Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach
Richard Bach
JonathanLivingstonSeagull
astory.pdf
This
is
a
story
for
people
who
follow
their
dreams
and
make
their own rules; a story that has inspired people for decades.
For most seagulls, life consists simply of eating and surviving. Flying is just
a means of finding
food.
However,
Jonathan
Livingston
Seagull
is
no
ordinary bird. For him, flying
is
life
itself.
Against
the
conventions
of
seagull society, he seeks to find
a
higher
purpose
and
become
the
best at doing what he loves.
This
is
a
fable
about
the
importance
of
making
the
most
of
our
lives, even if our goals run contrary to the norms of our flock,
tribe or neighbourhood. Through
the
metaphor
of
flight,
Jonathans story shows us that, if we follow our
dreams, we too can soar.
Richard Bach with this book
does two things.
He gives me Flight.
He makes me Young.
For both I am deeply grateful.
RAY BRADBURY
156
Jonathan
Livingston
Seagulla story
163
RICHARD BACH
PHOTOGRAPHS BY RUSSELL MUNSON
The
most
celebrated
inspirational
fable
of
our
time
Element
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
The
website
address
is:
www.thorsonselement.com
205
and Element are trademarks of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
First published in Great Britain by Turnstone Press 1972
This
edition
published
by
Element
2003
17 19 21 23 25 24 22 20 18 16
Text copyright © Richard D. Bach 1970
Photographs copyright © Russell Munson 1970
Richard Bach asserts the moral right to be
identified
as
the
author
of
this
work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
ISBN 0 00 649034 4
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Martins The
Printers
Ltd,
Berwick
upon
Tweed
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior
written permission of the publishers.
To the real Jonathan Seagull,
who lives within us all
Notice!
This
electronic
version
of
the
book,
has
been
released FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY.
You may not sell or make any profit
from
this
book.
And if you like this book, -buy a paper copy and
give it to someone who does not have a computer,
if that is possible for you.
ny St. Exupery ...s ofo return.gh and The MightyRichard Bach is a writer and pilot, author of three books on
the mystique of flying.
During
the
past
decade
or
so,
he
has
PART ONE
edited a flying
magazine,
and
written
more
than
a
hundred
magazine articles and stories. A former US Air Force pilot, he
is now seldom without an aeroplane.
Russell Munson started taking pictures of aeroplanes as a
child and has been involved with flying
and
photography
ever
since. He owns a Piper Super Cub, from which he took some
of the pictures in this book.
509
IT WAS MORNING, AND THE NEW SUN SPARKLED GOLD
across the ripples of a gentle sea.
A mile from shore a fishing
boat
chummed
the
water,
and
the word for Breakfast Flock flashed
through
the
air,
till
a
crowd of a thousand seagulls came to dodge and fight
for
bits
of food. It was another busy day beginning.
But way off
alone,
out
by
himself
beyond
boat
and
shore,
Jonathan Livingston Seagull was practising. A hundred feet in
the sky he lowered his webbed feet, lifted
his
beak,
and
strained
to hold a painful hard twisting curve through his wings. The
curve meant that he would fly
slowly,
and
now
he
slowed
until
the wind was a whisper in his face, until the ocean stood still
beneath him. He narrowed his eyes in fierce
concentration,
held his breath, forced one ... single ... more ... inch ... of ...
curve ... Then
his
feathers
ruffled,
he stalled
and
fell.
Seagulls, as you know, never falter, never stall. To stall in the
air is for them disgrace and it is dishonour.
But Jonathan Livingston Seagull, unashamed, stretching his
wings again in that trembling hard curve -slowing, slowing,
and stalling once more - was no ordinary bird.
Most gulls dont bother to learn more than the simplest
facts of flight
how
to
get
from
shore
to
food
and
back
again.
For most gulls, it is not flying
that
matters,
but
eating.
For
this
gull, though, it was not eating that mattered, but flight.
More
than anything else, Jonathan Livingston Seagull loved to fly.
This
kind
of
thinking,
he
found,
is
not
the
way
to
make
ones self popular with other birds. Even his parents were dismayed
as Jonathan spent whole days alone, making hundreds
of low-level glides, experimenting.
He didnt know why, for instance, but when he flew
at
altitudes
less than half his wingspan above the water, he could stay
in the air longer, with less effort.
His
glides
ended
not
with
the
usual feet-down splash into the sea, but with a long flat
wake
as he touched the surface with his feet tightly streamlined
against his body. When he began sliding in to feet-up landings
on the beach, then pacing the length of his slide in the sand,
his parents were very much dismayed indeed.
Why, Jon, why? his mother asked. Why is it so hard to be
like the rest of the flock,
Jon?
Why
cant
you
leave
low
flying
to the pelicans, the albatross? Why dont you eat? Jon, youre
bone and feathers!
I dont mind being bone and feathers, Mum. I just want to
know what I can do in the air and what I cant, thats all. I just
want to know.
See here, Jonathan, said his father, not unkindly. Winter
isnt far away. Boats will be few, and the surface fish
will
be
swimming deep. If you must study, then study food, and how
to get it. This
flying
business
is
all
very
well,
but
you
cant
eat
a glide, you know. Dont you forget that the reason you fly
is
to eat.
Jonathan nodded obediently. For the next few days he tried
to behave like the other gulls; he really tried, screeching and
fighting
with
the
flock
around
the
piers
and
fishing
boats,
diving on scraps of fish
and
bread.
But
he
couldnt
make
it
work.
Its all so pointless, he thought, deliberately dropping a
hard-won anchovy to a hungry old gull chasing him. I could be
spending all this time learning to fly.
Theres
so
much
to
learn!
It wasnt long before Jonathan Gull was off
by
himself
again,
far out at sea, hungry, happy, learning.
The
subject
was
speed,
and
in
a
weeks
practice
he
learned
more about speed than the fastest gull alive.
From a thousand feet, flapping
his
wings
as
hard
as
he
could, he pushed over into a blazing steep dive toward the
waves, and learned why seagulls dont make blazing steep
power-dives. In just six seconds he was moving seventy miles
per hour, the speed at which ones wing goes unstable on the
upstroke.
