Her mind was a junk drawer. She knew better, but things just piled up. Some useful, most not. It interfered as she would forget the littlest thing going from room to room. Circling, wearing a path into the floor – one might see her limited movements and mistake her for a captive animal. No bars or locks, just her mind and her fears and the element of complacency.
The birds freed her mind from its trappings. From inside she adored them; she watched them through the pane (they came closer this way). Her eyes seized each one like a prize. Over and over she saw perfection in their small beaks and smooth feathers. Always a moment of magic – they existed only for her.
Her childhood was similar, she recalls, getting locked on to things (things of freedom) though never feeling free. Listening to cassettes on repeat while she searched each song for its longing; she found certainty in the repetition and familiarity even at a young age.
Her head burned, begging for fresh air. She felt immobilized -like chains held her to this space. What was this behavior?
Self afflicted bondage? A retreat? It had grounded her, yes, but she no longer had wings. She abandoned them somewhere along the way, clipped them off in haste and was feeling the pains.
It was a lifelong effort growing them back and taking flight again.
Excerpt How To Grow Wings: Awareness by Angella Meanix