One of the greatest difficulties I have with The Conference of the Birds is how to properly convey the depth of experience at the heart of the work. These transcendental experiences are ineffable, beyond the capacity of rational language, which is, of course, why we have art: to communicate that which words cannot contain. Any attempt to explain the vast and expansive truth at the center of this piece is a trap; it would take an infinite amount of language to try and describe what we couldn’t put into words in the first place.

Inevitably, we lean on a general description of the story instead. It is an astonishing parable about the birds of the world searching for the great Simorgh, the sovereign of birds, and a symbol of the soul’s search for truth. In this parable the birds are not heroic, strong-willed adventurers. Rather, they are filled with excuses, easily distracted along the way, become lost, grow weak, many even die. Of the 100,000 birds who begin, a measly 30 arrive at the gates of Simorgh, only to discover an incomprehensible truth.

The metaphor of this parable is relatively simple: we are the birds of this story. Not the 30 who endure, not the survivors who make their way through the seven spiritual valleys. We are those who stray along the way, make excuses, give in to discouragement, cynicism, complacency, and doubt.

And yet, no matter how far we may have strayed, we are only ever one step away from getting back on the path. In every instance of our lives we are confronted by choices. On one hand a hundred thousand options, and on the other hand only one. It’s right there, that one choice, amongst all the others, what the philosopher UV Jones calls “The thing to do”. Only you know what it is in any given moment, though you may need to listen intently through all the noise, all the shoulds, concerns, and cynicisms, all the excuses and distractions, the fear and the hurt, the scream of the ego; a cacophony that piles up making it nearly impossible to find our way forward.

Attar understood this and depicts it clearly in the parable of the moths, which is perhaps the most well known story from The Conference of the Birds.

A group of moths wish to understand the nature of a candle and its flame. One goes to investigate and reports on its light and warmth. Dissatisfied, another goes and investigates closer, briefly touching the flame and getting burned, then reports back on its dangerous properties. Still dissatisfied, the moths send a mystic who, drawn to the burning mystery at the center of the fire, throws themselves into the flame and is consumed. The others look on with horror, trepidation, and awe. Only their compatriot understands the true nature of the candle, and though they long to join that mystery, they cannot bring themselves to do so.

Such is the nature of the spiritual path. That singular, all consuming choice is right there in front of us, and we are only one step away from embracing it fully.

The purpose of any spiritual practice, also the purpose of this piece, and I think perhaps the secret agenda of all art, is to cut through the noise and create an internal place of stillness and silence, so we can answer that deep, true, inner calling. Every telling of this tale is a reminder for us to stay on the path. Every performance is a practice in remaining open and vulnerable, authentic and real. It’s a reminder to let go of both our pride and our shame, so that we may be fully present to the work in front of us, and the needs of those with us. This piece is an offering, an act of service, an opportunity to remind ourselves of our true nature: that we are both the light and the mirror reflecting the light.

I’ll conclude with an invocation from one of Los Angeles’ most well known poets: “O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives”.