Time after
time
it
happened.
Careful
as
he
was,
working
at
the very peak of his ability, he lost control at high speed.
Climb to a thousand feet. Full power straight ahead first,
then push over, flapping,
to
a
vertical
dive.
Then,
every
time,
his left
wing
stalled
on
an
upstroke,
hed
roll
violently
left,
stall his right wing recovering, and flick
like
fire
into
a wild
tumbling spin to the right.
He couldnt be careful enough on that upstroke. Ten times
he tried, and all ten times, as he passed through seventy miles
per hour, he burst into a churning mass of feathers, out of
control, crashing down into the water.
The
key,
he
thought
at
last,
dripping
wet,
must
be
to
hold
the wings still at high speeds to flap
up
to
fifty
and
then
hold
the wings still.
From two thousand feet he tried again, rolling into his dive,
beak straight down, wings full out and stable from the
moment he passed fifty
miles
per
hour.
It
took
tremendous
strength, but it worked. In ten seconds he had blurred through
ninety miles per hour. Jonathan had set a world speed record
for seagulls!
But victory was short-lived. The
instant
he
began
his
pullout,
the instant he changed the angle of his wings, he snapped
into that same terrible uncontrolled disaster, and at ninety
miles per hour it hit him like dynamite. Jonathan Seagull
exploded in midair and smashed down into a brick-hard sea.
When he came to, it was well after
dark,
and
he
floated
in
moonlight on the surface of the ocean. His wings were ragged
bars of lead, but the weight of failure was even heavier on his
back. He wished, feebly, that the weight could be just enough
to drag him gently down to the bottom, and end it all.
As he sank low in the water, a strange hollow voice sounded
within him. Theres
no
way
around
it.
I
am
a
seagull.
I
am
limited by my nature. If I were meant to learn so much about
flying,
Id
have
charts
for
brains.
If
I
were
meant
to
fly
at
speed,
Id have a falcons short wings, and live on mice instead of fish.
My father was right. I must forget this foolishness. I must fly
home to the Flock and be content as I am, as a poor limited
seagull.
The
voice
faded,
and
Jonathan
agreed.
The
place
for
a
seagull at night is on shore, and from this moment forth, he
vowed, he would be a normal gull. It would make everyone
happier.
He pushed wearily away from the dark water and flew
toward the land, grateful for what he had learned about worksaving
low-altitude flying.
But no, he thought. I am done with the way I was, I am done
with everything I learned. I am a seagull like every other seagull,
and I will fly
like
one.
So
he
climbed
painfully
to
a
hundred feet and flapped
his
wings
harder,
pressing
for
shore.
He felt better for his decision to be just another one of
the flock.
There
would
be
no
ties
now
to
the
force
that
had
driven him to learn, there would be no more challenge and no
more failure. And it was pretty, just to stop thinking, and fly
through the dark, toward the lights above the beach.
Dark!
The
hollow
voice
cracked
in
alarm.
Seagulls never fly
in
the dark!
Jonathan was not alert to listen. Its pretty, he thought.
The
moon
and
the
lights
twinkling
on
the
water,
throwing
out little beacon-trails through the night, and all so peaceful
and still ...
Get down! Seagulls never fly
in
the
dark!
If
you
were
meant
to fly
in
the
dark,
youd
have
the
eyes
of
an
owl!
Youd
have
charts for brains! Youd have a falcons short wings!
There
in
the
night,
a
hundred
feet
in
the
air,
Jonathan
Livingston Seagull blinked. His pain, his resolutions, vanished.
Short wings. A falcons short wings!
Thats
the
answer!
What
a
fool
Ive
been!
All
I
need
is
a
tiny
little wing, all I need is to fold most of my wings and fly
on
just
the tips alone! Short wings!
He climbed two thousand feet above the black sea, and
without a moment for thought of failure and death, he brought
his forewings tightly in to his body, left
only
the
narrow swept daggers of his wingtips extended into the wind,
and fell into a vertical dive.
The
wind
was
a
monster
roar
at
his
head.
Seventy
miles
per hour, ninety, a hundred and twenty and faster still. The
wing-strain now at a hundred and forty miles per hour wasnt
nearly as hard as it had been before at seventy, and with the
faintest twist of his wingtips he eased out of the dive and shot
above the waves, a grey cannonball under the moon.
He closed his eyes to slits against the wind and rejoiced.
A hundred forty miles per hour! And under control! If I dive
from five
thousand
feet
instead
of
two
thousand,
I
wonder
how
fast ...
His vows of a moment before were forgotten, swept away
in that great swift
wind.
Yet
he
felt
guiltless,
breaking
the
promises he had made himself. Such promises are only for
the gulls that accept the ordinary. One who has touched
excellence in his learning has no need of that kind of promise.
By sunup, Jonathan Gull was practising again. From five
thousand feet the fishing
boats
were
specks
in
the
flat
blue
water, Breakfast Flock was a faint cloud of dust motes, circling.
He was alive, trembling ever so slightly with delight, proud
that his fear was under control. Then
without
ceremony
he
hugged in his forewings, extended his short, angled wingtips,
and plunged directly toward the sea. By the time he passed
four thousand feet he had reached terminal velocity, the wind
was a solid beating wall of sound against which he could move
no faster. He was flying
now
straight
down,
at
two
hundred
fourteen miles per hour. He swallowed, knowing that if his
wings unfolded at that speed hed be blown into a million tiny
shreds of seagull. But the speed was power, and the speed was
joy, and the speed was pure beauty.
He began his pullout at a thousand feet, wingtips thudding
and blurring in that gigantic wind, the boat and the crowd of
gulls tilting and growing meteor-fast, directly in his path.
He couldnt stop; he didnt know yet even how to turn at
that speed.
Collision would be instant death.
And so he shut his eyes.
It happened that morning, then, just after
sunrise,
that
Jonathan Livingston Seagull fired
directly
through
the
centre
of Breakfast Flock, ticking off
two
hundred
twelve
miles
per hour, eyes closed, in a great roaring shriek of wind
and feathers. The
Gull
of
Fortune
smiled
upon
him
this
once,
and no one was killed.
