it is, and is not otherwise. An interesting feature of the creature’s reed was once it was inside my throat it became glued in place and could not be removed. To this day no one sleeps.