When I was younger, I remember dreaming of being a bird. So many people share this dream – the wings that give lift to dreams and enable freedom. I wanted out from an oppressive situation. Often times feathers would come across my path and I’d add them to my collection. Maybe if there were enough it might be possible to get out.
The fascination with feathers and the wingspans of birds has never left me. Depictions of angelic-like creatures, winged beings always caught my envy. To have immortalized in their own identity, their flesh the very symbol of independence was something I craved. Soon after when my reading comprehension exceeded the bounds of school books I dug into mythologies and I discovered phoenixes. Birds of fire that were immortal, eternal and symbolized a cycle of life, death and rebirth. This would keep much of me going in later years.
So I keep watching them and adding to my collection. All the birds in the world with their rituals and practices, their clicks, whistles and chirps of languages. I’m on my way to getting use to my wings. I’ve all the freedom in the world – my fingers are just on the cusp of experiencing the ability to fly.