By the time he had pulled his beak straight up into the sky
he was still scorching along at a hundred and sixty miles per
hour. When he had slowed to twenty and stretched his wings
again at last, the boat was a crumb on the sea, four thousand
feet below.
His thought was triumph. Terminal velocity! A seagull at
two hundred fourteen miles per hour!
It was a breakthrough, the
greatest single moment in the history of the Flock, and in that
moment a new age opened for Jonathan Gull. Flying out to his
lonely practice area, folding his wings for a dive from eight
thousand feet, he set himself at once to discover how to turn.
A single wingtip feather, he found, moved a fraction of an
inch, gives a smooth sweeping curve at tremendous speed.
Before he learned this, however, he found that moving more
than one feather at that speed will spin you like a rifle
ball
...
and Jonathan had flown
the
first
aerobatics
of
any
seagull
on
earth.
He spared no time that day for talk with other gulls, but
flew
on
past
sunset.
He
discovered
the
loop,
the
slow
roll,
the
point roll, the inverted spin, the gull bunt, the pinwheel.
When Jonathan Seagull joined the Flock on the beach, it was
full night. He was dizzy and terribly tired. Yet in delight he
flew
a
loop
to
landing,
with
a
snap
roll
just
before
touchdown.
When they hear of it, he thought, of the Breakthrough, theyll
be wild with joy. How much more there is now to living!
Instead of our drab slogging forth and back to the fishing
boats, theres a reason to life! We can lift
ourselves
out
of
ignorance,
we can find
ourselves
as
creatures
of
excellence
and
intelligence and skill. We can be free! We can learn to fly!
The
years
ahead
hummed
and
glowed
with
promise.
The
gulls
were
flocked
into
the
Council
Gathering
when
he
landed, and apparently had been so flocked
for
some
time.
They
were,
in
fact,
waiting.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull! Stand to Centre! The
Elders words sounded in a voice of highest ceremony. Stand
to Centre meant only great shame or great honour. Stand to
Centre for Honour was the way the gulls foremost leaders
were marked. Of course, he thought, the Breakfast Flock this
morning; they saw the Breakthrough! But I want no honours.
I have no wish to be leader. I want only to share what Ive
found, to show those horizons out ahead for us all. He stepped
forward.
Jonathan Livingston Seagull, said the Elder, Stand to
Centre for shame in the sight of your fellow gulls!
It felt like being hit with a board. His knees went weak, his
feathers sagged, there was a roaring in his ears. Centred for
shame? Impossible! The
Breakthrough!
They
cant
understand!
Theyre
wrong,
theyre
wrong!
... for his reckless irresponsibility, the solemn voice
intoned, violating the dignity and tradition of the Gull
Family ...
To be centred for shame meant that he would be cast out of
gull society, banished to a solitary life on the Far Cliffs.
... one day, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, you shall learn
that irresponsibility does not pay. Life is the unknown and the
unknowable, except that we are put into this world to eat, to
stay alive as long as we possibly can.
A seagull never speaks back to the Council Flock, but it was
Jonathans voice raised. Irresponsibility? My brothers! he
cried. Who is more responsible than a gull who finds
and
follows a meaning, a higher purpose for life? For a thousand
years we have scrabbled after
fish
heads,
but
now
we
have
a
reason to live to learn, to discover, to be free! Give me one
chance, let me show you what Ive found ...
The
Flock
might
as
well
have
been
stone.
The
Brotherhood
is
broken,
the
gulls
intoned
together,
and with one accord they solemnly closed their ears and
turned their backs upon him.
Jonathan Seagull spent the rest of his days alone, but he flew
way out beyond the Far Cliffs.
His
one
sorrow
was
not
solitude, it was that other gulls refused to believe the glory of
flight
that
awaited
them;
they
refused
to
open
their
eyes
and
see.
He learned more each day. He learned that a streamlined
high-speed dive could bring him to find
the
rare
and
tasty
fish
that schooled ten feet below the surface of the ocean: he no
longer needed fishing
boats
and
stale
bread
for
survival.
He
learned to sleep in the air, setting a course at night across the
offshore wind, covering a hundred miles from sunset to sunrise.
With the same inner control, he flew through heavy seafogs
and climbed above them into dazzling clear skies ... in the
very times when every other gull stood on the ground, knowing
nothing but mist and rain. He learned to ride the high
winds far inland, to dine there on delicate insects.
What he had once hoped for the Flock, he now gained for
himself alone; he learned to fly, and was not sorry for the price
that he had paid. Jonathan Seagull discovered that boredom
and fear and anger are the reasons that a gulls life is so short,
and with these gone from his thought, he lived a long fine life
indeed.
3360
They
came
in
the
evening,
then,
and
found
Jonathan
gliding
peaceful and alone through his beloved sky. The
two
gulls
that
appeared at his wings were pure as starlight, and the glow
from them was gentle and friendly in the high night air. But
most lovely of all was the skill with which they flew,
their
wingtips moving a precise and constant inch from his own.
Without a word, Jonathan put them to his test, a test that
no gull had ever passed. He twisted his wings, slowed to a
single mile per hour above stall. The
two
radiant
birds
slowed
with him, smoothly, locked in position. They
knew
about
slow
flying.
He folded his wings, rolled, and dropped in a dive to a hundred
ninety miles per hour. They
dropped
with
him,
streaking
down in flawless
formation.
At last he turned that speed straight up into a long vertical
slow-roll. They
rolled
with
him,
smiling.
He recovered to level flight
and
was
quiet
for
a
time
before
he spoke. Very well, he said, who are you?
Were from your Flock, Jonathan. We are your brothers.
The
words
were
strong
and
calm.
Weve
come
to
take
you
higher, to take you home.
Home I have none. Flock I have none. I am Outcast. And
we fly
now
at
the
peak
of
the
Great
Mountain
Wind.
Beyond
a
few hundred feet, I can lift
this
old
body
no
higher.
But you can, Jonathan. For you have learned. One school
is finished,
and
the
time
has
come
for
another
to
begin.
As it had shined across him all his life, so understanding
lighted that moment for Jonathan Seagull. They
were
right.
He
could fly
higher,
and
it
was
time
to
go
home.
