Bird gently in the sky fluttering Jeannine Kahzarian
Poetry
2 Comments on “bird flutter”
Really something to ponder. Why isn’t the bird going anywhere? If it’s fluttering, is it content? or is it lost? But really, if we’re not content, aren’t we all lost? Because to be lost means that we’re out of our depth, not necessary that we’re somewhere we don’t want to be. If I jump into a new relationship that I really want to be in, I’m still lost. I’ve never done this before. What makes him laugh, how should I wear my hair? I’m lost but in the best possible way.
But of course, after the death of my beloved childhood pet, I’m also lost. I’ve never experienced death before, and it feels so…final. Wake up, Tricky, wake up. When I was away at college, and he was alive, I missed him, but it wasn’t an all-consuming missing. I was content. But when I was away at college and he was dead? I was lost. I’d never be able to pet him again. He was dust, sitting in my childhood bedroom. For he was lost (although some would say he was nothing)
But being content? That’s a whole other beast. Being content is so much less emotional than being lost. I have no motivation to pursue more, because I am content. I’m not happy, not sad, not mad, not jealous, not sick, not bored. I am content. Am I too fluttering in the sky, feeling the sun warm my wings? Feeling the gently nudge me along, but not too much pressure, offering me another adventure? Or is the wind still, and that’s why i’m only gently fluttering? Is the entire world content, ready to be consumed by the eternal nothingness? And we’re so final with that, because we’re content. We don’t need control.
But the fluttering- that’s active. The bird isn’t laying down. It’s actively choosing to stay aflight in the sky. It world to be a part of that great landscape we call life, and it’s determined, yet content, to be there.
Or perhaps again, it’s waiting for someone. The birds haven’t been flying south anymore because the Winters have been so mild (hi, global warming!). So is he waiting for his family? Perhaps he’s gently fluttering because he’s trying to stay calm, but on the inside he’s terrified that his family is late, that they’re as dead as Tricky, that he’s about to be Lost.
And really, how much can we say about the observation of a bird gently in the sky fluttering? We don’t truly know what the bird is thinking. We can’t, because he is as individual as you or me. He thoughts may not be as complex (or are they? I don’t think so because if they were he’d aspire to do more than just gently in the sky flutter. He’d be ravaging the human population because he keep destroying his nests and cutting down his trees. Human really suck).
It’s like when we pretend to be someone we’re not. We want people to perceive ourselves a certain way, so we’ll push down any feelings that don’t fit our brand. And that’s how depression becomes so rampant among our world, especially our teenagers.
Oh God, is the bird depressed?
There’s no clear answer to these many questions, especially because any time we answer a question we get ten more questions. But I think the bird really is a symbol of the human condition. There is no content, there is no lost, there just is. And then there isn’t.
Yes, this poem really is something to ponder.
Contemplating “bird flutter” mesmerized me into an altered universe. I could keep coming back to it.
Really something to ponder. Why isn’t the bird going anywhere? If it’s fluttering, is it content? or is it lost? But really, if we’re not content, aren’t we all lost? Because to be lost means that we’re out of our depth, not necessary that we’re somewhere we don’t want to be. If I jump into a new relationship that I really want to be in, I’m still lost. I’ve never done this before. What makes him laugh, how should I wear my hair? I’m lost but in the best possible way.
But of course, after the death of my beloved childhood pet, I’m also lost. I’ve never experienced death before, and it feels so…final. Wake up, Tricky, wake up. When I was away at college, and he was alive, I missed him, but it wasn’t an all-consuming missing. I was content. But when I was away at college and he was dead? I was lost. I’d never be able to pet him again. He was dust, sitting in my childhood bedroom. For he was lost (although some would say he was nothing)
But being content? That’s a whole other beast. Being content is so much less emotional than being lost. I have no motivation to pursue more, because I am content. I’m not happy, not sad, not mad, not jealous, not sick, not bored. I am content. Am I too fluttering in the sky, feeling the sun warm my wings? Feeling the gently nudge me along, but not too much pressure, offering me another adventure? Or is the wind still, and that’s why i’m only gently fluttering? Is the entire world content, ready to be consumed by the eternal nothingness? And we’re so final with that, because we’re content. We don’t need control.
But the fluttering- that’s active. The bird isn’t laying down. It’s actively choosing to stay aflight in the sky. It world to be a part of that great landscape we call life, and it’s determined, yet content, to be there.
Or perhaps again, it’s waiting for someone. The birds haven’t been flying south anymore because the Winters have been so mild (hi, global warming!). So is he waiting for his family? Perhaps he’s gently fluttering because he’s trying to stay calm, but on the inside he’s terrified that his family is late, that they’re as dead as Tricky, that he’s about to be Lost.
And really, how much can we say about the observation of a bird gently in the sky fluttering? We don’t truly know what the bird is thinking. We can’t, because he is as individual as you or me. He thoughts may not be as complex (or are they? I don’t think so because if they were he’d aspire to do more than just gently in the sky flutter. He’d be ravaging the human population because he keep destroying his nests and cutting down his trees. Human really suck).
It’s like when we pretend to be someone we’re not. We want people to perceive ourselves a certain way, so we’ll push down any feelings that don’t fit our brand. And that’s how depression becomes so rampant among our world, especially our teenagers.
Oh God, is the bird depressed?
There’s no clear answer to these many questions, especially because any time we answer a question we get ten more questions. But I think the bird really is a symbol of the human condition. There is no content, there is no lost, there just is. And then there isn’t.
Yes, this poem really is something to ponder.
Contemplating “bird flutter” mesmerized me into an altered universe. I could keep coming back to it.