Our cages


It is a matter of shame that in the morning the birds should be awake earlier than you. — Abu Bakr

My parrots are an allegory for my life. The entire time I have had them, I’ve given them what I could: Love, devotion, medical care, beautiful homes (cages), and life partners.

However, as the rains begin fall and it’s breeding season for the type of birds I have, I can’t help but think that their anguish of being stuck in a cage and wanting to fly free and breed is similar to how I feel about my life. I feel like there’s a door there and I never open it. Every turn is just another turn in the cage, a life compartmentalized with all the responsibility that I’ve heaped upon myself, but not wanting to let go of my self-imposed ties because of some sort of internal ethic. Listening to the parrots in the baby monitor as the sun rose used to be a welcoming alarm clock, and now it’s just Groundhog Day.

And then I realized that I had all the control and that I should just begin. Someone once said to me that good things can happen to you if you just clear a path. That’s code for don’t retreat into darkness, stay open to the light. Interesting that all the good advice has nature encoded into it.

I’m listening to the Gymnopédies by Satie: the keys fall, it sounds like rain, and then it sounds like dancing, and it’s quieting the parrots.

Georgia’s face is so old: her soft dog eyes and long white snout look like snow and mud.

Shadows of tiny birds appear for a moment in the light of the window shade, and then are gone.

Image: “The Narrow Path” by rabiem22 on Flickr.

 

 

 

 

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