He gave one last long look across the sky, across that
magnificent
silver
land
where
he
had
learned
so
much.
Im ready, he said at last.
And Jonathan Livingston Seagull rose with the two starbright
gulls to disappear into a perfect dark sky.
PART TWO
3719
3721
SO THIS IS HEAVEN, HE THOUGHT, AND HE HAD TO SMILE
at himself. It was hardly respectful to analyse heaven in the
very moment that one flies up to enter it.
As he came from Earth now, above the clouds and in close
formation with the two brilliant gulls, he saw that his own
body was growing as bright as theirs. True, the same young
Jonathan Seagull was there that had always lived behind his
golden eyes, but the outer form had changed.
It felt like a seagull body, but already it flew far better than
his old one had ever flown. Why, with half the effort, he
thought, Ill get twice the speed, twice the performance of my
best days on earth!
His feathers glowed brilliant white now, and his wings were
smooth and perfect as sheets of polished silver. He began,
delightedly, to learn about them, to press power into these
new wings.
At two hundred fifty miles per hour he felt that he was
nearing his level-flight maximum speed. At two hundred
seventy-three he thought that he was flying as fast as he could
fly, and he was ever so faintly disappointed. There was a limit
to how much the new body could do, and though it was much
faster than his old level-flight
record,
it
was
still
a
limit
that
would take great effort
to
crack.
In
heaven,
he
thought,
there
should be no limits.
The
clouds
broke
apart,
his
escorts
called,
Happy
landings,
Jonathan, and vanished into thin air.
He was flying
over
a
sea,
toward
a
jagged
shoreline.
A
very
few seagulls were working the updraughts on the cliffs.
Away
off
to
the
north,
at
the
horizon
itself,
flew
a few
others.
New
sights, new thoughts, new questions. Why so few gulls?
Heaven should be flocked
with gulls! And why am I so tired, all
at once? Gulls in heaven are never supposed to be tired, or to
sleep.
Where had he heard that? The
memory
of
his
life
on
Earth
was falling away. Earth had been a place where he had learned
much, of course, but the details were blurred something
about fighting
for
food,
and
being
Outcast.
The
dozen
gulls
by
the
shoreline
came
to
meet
him,
none
saying a word. He felt only that he was welcome and that this
was home. It had been a big day for him, a day whose sunrise
he no longer remembered.
He turned to land on the beach, beating his wings to stop
an inch in the air, then dropping lightly to the sand. The
other
gulls landed too, but not one of them so much as flapped
a
feather. They
swung
into
the
wind,
bright
wings
outstretched,
then somehow they changed the curve of their feathers until
they had stopped in the same instant their feet touched the
ground. It was beautiful control, but now Jonathan was just
too tired to try it. Standing there on the beach, still without a
word spoken, he was asleep.
In the days that followed, Jonathan saw that there was as
much to learn about flight
in
this
place
as
there
had
been
in
the
life behind him. But with a difference.
Here
were
gulls
who
thought as he thought. For each of them, the most important
thing in living was to reach out and touch perfection in that
which they most loved to do, and that was to fly.
They
were
magnificent
birds,
all
of
them,
and
they
spent
hour
after
hour
every day practising flight,
testing
advanced
aeronautics.
For a long time Jonathan forgot about the world that he had
come from, that place where the Flock lived with its eyes
tightly shut to the joy of flight,
using
its
wings
as
means
to
the
end of finding
and
fighting
for
food.
But
now
and
then,
just
for
a moment, he remembered.
He remembered it one morning when he was out with his
instructor, while they rested on the beach after
a
session
of
folded-wing snap rolls.
Where is everybody, Sullivan? he asked silently, quite at
home now with the easy telepathy that these gulls used instead
of screes and gracks. Why arent there more of us here? Why,
where I came from there were ...
... thousands and thousands of gulls. I know. Sullivan
shook his head. The
only
answer
I
can
see,
Jonathan,
is
that
you are pretty well a one-in-a-million bird. Most of us came
along ever so slowly. We went from one world into another
that was almost exactly like it, forgetting right away where we
had come from, not caring where we were headed, living for
the moment. Do you have any idea how many lives we must
have gone through before we even got the first
idea
that
there
is more to life than eating, or fighting,
or
power
in
the
Flock?
A thousand lives, Jon, ten thousand! And then another hundred
lives until we began to learn that there is such a thing as
perfection, and another hundred again to get the idea that our
purpose for living is to find
that
perfection
and
show
it
forth.
The
same
rule
holds
for
us
now,
of
course:
we
choose
our
next
world through what we learn in this one. Learn nothing, and
the next world is the same as this one, all the same limitations
and lead weights to overcome.
He stretched his wings and turned to face the wind. But
you, Jon, he said, learned so much at one time that you
didnt have to go through a thousand lives to reach this one.
In a moment they were airborne again, practising. The
formation point-rolls were difficult,
for
through
the
inverted
half Jonathan had to think upside down, reversing the curve
of his wing, and reversing it exactly in harmony with his
instructors.
Lets try it again, Sullivan said, over and over: Lets try it
again. Then,
finally,
Good.
And
they
began
practising
outside loops.
One evening the gulls that were not night-flying
stood
together on the sand, thinking. Jonathan took all his courage in
hand and walked to the Elder Gull, who, it was said, was soon
to be moving beyond this world.
Chiang ... he said, a little nervously.
The
old
seagull
looked
at
him
kindly.
Yes,
my
son?
Instead
of being enfeebled by age, the Elder had been empowered by
it; he could outfly
any
gull
in
the
Flock,
and
he
had
learned
skills that the others were only gradually coming to know.
Chiang, this world isnt heaven at all, is it?
The
Elder
smiled
in
the
moonlight.
You
are
learning
again,
Jonathan Seagull, he said.
Well, what happens from here? Where are we going? Is
there no such place as heaven?
No, Jonathan, there is no such place. Heaven is not a place,
and it is not a time. Heaven is being perfect. He was silent for
a moment. You are a very fast flier,
arent
you?
I ... I enjoy speed, Jonathan said, taken aback but proud
that the Elder had noticed.
