Little Black Bird

I write in metaphors. It's how my brain works, functions, and processes everything that comes to me. Which is given me a cool platform to write about what hurts, in a way that is private yet raw.It is also a way that people can take this for how it relates to them. The author doesn't have to tell you what it means for you to get the message. It applies to all. So for my first official blog, I thought I would pull one out of the archives and share it with you.

                                                                 ~~~Little Black Bird~~~
I own a little black bird. This little black bird is nothing special. He is not expensive, or good looking, he just is. He did not always belong to me, he chose me from among many. But I did not want him. He flew in my window one morning, small and frail. He fluttered around a while, until he settled on my shoulder. I tried to shoo him away, "Get off little bird," I said, "I don't want to take care of you." But he nestled in and squawked. I had compassion, and I let him stay. I had no cage, food, or any other necessities to keep him healthy so he stayed on my shoulder and fed him the scraps from my food. Now I know this wasn't the best choice, but it's what I thought worked at the time. The little black bird and I began to function as a pair. I ate, then I fed him and he went with me on my shoulder. He would squawk in my ear to focus on one thing or another. He liked to focus on the odd, or slightly off. I would tell him "yeah that's weird, but we have things to do." But he would always come back to them.
Over time, he began to require more maintenance. He wanted more food, and began stealing food from my plate. 
"Hey!" I would yell. "You get the scraps, I need this food!" 
He would screech in my ear protesting, then continue to eat. He also began to weigh more, making my shoulder painful. I tried to move him to a seat or ledge but he dug his talons into my shoulder, telling me I'm staying here. 
I caved.
I let him eat my food, I didn't want to be screeched at. I let him reside on my aching shoulder, fearful the talons would make their marks in my punctured skin. When we walked I dwelled on what he focused on, and became fixed. 
The weight of him and his presence became so demanding. I walked bent over. This black bird, once so innocent, so quiet, so little maintenance, was now a large, heavy, fixated black crow. I never was able to enjoy life because my attention was on him and his thoughts.
One day, as I walked bent over, I ran into a woman knocking her groceries all over the sidewalk. 
"I'm so sorry ma'am, I didn't see you."
As I reached for her produce, she bent down beside me and whispered,
"Birds get to choose where they land, but we are the ones that choose to let them stay or make them fly on."
In my hunched over state, I looked at the woman, who looked at my crow and smiled at me. She patted my hand, got up and continued walking. Her words knocked down walls in my brain. The bird was not the one making him stay, it was ME. I had let him take control, I handed it to him on a silver platter. I got to choose whether he stayed or flew on. And if I wanted anything to change, it was going to have to come from me. 
So I walked for the first time with determination to the pet store. I bought a cage and some birdseed. The bird squawked at my purchase. He tried to focus my attention on the things that I had caved to just hours ago, but I was focused.
When we got home I put the bird cage on the table and grabbed the crow. He dug his claws into my torn skin, and pecked my fingers.
I screamed.
But I didn't care, this bird was no longer in control. I was.
I let go for a moment, and he relaxed. He shrilled a cry of victory in my ear. Then I ripped that bird off my shoulder and threw him into the metal cage. I shut the door and stood watching the bird flap and cry in utter confusion.
I had won. 
I was free.
I stood up straight for the first time, and I saw how worn I had become. I hadn't eaten in a long time. My shoulder was battered. My face tired and white. 
Then I looked at my bird. Fat, healthy, loud, controlling. He pecked at the cage wiring trying to free himself. He eyed my shoulder and screeched. How had I not seen what I had been doing to myself all this time? Giving myself over to this bird and his control. But not anymore, it was time for him to fly.
I never let that bird out of his cage. He stayed there, only being fed when he needed it. He began to shrink, loosing his fat stature he once had. He didn't squawk as much and didn't peck at his cage wires. I began to heal too.
My shoulder loosened and healed, leaving scars of the talon marks. I regained my coloring and posture. I was free, from the weight that once was so dominate. But my mind was still anxious. The bird's calls reverberated in my brain. I'm nervous at little things. 
But I am healing. And healing is hard.
As for the bird, I let him go. He regained his small size and I let him fly. He still comes back, looking for me. Sometimes in different colors, shapes, or sounds. He lands on my shoulder, just like he did that first time, whispering thoughts in my ear. I tend to listen and start to believe, then I remember that wise woman saying, "birds choose where to land, but we decide to let them stay or make them fly on."
I shoo him away, "fly on little black bird, you have no place here."
And he does.

Comments

  1. Way cool! I can definitely see how this applies to my life ��

    ReplyDelete
  2. Holy frick Em this made me almost cry in public. It's incredible and I love it.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular Posts