the open sky
soft and unguarded birds of prayer
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Hello. This post its about Death & Birds.
I cannot recall my hovering at the dark periphery of the world, nor hearing the first call to join it. I’ve no memory of my cells dividing, or of the time spent floating beneath the rhythmic beat of my mother’s heart. I wonder how often I studied my hands before I knew them as “mine”, how many faces I saw before I knew them as “other”, and what wisdom lay in the innocence of that view. These moments, waves in the sea of spacetime through which we unstoppably sail, suggest a fundamental nature to vulnerability—perhaps we greet the world soft and unguarded, because we are supposed to greet the world soft and unguarded.