You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment
that you touch perfect speed. And that isnt flying
a
thousand
miles an hour, or a million, or flying
at
the
speed
of
light.
Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesnt have
limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.
Without warning, Chiang vanished and appeared at the
waters edge fifty
feet
away,
all
in
the
flicker
of an instant.
Then
he vanished again and stood, in the same millisecond, at
Jonathans shoulder. Its kind of fun, he said.
Jonathan was dazzled. He forgot to ask about heaven. How
do you do that? What does it feel like? How far can you go?
You can go to any place and to any time that you wish to
go, the Elder said. Ive gone everywhere and everywhen I can
think of. He looked across the sea. Its strange. The
gulls
who
scorn perfection for the sake of travel go nowhere, slowly.
Those
who
put
aside
travel
for
the
sake
of
perfection
go
anywhere,
instantly. Remember, Jonathan, heaven isnt a place or
a time, because place and time are so very meaningless.
Heaven is ...
Can you teach me to fly
like
that?
Jonathan
Seagull
trembled to conquer another unknown.
Of course, if you wish to learn.
I wish. When can we start?
We could start now, if youd like.
I want to learn to fly
like
that,
Jonathan
said,
and
a
strange
light glowed in his eyes. Tell me what to do.
Chiang spoke slowly and watched the younger gull ever so
carefully. To fly
as
fast
as
thought,
to
anywhere
that
is,
he
said, you must begin by knowing that you have already
arrived ...
The
trick,
according
to
Chiang,
was
for
Jonathan
to
stop
seeing himself as trapped inside a limited body that had a
forty-two-inch wingspan and performance that could be plotted
on a chart. The
trick
was
to
know
that
his
true
nature
lived, as perfect as an unwritten number, everywhere at once
across space and time.
Jonathan kept at it, fiercely,
day
after
day,
from
before
sunrise
till past midnight. And for all his effort
he
moved
not
a
feather-width from his spot.
Forget about faith! Chiang said it time and again. You
didnt need faith to fly,
you
needed
to
understand
flying.
This
is just the same. Now try again ...
Then
one
day
Jonathan,
standing
on
the
shore,
closing
his
eyes, concentrating, all in a flash
knew
what
Chiang
had
been
telling him. Why, thats true! I am
a perfect, unlimited gull!
He felt a great shock of joy.
Good! said Chiang, and there was victory in his voice.
Jonathan opened his eyes. He stood alone with the Elder on
a totally different
seashore
trees
down
to
the
waters
edge,
twin yellow suns turning overhead.
At last youve got the idea, Chiang said, but your control
needs a little work ...
Jonathan was stunned. Where are we?
Utterly unimpressed with the strange surroundings, the
Elder brushed the question aside. Were on some planet,
obviously, with a green sky and a double star for a sun.
Jonathan made a scree of delight, the first
sound
he
had
made since he had left
Earth.
IT
WORKS!
Well, of course it works, Jon, said Chiang. It always
works, when you know what youre doing. Now about your
control ...
By the time they returned, it was dark. The
other
gulls
looked
at Jonathan with awe in their golden eyes, for they had seen
him disappear from where he had been rooted for so long.
He stood their congratulations for less than a minute. Im
the newcomer here! Im just beginning! It is I who must learn
from you!
I wonder about that, Jon, said Sullivan, standing near.
You have less fear of learning than any gull Ive seen in ten
thousand years. The
Flock
fell
silent,
and
Jonathan
fidgeted
in
embarrassment.
We can start working with time if you wish, Chiang said,
till you can fly
the
past
and
the
future.
And
then
you
will
be
ready to begin the most difficult,
the
most
powerful,
the
most
fun of all. You will be ready to begin to fly
up
and
know
the
meaning of kindness and of love.
A month went by, or something that felt about like a
month, and Jonathan learned at a tremendous rate. He always
had learned quickly from ordinary experience, and now, the
special student of the Elder Himself, he took in new ideas like
a streamlined feathered computer.
But then the day came that Chiang vanished. He had been
talking quietly with them all, exhorting them never to stop
their learning and their practising and their striving to understand
more of the perfect invisible principle of all life. Then,
as he spoke, his feathers went brighter and brighter and at last
turned so brilliant that no gull could look upon him.
Jonathan, he said, and these were the last words that he
spoke, keep working on love.
When they could see again, Chiang was gone.
As the days went past, Jonathan found himself thinking time
and again of the Earth from which he had come. If he had
known there just a tenth, just a hundredth, of what he knew
here, how much more life would have meant! He stood on the
sand and fell to wondering if there was a gull back there who
might be struggling to break out of his limits, to see the
meaning of flight
beyond
a
way
of
travel
to
get
a
breadcrumb
from a rowboat. Perhaps there might even have been one
made Outcast for speaking his truth in the face of the Flock.
And the more Jonathan practised his kindness lessons, and the
more he worked to know the nature of love, the more he
wanted to go back to Earth. For in spite of his lonely past,
Jonathan Seagull was born to be an instructor, and his own
way of demonstrating love was to give something of the
truth that he had seen to a gull who asked only a chance to see
truth for himself.
Sullivan, adept now at thought-speed flight
and
helping
the
others to learn, was doubtful.
Jon, you were Outcast once. Why do you think that any of
the gulls in your old time would listen to you now? You know
the proverb, and its true: The
gull
sees
farthest
who
flies
highest.
Those
gulls
where
you
came
from
are
standing
on
the
ground,
squawking and fighting
among
themselves.
Theyre
a thousand
miles from heaven and you say you want to show them heaven
from where they stand! Jon, they cant see their own
wingtips! Stay here. Help the new gulls here, the ones who are
high enough to see what you have to tell them. He was quiet
for a moment, and then he said, What if Chiang had gone
back to his old worlds? Where would you have been today?
The
last
point
was
the
telling
one,
and
Sullivan
was
right.
The
gull
sees
farthest
who
flies
highest.
Jonathan stayed and worked with the new birds coming in,
who were all very bright and quick with their lessons. But the
old feeling came back, and he couldnt help but think that
there might be one or two gulls back on Earth who would be
able to learn, too. How much more would he have known by
now if Chiang had come to him on the day that he was
Outcast!
