Pride, and a Gilded cage.

This is what happens when a self-assured human meets a colorful proud bird:

Imagine this: A man who is so assured of his place on the planet comes by a beautiful flutter of color and feathers. That being a gorgeous, bold bird of color and song. The colorful bird turns out to be proud as well. And is so assured of its swiftness of flight, powerful wings, and the strength of its shrill whistle. Man will stop to admire the sight. Bird will fly nearby in a dance the man will find daunting and flirtatious.

In his pride and high opinion of himself, the man will watch the bird’s graceful flight and listen to its inborn melody. After getting over his awe, the vanity that is so characteristic of man will deem him worthy of more than admiring beauty. He will consider himself deserving of possessing that beauty. He will call it, taming. And he will set forth to capture the bird who was too confident in its swift flight and powerful wings and was therefore too slow for the clever trap set by man.

The next part of the encounter sees the man standing by a gilded cage that contains the bird. He is quite pleased with himself for having captured beauty and satisfied that he now has the bird for himself. He might even congratulate himself for supplying such beauty to the eye, forgetting that he did not create it. The bird upon realizing its new position shrieks its outrage and flies upon the cage battling for its freedom. But the strong wings and sharp beak that were shields of confidence and might in a jungle are useless against metal. The bird will only come to accept this reality after painful collisions. What started as cries of outrage slowly turn into pleas and even prayers sent to the heavens for release.

Man will watch the bird’s fight in the cage and find the noise unpleasant. So, he will think of what to appease the bird with or at least get it to cease the endless flutter that’s denying him peace to observe the colorful view he covets. So, he will decide to limit the bird’s struggles by snipping the tips of the feathered wings. He will also find nuts, fruits, and seeds to appease the bird and control the screeching and the scratching. And he will call this discipline. He will call this teaching. And he will be pleased with himself.

The bird after consoling itself with the treats will understand the bribe. It will notice that the treats come to appease its cries. So that the cries that were once of outrage and prayer turn to demanding shrieks. It will soon teach the man what treats are pleasing by cawing in anger when the least favorite ones are given. The proud bird will tell itself that it still makes the choices on what it wants to eat and when.  It will now crack away on the nuts and hop around the cage under an imaginative vapor of its glory days. And it will call that freedom. It will be pleased with itself.

We’ll reach a point that man and bird face each other.

Man is now bent by the spine feeding a bird just to keep it quiet and peaceful. He looks at the now docile bird and wonders why he can’t see those beautiful colors and graceful movements anymore. It sometimes occurs to him that the colors are hidden under the flightless wings. And sadly still, the graceful swings of the bird are rusty from restricted hops and limps within the cage. He will search his memory to reconcile the fascinating creature he met with the now defeated but still proud one in the cage. He will feel wistful, but we don’t know if the man could one day set his self-importance and pride aside. We don’t know also if he will come to admit and understand that there’s no beauty in a confined bird but just the responsibility to feed it. Or if he’d come to the humbling conclusion that beauty is not his to tame or possess to begin with.

Bird is now crippled, ill-tempered, and entitled. After consoling itself with being in the cage by thinking it was being served and pampered, its plight reveals itself with time.  We don’t know if the bird remembers the days when it had true freedom. Or if it’ll convince itself that it had a better view and provisions that outweigh its choices. We don’t know if it bothers to caw for its treats anymore. We don’t know if songs burst from its breast from the lightness of its flight and rising of the sun.

It is at this point that man and bird face each other. Their pride stares on the surface mingled with slight regret, morose, and nostalgia. Man looks at bird, bird looks at man and this goes on and on until we don’t know where man ends and bird starts. We don’t know anymore which is bird and which is man. We don’t even know that they are two entities anymore as their demise swirls and coils into one messy structure.

And this, my dear, is what happens when a self-righteousness man encounters a colorful proud bird.

Tracing Chalk Doors

O, hello there stranger! Hello, you fascinating passerby who so randomly wandered by my home. It’s incredible how life brought you here today of all days. I also find it remarkable how among millions and millions of paths and courses, yours and mine connect at this point. This point where I stand inside my home staring out through the window and seeing you. Hello, bright eyes. Hello, friendly smile.
I want to get to know you. So, we talk to each other. We stare at each other and share our stories. And as typical to us humans, we share a lot in a short while of finding a connection. In the little time since you walked by my home, we have shared smiles and laughter. Our smiles shy and secretive at first, then slowly broadening to bright acknowledgments of each other. Our laughter before controlled and secretive is now a burst of mirth that throws our heads back and waters our eyes. We are connected, we are kindred spirits. We want more…
I reach out through my window and grasp your reaching arm. We stare, smile, laugh, and touch. We both wonder if there could be more. Could we dance to the same music, for instance? Or, would we walk with equal steps? Also, would our silences be light if we sat in a quiet room together? There must be more to a connection, don’t you think? We need to make a move to broaden this connection…

Let me tell you what I’m going to do:
I’m going to excuse myself and run to search in my home. There I will find my welcoming chalk. The same chalk I used to trace the boundaries of my home. Then I will walk back to the window and wave it gleefully. I’ll proceed to trace a door large enough for your form, right next to the window. And then with a warm, hopeful smile, I will welcome you into my home. You will walk right through my chalk door and join me. Oh! What a joy!
We’ll sing, we’ll dance and we’ll be as merry as can be. And with time we’ll want to know and feel more. So, we’ll share much more than smiles and laughter. We will share our tears, pain, sadness, and much more of the deeper complexities of ourselves. We’ll learn that we cry when our happiness bubbles through our chests and sometimes we smile when it’s too sad to cry and too hard to fight. And being true to our nature, we choose a name for this connection among the many nouns for linked beings. We’ll call it something like: friendship, love, family, kinship. And we may start describing each other as friends, sisters, brothers, lovers.


We can go anywhere from here, dear stranger:
You could find belonging in my home and me in your being. And you would then decide to get your chalk and trace the boundaries of your own home within mine or right by it. and together we’ll have a home and be.
You could miss your wandering because you are a floating being who carries your home with you. And so, you would invite me to carry my chalk, walk away with you, wander with you and maybe someday we will trace our home together in a fantastic new place and build it there together.
You may also find the solid brick of my home too heavy for your wanderlust and bid me a sad but much-needed goodbye. And I will watch you walk away and wonder what great adventures await you.
You could also enter my home with muddy shoes and leave dirty traces all over my clean floor. And then proceed to dance and make such reckless merry that you broke my treasures and shook my home. You wouldn’t even be considerate enough to try and replace the chalk door with a permanent structure. So, one day I would realize that you are a threat to my home. That you did not come to build with me. That you are a fleeting wreck who sees not the value of my home boundaries. Then I shall remind you that you do not belong here. I will escort you to the chalk door and let you out. Then I will thoroughly wipe the traced door so that you would only hurt your forehead if you tried to walk back in. After storing my chalk and duster, I will walk back to the window and watch… and wait… and hope…
But you see, all these are just musings of what I am going to do and what may come out of it. just thoughts from this person tracing the boundaries and creating space for a home. I stand here with my chalk hoping that you know I have the absolute power to let you into my home, and the complete authority to let you or even push you, right out. At the same time, I hope you also understand that you have complete freedom on whether you want to come in, stand by the window, or walk right by. I truly wonder what your stand is in all this, oh, dear stranger.
So, go on and tell me:
What sets you wandering and venturing? What did you do to set fate upon our paths crossing? Do you carry your home with you? Will you dare to pause and see this world with me? Do you intend to live in goodness and be human?
Hello, there stranger! Hello, there bright eyes! It’s incredible to see you here… Don’t you think so?