little bird analogy
Our chicken coop is more than just the house the chickens live in. It's a big fenced in cage with a fence roof, to protect the chickens. Right now there's a little bird stuck in the chicken coop and it keeps fluttering against the fencing - absolutely certain that this time it will get out. It must've gotten in yesterday and we missed it when locking the girls up for the night. It's pretty common for us now.
I go in and corner the bird then fail to catch it several times since I'm so afraid my big clumsy hands will hurt it. Once, one even stunned itself flying into the posts. Finally I get it cupped gently in my hands, head poked out between my thumbs. It's little heart beating, beating. I'll hold it for just a few moments too long, savoring the feeling of it's feathers, the rarity of holding a wild bird, then I'll open my hands and it will fly off.
But now a little bird is in the coop, and I haven't gone to save it yet. There are about 10 other little birds with it. Outside the coop. Watching, I see the trapped bird on one side of the fence on the ground. Then the other little birds land near it. Since they are altogether, they think they can fly off. So they all take off together -- only one is stopped by the fence. So they all return and do it again. And again. They don't understand the fencing. Certain that they see their companion is right with them, they expect it to be able to go with them. They can't fathom what is holding it back.
Eventually I'll go free the little bird. What I really can't help thinking though, is how this applies to people. Those we love, or ourselves. How often have we been the little bird, unable to break past a certain point to the confusion of our companions? How often have we been the companions, growing more and more exhausted with each attempt to not leave the other behind? And what has been the big unknown catalyst?
I go in and corner the bird then fail to catch it several times since I'm so afraid my big clumsy hands will hurt it. Once, one even stunned itself flying into the posts. Finally I get it cupped gently in my hands, head poked out between my thumbs. It's little heart beating, beating. I'll hold it for just a few moments too long, savoring the feeling of it's feathers, the rarity of holding a wild bird, then I'll open my hands and it will fly off.
But now a little bird is in the coop, and I haven't gone to save it yet. There are about 10 other little birds with it. Outside the coop. Watching, I see the trapped bird on one side of the fence on the ground. Then the other little birds land near it. Since they are altogether, they think they can fly off. So they all take off together -- only one is stopped by the fence. So they all return and do it again. And again. They don't understand the fencing. Certain that they see their companion is right with them, they expect it to be able to go with them. They can't fathom what is holding it back.
Eventually I'll go free the little bird. What I really can't help thinking though, is how this applies to people. Those we love, or ourselves. How often have we been the little bird, unable to break past a certain point to the confusion of our companions? How often have we been the companions, growing more and more exhausted with each attempt to not leave the other behind? And what has been the big unknown catalyst?
posted by Laura | 8:08 AM
2 Comments:
Oh Laura. I think I would have cried to watch them trying over and over again. Good luck with the liberation of the teeny black bird.
I don't want to cheapen this post with a bunch of blathering, but I will say this: sometimes you totally blow me away.
Post a Comment
<< Home