Sully, I must go back, he said at last. Your students are
doing well. They
can
help
you
bring
the
newcomers
along.
Sullivan sighed, but he did not argue. I think Ill miss you,
Jonathan, was all he said.
Sully, for shame! Jonathan said in reproach, and dont be
foolish! What are we trying to practise every day? If our
friendship depends on things like space and time, then when
we finally
overcome
space
and
time,
weve
destroyed
our
own
brotherhood! But overcome space, and all we have left
is
Here. Overcome time, and all we have left
is
Now.
And
in
the
middle of Here and Now, dont you think that we might see
each other once or twice?
Sullivan Seagull laughed in spite of himself. You crazy bird,
he said kindly. If anybody can show someone on the ground
how to see a thousand miles, it will be Jonathan Livingston
Seagull. He looked at the sand. Good-bye, Jon, my friend.
Good-bye, Sully. Well meet again. And with that,
Jonathan held in thought an image of the great gull-flocks
on
the shore of another time, and he knew with practised ease
that he was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom
and flight,
limited
by
nothing
at
all.
* * *
Fletcher Lynd Seagull was still quite young, but already he
knew that no bird had ever been so harshly treated by any
Flock, or with so much injustice.
I dont care what they say, he thought fiercely,
and
his
vision blurred as he flew
out
toward
the
Far
Cliffs.
Theres
so
much more to flying
than
just
flapping
around
from
place
to
place! A ... a ... mosquito
does that! One little barrel-roll
around the Elder Gull, just for fun, and Im Outcast! Are they
blind? Cant they see? Cant they think of the glory that itll be
when we really learn to fly?
I dont care what they think. Ill show them what flying
is!
Ill be pure Outlaw, if thats the way they want it. And Ill
make them so sorry ...
The
voice
came
inside
his
own
head,
and
though
it
was
very
gentle, it startled him so much that he faltered and stumbled
in the air.
Dont be harsh on them, Fletcher Seagull. In casting you
out, the other gulls have only hurt themselves, and one day
they will know this, and one day they will see what you see.
Forgive them, and help them to understand.
An inch from his right wingtip flew
the
most
brilliant
white
gull in all the world, gliding effortlessly
along,
not
moving
a
feather, at what was very nearly Fletchers top speed.
There
was
a
moment
of
chaos
in
the
young
bird.
Whats going on? Am I mad? Am I dead? What is this?
Low
and
calm,
the
voice
went
on
within
his
thought,
demanding
an answer. Fletcher Lynd Seagull, do you want to fly?
YES, I WANT TO FLY!
Fletcher Lynd Seagull, do you want to fly
so
much
that
you
will forgive the Flock, and learn, and go back to them one day
and work to help them know?
There
was
no
lying
to
this
magnificent
skilful
being,
no
matter
how proud or how hurt a bird was Fletcher Seagull.
I do, he said softly.
Then,
Fletch,
that
bright
creature
said
to
him,
and
the
voice was very kind, Lets begin with Level Flight ...
PART THREE
6917
6919
JONATHAN CIRCLED SLOWLY OVER THE FAR CLIFFS,
watching. This rough young Fletcher Gull was very nearly a
perfect flight-student. He was strong and light and quick in the
air, but far and away more important, he had a blazing drive to
learn to fly.
Here he came this minute, a blurred grey shape roaring out
of a dive, flashing one hundred fifty miles per hour past his
instructor. He pulled abruptly into another try at a sixteenpoint
vertical slow roll, calling the points out loud.
... eight ... nine ... ten ... see-Jonathan-Im-runningout-
of-airspeed ... eleven ... I-want-good-sharp-stops-likeyours
... twelve ... but-blast-it-I-just-cant-make ... thirteen
... these-last-three-points ... without ... fourtee ... aaakk!
Fletchers whipstall at the top was all the worse for his rage
and fury at failing. He fell backward, tumbled, slammed
savagely into an inverted spin, and recovered at last, panting,
a hundred feet below his instructors level.
Youre wasting your time with me, Jonathan! Im too
dumb! Im too stupid! I try and try, but Ill never get it!
Jonathan Seagull looked down at him and nodded. Youll
certainly never get it as long as you make that pullup so hard.
Fletcher, you lost forty miles an hour in the entry! You have
to
be smooth! Firm but smooth, remember?
He dropped down to the level of the younger gull. Lets try
it together now, in formation. And pay attention to that
pullup. Its a smooth, easy entry.
By the end of three months Jonathan had six other students,
Outcasts all, yet curious about this strange new idea of flight
for the joy of flying.
Still, it was easier for them to practise high performance
than it was to understand the reason behind it.
Each of us is in truth an idea of the Great Gull, an unlimited
idea of freedom, Jonathan would say in the evenings
on the beach, and precision flying
is
a
step
toward
expressing
our real nature. Everything that limits us we have to put aside.
Thats
why
all
this
high-speed
practice,
and
lowspeed,
and
aerobatics ...
... and his students would be asleep, exhausted from the
days flying.
They
liked
the
practice,
because
it
was
fast
and
exciting and it fed a hunger for learning that grew with every
lesson. But not one of them, not even Fletcher Lynd Gull, had
come to believe that the flight
of
ideas
could
possibly
be
as
real
as the flight
of
wind
and
feather.
Your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, Jonathan
would say, other times, is nothing more than your thought
itself, in a form you can see. Break the chains of your thought,
and you break the chains of your body, too ... But no matter
how he said it, it sounded like pleasant fiction,
and
they
needed more to sleep.
It was only a month later that Jonathan said the time had
come to return to the Flock.
Were not ready! said Henry Calvin Gull. Were not
welcome! Were Outcast! We cant force ourselves to go
where were not welcome, can we?
Were free to go where we wish and to be what we are,
Jonathan answered, and he lifted
from
the
sand
and
turned
east, toward the home grounds of the Flock.
There
was
brief
anguish
among
his
students,
for
it
is
the
Law of the Flock that an Outcast never returns, and the Law
had not been broken once in ten thousand years. The
Law
said
stay; Jonathan said go; and by now he was a mile across the
water. If they waited much longer, he would reach a hostile
Flock alone.
