A place where I can share my random thoughts and viewpoints - weird as they may be.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
There's this story line going on in my head. It's been there for years now, but the words have never found their way through a pen or onto the computer keys. I want to develop a scenario of how I chose to come to earth as a naked little baby. . . and then why I chose to be female . . . and then a mother. It's hard to explain (which is probably why it hasn't yet been written), but knowing me like I do, I wanted to know what was behind all the doors and curtains before I made my final decision. Maybe that's the way I am only because I'm human, though. Maybe my spirit didn't feel that way? No, it did. I'm sure of it. Anyway, I've thought of a lot of things over the years that I may have considered chosing to be. Today, I have added a new choice.
I choose to be a bird.
Birds fly high above the activity and chaos. They can see the action in the main ring as well as the villains hiding behind the rocks. I would be a bird with choices, though, swooping in and plucking out the underdog and carrying him to higher territory. I could eat all the nasty little cricket-people and then go regurgitate (sp) them in some deep, bottomless crevice.
I would be able to spend quality time with my little eggs and when they hatched, I would feed them only the bugs and worms that were good for them. I would sing to them and soothe them and point out all the beautiful things of the world. I would keep the nest warm while explaining the freedom their wings possessed. And then, one day, I would sit in my nest and watch them hit the ground as I accidently pushed them off the edge of the nest. (Okay, maybe that sounds a little morbid - I'll have to work on that part.)
As the mother bird I would swoop down (I really like that word 'swoop'. It seems to have a sort of omniscient power about it - like by 'swooping' you get the whole buffet, not just the finger foods)and pick them up and brush off their wings and straighten their beak. Then, as I carried them back to the safety of the nest, I would explain the process whereby they could avoid that sudden introduction to the hard earth. After that, we would fly to amazing heights while they tested the strength of their wings and I would encourage them to fly out of range of the desolation below. On some certain day, I would watch them soar and my little bird chest would puff up with
And then I could just fly off into the brilliant warmth of the sunshine.
Not sure it would have ever been an option but it might be kind of fun. For a minute anyway. Then again, maybe being a bird is just another of the many definitions of 'mother'.