There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life time,more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.From the moment it leaves the nest it searches a thorn tree,and does not rest it has found one.Then,singing among the savage branches,it impales itself upon the longest,sharpest spine.And,dying it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale.One superlative song,existence the price.But the whole world stills to listen and God smiles from His heaven.For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain…Or says the legend.The bird with the thorn in its br*ast,it follows an immutable law;it is driven by it knows not what to impale itself,and die singing.At the very instant the thorn enters there is no awareness in it of dying to come;it simply sings and sings until there is not left the life to utter another note.But we,when we put the thorn in our br*asts,we know.We understand.And still we do it.Each of us has something within us which won’t be denied,even if it makes us scream aloud to die.We are what we are,that’s all.Like the old Celtic legend of the bird with the thorn in its br*ast,singing its heart out and dying.Because it has to,its self-knowledge can’t affect or change the outcome,can it?Everyone singing his own little song,convinced it’s the most wonderful song the world has ever heard.Don’t you see?We create our own thorns and never stop to count the cost.All we can do is suffer the pain,and tell ourselves it was well worth it.