Well, we dont have to obey the law if were not a part of the
Flock, do we? Fletcher said, rather self-consciously. Besides, if
theres a fight,
well
be
a
lot
more
help
there
than
here.
And so they flew
in
from
the
west
that
morning,
eight
of them in a double-diamond formation, wingtips almost
overlapping. They
came
across
the
Flocks
Council
Beach
at
a
hundred thirty-five
miles
per
hour,
Jonathan
in
the
lead,
Fletcher smoothly at his right wing, Henry Calvin struggling
gamely at his left.
Then
the
whole
formation
rolled
slowly
to
the right, as one bird ... level ... to ... inverted ... to ...
level, the wind whipping over them all.
The
squawks
and
grockles
of
everyday
life
in
the
Flock
were
cut off
as
though
the
formation
were
a
giant
knife,
and
eight
thousand gull-eyes watched, without a single blink. One by
one, each of the eight birds pulled sharply upward into a full
loop and flew
all
the
way
around
to
a
dead-slow
stand-up
landing
on the sand. Then
as
though
this
sort
of
thing
happened
every day, Jonathan Seagull began his critique of the flight.
To begin with, he said with a wry smile, you were all a bit
late on the join-up ...
It went like lightning through the Flock. Those
birds
are
Outcast! And they have returned! And that ... that cant
happen! Fletchers predictions of battle melted in the Flocks
confusion.
Well, O.K., they may be Outcast, said some of the younger
gulls, but where on earth did they learn to fly
like
that?
It took almost an hour for the Word of the Elder to pass
through the Flock: Ignore them. The
gull
who
speaks
to
an Outcast is himself Outcast. The
gull
who
looks
upon
an
Outcast breaks the Law of the Flock.
Grey-feathered backs were turned upon Jonathan from that
moment onward, but he didnt appear to notice. He held his
practice sessions directly over the Council Beach and for the first
time began pressing his students to the limit of their ability.
Martin Gull! he shouted across the sky. You say you know
low-speed flying.
You
know
nothing
till
you
prove
it!
FLY!
So quiet little Martin William Seagull, startled to be caught
under his instructors fire,
surprised
himself
and
became
a
wizard of low speeds. In the lightest breeze he could curve his
feathers to lift
himself
without
a
single
flap
of
wing
from
sand
to cloud and down again.
Likewise Charles-Roland Gull flew
the
Great
Mountain
Wind to twenty-four thousand feet, came down blue from the
cold thin air, amazed and happy, determined to go still higher
tomorrow.
Fletcher Seagull, who loved aerobatics like no one else,
conquered his sixteen-point vertical slow roll and the next day
topped it off
with
a
triple
cartwheel,
his
feathers
flashing
white sunlight to a beach from which more than one furtive
eye watched.
Every hour Jonathan was there at the side of each of his
students, demonstrating, suggesting, pressuring, guiding. He
flew
with
them
through
night
and
cloud
and
storm,
for
the
sport of it, while the Flock huddled miserably on the ground.
When the flying
was
done,
the
students
relaxed
on
the
sand, and in time they listened more closely to Jonathan. He
had some crazy ideas that they couldnt understand, but then
he had some good ones that they could.
Gradually, in the night, another circle formed around
the circle of students a circle of curious gulls listening in the
darkness for hours on end, not wishing to see or be seen of
one another, fading away before daybreak.
It was a month after
the
Return
that
the
first
gull
of
the
Flock crossed the line and asked to learn how to fly.
In
his
asking,
Terrence Lowell Gull became a condemned bird, labelled
Outcast; and the eighth of Jonathans students.
The
next
night
from
the
Flock
came
Kirk
Maynard
Gull,
wobbling across the sand, dragging his left
wing,
to
collapse
at
Jonathans feet. Help me, he said very quietly, speaking in the
way that the dying speak. I want to fly
more
than
anything
else
in the world ...
Come along then, said Jonathan. Climb with me away
from the ground, and well begin.
You dont understand. My wing. I cant move my wing.
Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your
true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way. It
is the Law of the Great Gull, the Law that Is.
Are you saying I can fly?
I say you are free.
As simply and as quickly as that, Kirk Maynard Gull spread
his wings, effortlessly,
and
lifted
into
the
dark
night
air.
The
Flock was roused from sleep by his cry, as loud as he could
scream it, from five
hundred
feet
up;
I can fly!
Listen!
I CAN
FLY!
By sunrise there were nearly a thousand birds standing
outside the circle of students, looking curiously at Maynard.
They
didnt
care
whether
they
were
seen
or
not,
and
they
listened, trying to understand Jonathan Seagull.
He spoke of very simple things that it is right for a gull to
fly,
that
freedom
is
the
very
nature
of
his
being,
that
whatever
stands against that freedom must be set aside, be it ritual or
superstition or limitation in any form.
Set aside, came a voice from the multitude, even if it be
the Law of the Flock?
The
only
true
law
is
that
which
leads
to
freedom,
Jonathan
said. There
is
no
other.
How do you expect us to fly
as
you
fly?
came
another
voice. You are special and gifted
and
divine,
above
other
birds.
Look at Fletcher! Lowell! Charles-Roland! Are they also
special and gifted
and
divine?
No
more
than
you
are,
no
more
than I am. The
only
difference,
the
very
only
one,
is
that
they
have begun to understand what they really are and have begun
to practise it.
His students, save Fletcher, shifted
uneasily.
They
hadnt
realised that this was what they were doing.
The
crowd
grew
larger
every
day,
coming
to
question,
to
idolize, to scorn.
They
are
saying
in
the
Flock
that
if
you
are
not
the
Son
of
the
Great Gull Himself, Fletcher told Jonathan one morning after
Advanced Speed Practice, then you are a thousand years
ahead of your time.
Jonathan sighed. The
price
of
being
misunderstood,
he
thought. They
call
you
devil
or
they
call
you
god.
What
do
you think, Fletch? Are we ahead of our time?
A long silence. Well, this kind of flying
has
always
been
here to be learned by anybody who wanted to discover it;
thats got nothing to do with time. Were ahead of the fashion,
maybe. Ahead of the way that most gulls fly.
