There are four Java sparrows living at my home (two of them are still very young birds), and they are allowed to live freely outdoors.
Yesterday, two of them went off on a long excursion and later returned home on their own.
Around five o’clock yesterday evening, those two sparrows returned from outside and perched on the window frame of my workroom on the second floor, playing there quietly.
Suddenly, however, they seemed startled by something invisible.
Both birds instantly flew to the highest place in the room and remained completely motionless, holding themselves tense.
Whenever something like this happens, I tend to believe it may be a sign of some natural disturbance, so I quietly prepared myself, thinking perhaps an earthquake might come.
Yet nothing seemed to happen.
Even when I asked people around me, everyone said nothing unusual had occurred.
However, later that night, while watching the news, I learned that around five o’clock that evening, there had been a magnitude 5 earthquake in Hitachi City, Ibaraki Prefecture.
In this area, the tremor had only been about intensity 1.
The natural sensitivity of these Java sparrows astonishes me.
No one taught these birds anything.
Because there are no parent birds, they learned entirely on their own how to fly, bathe themselves, hide when crows appear, and even fight over food while skillfully dodging each other’s sharp beaks.
And yet, despite these quarrels, they remain close companions.
These tiny birds are only about two months old, yet they fly through gaps between furniture and trees with astonishing speed, agility, and precision.
In the mornings, they race through the house at speeds so fast one wonders how they never collide with anything.
Then they burst out through the window and moments later return flying back inside like arrows.
That is the true nature of a Java sparrow.
Birds kept indoors and allowed outside only occasionally, when their owners happen to have time, gradually forget these abilities.
And when such birds accidentally escape outdoors, they often end up being eaten by crows.
Not long ago, after finishing Taolu practice in a nearby park early in the morning, I witnessed a parakeet from a nearby nursery school escape while a staff member was cleaning.
Within moments, crows appeared, chased the parakeet, and devoured it.
Wild parakeets never forget the abilities needed to survive among many predators.
Human beings should also stop interfering so much.
We should simply live naturally — without clinging to teachings, abandoning excessive conditions, following our instincts honestly and freely.
The ancient Wudang internal martial arts Tai Chi that I teach is nothing more than movement arising from remembering that natural state.
When one truly trains this art, something moves beyond conscious intention.
Even faster than instinct itself.
As though life existing between life and death suddenly creates a Big Bang, the body, mind, qi, and physiology begin moving on their own in an instant.
Tai Chi cannot become serious through ordinary pushing and struggling alone.
One should only move when the body itself truly moves.
Movement occurs before unconscious perception even fully arises.
Just like the birds.
