My subconscious takes flight with the bird of paradise, my soul the feathers on the wings. The wings beat rhythmically, my heart does the same. Beating, beating, beating.
I am ready to fly away from here. Fly home, but home is gone. I don’t know where to go, so I keep flying in order to find a new paradise, a new home.
The garden of Eden was a paradise, but Adam and Eve were expelled. Eve got a bum rap for that one. Where was Adam to protect her?
My paradise is my home. Have I been expelled, too? In a way. Perhaps.
Beating, beating, the wings keep me aloft. The feathers carry me aloft on their colors. What can I do, what can I think, where can I go? Is there a place to go, and is there a place to return to?
I am consumed with idea of going home.My sister has gone back to Albuquerque, back to the top of the Sandias. She got to say hello to Mom. I feel lost at this point in time without an anchor, without that place to go to that says “home,” “safety,” “love.”
If I could fly anywhere, where would I go? I don’t know. I don’t know…should I be disturbed by this, or is this normal? What is normal? Is my normal the same as someone else’s normal? I get very caught up in the defining of terms.
Perhaps I should let that go and not be so concerned about that.
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