Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… There there, birdy, ease up, just need to get this on you…. There!
Seventeen, eighteen… Done. Exactly what the healer told me to do. One bird for one situation to be healed. She said balloons will do the job too, but not as dramatic & affective as releasing the birdies. There’s a special power endowed to these creatures she said, from the olden days. The one who flies away towards land, and brings back the leaf after the great flood. A searcher of hope, as well as a bringer of what is to come.
I looked at each of them birds, with strings securing them to a cage, with another sparrow inside. Bird 1: regrets that I couldn’t be there to care for Grandma when she was sick. I was out hiking when she was on the brink. Should’ve known better. Now she’s gone.
Bird 2: Didn’t understand a heartbroken woman, and became massively impatient with her during her weakest moments. Lost friendship.
Bird 3: Wished I listened to my Ma & Pa, not to plunge headlong into the “cause”, which they had to suffer along with me.
Bird 4: Missed years growing up with siblings, while I was away, on the “cause”
Bird 5: Letting go of a lost love, too late, held on too long…
The cage, the chief of all regrets to be released, is unforgiveness for & anger at myself – to have lost time, lost youth, lost opportunities to live more responsibly, balancedly, with more wisdom, according to the Almighty’s prescription, not mine.
As the eighteen flapped impatiently, restrained by the rafia that connected them to their air-package, I looked at the one inside the cage. I looked at the bird from the side of the cage, catching its eye. It seemed to return the look. I seemed to see my own reflection in its seeming serenity. It was probably certain death for it, if it rose with the cage. The rafia would break, the cage would plummet onto the ground, smashing into pieces on impact with the little one inside.
Resignation. Que sera sera – not the hopeful type of “What will be, will be”. More of resigned to my portion in life, cos I don’t have a choice. I have given up my choices to wrong ones early in life.
The little bit left of compassion in me prompted me to open the cage. Let the little sparrow fly free. To let go. And so, all the tying of knots, to the birds & the cage, was undone in a moment, with a few snips of the scissors. Finally, I reached into the cage & took the final little one out, stretched my arm upwards, gently clutching the little one.
“Fly away, be free.”
The lost years.
The lost moments.
The childish & unwise choices.
The could’ve beens.
The unanswered questions.
The unforgiveness & angst against myself.
Fly away, be free.