Thats
something,
Jonathan
said,
rolling
to
glide
inverted
for a while. Thats
not
half
as
bad
as
being
ahead
of
our
time.
It happened just a week later. Fletcher was demonstrating the
elements of high-speed flying
to
a
class
of
new
students.
He
had just pulled out of his dive from seven thousand feet, a long
grey streak firing
a
few
inches
above
the
beach,
when
a
young
bird on its first
flight
glided
directly
into
his
path,
calling
for
its mother. With a tenth of a second to avoid the youngster,
Fletcher Lynd Seagull snapped hard to the left,
at
something
over two hundred miles per hour, into a cliff
of
solid
granite.
It was, for him, as though the rock were a giant hard door
into another world. A burst of fear and shock and black as he
hit, and then he was adrift
in
a
strange
strange
sky,
forgetting,
remembering, forgetting; afraid and sad and sorry, terribly
sorry.
The
voice
came
to
him
as
it
had
in
the
first
day
that
he
had
met Jonathan Livingston Seagull.
The
trick,
Fletcher,
is
that
we
are
trying
to
overcome
our
limitations in order, patiently. We dont tackle flying
through
rock until a little later in the programme.
Jonathan!
Also known as the Son of the Great Gull, his instructor
said dryly.
What are you doing here? The
cliff!
Havent
I ...
didnt
I
... die?
Oh, Fletch, come on. Think.
If
you
are
talking
to
me
now,
then obviously you didnt die, did you? What you did manage
to do was to change your level of consciousness rather
abruptly. Its your choice now. You can stay here and learn on
this level which is quite a bit higher than the one you left,
by
the way or you can go back and keep working with the
Flock. The
Elders
were
hoping
for
some
kind
of
disaster,
but
theyre startled that you obliged them so well.
I want to go back to the Flock, of course. Ive barely begun
with the new group!
Very well, Fletcher. Remember what we were saying about
ones body being nothing more than thought itself ...?
Fletcher shook his head and stretched his wings and opened
his eyes at the base of the cliff,
in
the
centre
of
the
whole
Flock
assembled. There
was
a
great
clamour
of
squawks
and
screes
from the crowd when first
he
moved.
He lives! He that was dead lives!
Touched him with a wingtip! Brought him to life! The
Son
of the Great Gull!
No! He denies it! Hes a devil! DEVIL! Come to break the
Flock!
There
were
four
thousand
gulls
in
the
crowd,
frightened
at
what had happened, and the cry DEVIL! went through them
like the wind of an ocean storm. Eyes glazed, beaks sharp, they
closed in to destroy.
Would you feel better if we left,
Fletcher?
asked
Jonathan.
I certainly wouldnt object too much if we did ...
Instantly they stood together a half-mile away, and the flashing
beaks of the mob closed on empty air.
Why is it, Jonathan puzzled, that the hardest thing in the
world is to convince a bird that he is free, and that he can
prove it for himself if hed just spend a little time practising?
Why should that be so hard?
Fletcher still blinked from the change of scene. What did
you just do? How did we get here?
You did say you wanted to be out of the mob, didnt you?
Yes! But how did you ...
Like everything else, Fletcher. Practice.
By morning the Flock had forgotten its insanity, but Fletcher
had not. Jonathan, remember what you said a long time ago,
about loving the Flock enough to return to it and help it
learn?
Yes.
I dont understand how you manage to love a mob of birds
that has just tried to kill you.
Oh, Fletch, you dont love that! You dont love hatred and
evil, of course. You have to practise and see the real gull, the
good in every one of them, and to help them see it in themselves.
Thats
what
I
mean
by
love.
Its
fun,
when
you
get
the
knack of it.
I remember a fierce
young
bird,
for
instance,
Fletcher
Lynd Seagull, his name. Just been made Outcast, ready to fight
the Flock to the death, getting a start on building his own
bitter hell out on the Far Cliffs.
And
here
he
is
today
building
his own heaven instead, and leading the whole Flock in that
direction.
Fletcher turned to his instructor, and there was a moment
of fright in his eye. Me
leading? What do you mean, me
leading? Youre the instructor here. You couldnt leave!
Couldnt I? Dont you think that there might be other
flocks,
other
Fletchers,
that
need
an
instructor
more
than
this
one, thats on its way toward the light?
Me? Jon, Im just a plain seagull, and youre ...
... the only Son of the Great Gull, I suppose? Jonathan
sighed and looked out to sea. You dont need me any longer.
You need to keep finding
yourself,
a
little
more
each
day,
that
real, unlimited Fletcher Seagull. Hes your instructor. You
need to understand him and to practise him.
A moment later Jonathans body wavered in the air, shimmering,
and began to go transparent. Dont let them spread
silly rumours about me, or make me a god. O.K., Fletch? Im
a seagull. I like to fly,
maybe
...
JONATHAN!
Poor Fletch. Dont believe what your eyes are telling you.
All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding,
find
out
what
you
already
know,
and
youll
see
the
way
to
fly.
The
shimmering
stopped.
Jonathan
Seagull
had
vanished
into empty air.
After
a
time,
Fletcher
Gull
dragged
himself
into
the
sky
and
faced a brand-new group of students, eager for their first
lesson.
To begin with, he said heavily, youve got to understand
that a seagull is an unlimited idea of freedom, an image of the
Great Gull, and your whole body, from wingtip to wingtip, is
nothing more than your thought itself.
The
young
gulls
looked
at
him
quizzically.
Come
on,
they
thought, this doesnt sound like a rule for a loop.
Fletcher sighed and started over. Hm. Ah ... very well, he
said, and eyed them critically. Lets begin with Level Flight.
And saying that, he understood all at once that his friend had
quite honestly been no more divine than Fletcher himself.
No limits, Jonathan? he thought. Well, then, the times not
distant when Im going to appear out of thin air on your
beach, and show you a thing or two about flying!
And though he tried to look properly severe for his
students, Fletcher Seagull suddenly saw them all as they
really were, just for a moment, and he more than liked, he
loved what it was he saw. No limits, Jonathan? he thought, and
he smiled. His race to learn had begun.
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