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aciesanimaA re-post of a slightly older work just to get some more stuff up here.
Sometimes people wonder strange things. I do occasionally- like why birds fledge at all. If you look at it from one perspective, they have all their basic needs catered for them: secure home, liberal supply of food, safety and unquestioned territory. I understand there are instinctual reasons to fledge like the natural diaspora of young to prevent interbreeding. But there is also a little more to it.
Some of you might know what it is like to want to fly, to experience the air in all its wonder. But I believe not very many may know what it is like to need to fly.
When I look up at the sky, it's more then just a canvas of blue and white. I see where clouds are lifted by thermals, scattered by high altitude winds or flattened into layers by a steady atmosphere. But what I feel is far more important.
I feel the tenseness in my shoulders and legs, prepared to spring aloft at a moment's notice. I feel my balance tip forwards in expectation of a rush skyward. I feel as if I could step onto the windowsill and spring aloft into the winds splaying the cirrus as easily as one would break into a jog. The sky to me is more then air. It's a path filled with currents as active as the oceans, complete with waves and ripples, undertows and rips. Only at the last moment do I remember my physical humanity and pull back from a dangerous leap into space and out a second story window.
The sky possesses a dangerous kind of allure. At times it's enough to drive me to tears, others it drives me with its presence. The nearest thing to a religious attachment I have in life is my relationship with the sky; constantly reminding me in a Buddhist sense that nothing is permanent. But in keeping with that tradition's mentality, I put myself up for a great lot of suffering through my attachment. There is a reason I use the term 'heart breaking' to describe the condition of the sky: heartbreakingly blue like a pool I'm forever barred from, heartbreaking in its subtle turbulence.
For me, to be denied the ability to fly is like being told you can only move along the world at sea level- not being able to take steps higher or dive down lower. I'm restricted to moving about in two planes. As afraid as I am to make such a metaphor, in a sense I feel I've been crippled. This brings me back to my original question: why do birds fledge at all? The answer is simple:
There's never an option not to.
For a bird with all physical capability to achieve flight, grounding is a fatalistic decision. It's a form of stasis, and in a world ruled by such dynamic changes, it means death.
The human form may not be naturally flight capable but it possesses one thing to its credit: a soaring imagination. The ability to imagine, coupled with keen intellect and dexterity, means that if I try hard enough I can fly. Planes, hang gliders, wingsuits, skydiving. Some might consider it outrageous, attention seeking or even suicidal when I commit myself to doing these things. But I'm not. I'm not in it for the adrenalin kick or the high proximity passes. I'm doing it to get back to where I belong.
Sometimes people wonder strange things. I do occasionally- like why birds fledge at all. If you look at it from one perspective, they have all their basic needs catered for them: secure home, liberal supply of food, safety and unquestioned territory. I understand there are instinctual reasons to fledge like the natural diaspora of young to prevent interbreeding. But there is also a little more to it.
Some of you might know what it is like to want to fly, to experience the air in all its wonder. But I believe not very many may know what it is like to need to fly.
When I look up at the sky, it's more then just a canvas of blue and white. I see where clouds are lifted by thermals, scattered by high altitude winds or flattened into layers by a steady atmosphere. But what I feel is far more important.
I feel the tenseness in my shoulders and legs, prepared to spring aloft at a moment's notice. I feel my balance tip forwards in expectation of a rush skyward. I feel as if I could step onto the windowsill and spring aloft into the winds splaying the cirrus as easily as one would break into a jog. The sky to me is more then air. It's a path filled with currents as active as the oceans, complete with waves and ripples, undertows and rips. Only at the last moment do I remember my physical humanity and pull back from a dangerous leap into space and out a second story window.
The sky possesses a dangerous kind of allure. At times it's enough to drive me to tears, others it drives me with its presence. The nearest thing to a religious attachment I have in life is my relationship with the sky; constantly reminding me in a Buddhist sense that nothing is permanent. But in keeping with that tradition's mentality, I put myself up for a great lot of suffering through my attachment. There is a reason I use the term 'heart breaking' to describe the condition of the sky: heartbreakingly blue like a pool I'm forever barred from, heartbreaking in its subtle turbulence.
For me, to be denied the ability to fly is like being told you can only move along the world at sea level- not being able to take steps higher or dive down lower. I'm restricted to moving about in two planes. As afraid as I am to make such a metaphor, in a sense I feel I've been crippled. This brings me back to my original question: why do birds fledge at all? The answer is simple:
There's never an option not to.
For a bird with all physical capability to achieve flight, grounding is a fatalistic decision. It's a form of stasis, and in a world ruled by such dynamic changes, it means death.
The human form may not be naturally flight capable but it possesses one thing to its credit: a soaring imagination. The ability to imagine, coupled with keen intellect and dexterity, means that if I try hard enough I can fly. Planes, hang gliders, wingsuits, skydiving. Some might consider it outrageous, attention seeking or even suicidal when I commit myself to doing these things. But I'm not. I'm not in it for the adrenalin kick or the high proximity passes. I'm doing it to get back to where I belong.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-23 04:54 am (UTC)I'm doing it to get back to where I belong.
Yes. That is it, The raison d'être.
Leonardo da Vinci only scratched the surface when he said: For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-26 10:12 am (UTC)da Vinci's quote has always struck a chord with me as something almost there, but not quite it. It's one thing to yearn for the sky, another to need it.
no subject
Date: 2012-04-24 09:13 am (UTC)(And in case you're wondering how I got here, I learned about your journal from Tsu! ^^)
no subject
Date: 2012-04-26 10:13 am (UTC)Ahh Tsu, lovely swanthing that she is!
no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 01:25 am (UTC)For a bird with all physical capability to achieve flight, grounding is a fatalistic decision.
And yet, some still chose it, chose to evolve away from flight. I look at so many of the now-flightless birds; particularly in New Zealand, which has the world's highest proportion of flightless species (taking into account the Moa). And it seems that those birds chose not to fly because ground predators weren't driving them into the skies (their greatest predators were other birds).
But, anyway, I do certainly think that for many birds, not flying = death. Especially if a bird does not wish to stay in the nest forever, which I know I don't! I don't actually love flying in terms of - being stationary while something flies for me, though I can definitely see why this has its appeal for so many. I don't think it's suicidal at all to want that sensation, that rightness, that feeling of homecoming.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 03:46 am (UTC)Yes, of course, taking into account those that evolved away from it, even in favor of gaining a liquid sky [penguins, auks, darters... all the like]. For those birds I think it is more the case of happy ignorance, they need not yearn for flight because it's not in their capabilities but godsdamn would they beat the hell out of any fully flight capable bird grounded. And good to see some NZ love- Harpagornis moorei is one of my all time favorite birds, as is the kiwi.
Homecoming. That's the best way to answer my mother's persistent "But why?" questions I've yet to hear!
no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 03:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-03 07:02 am (UTC)One day I will visit there again, perhaps even move there one day.
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Date: 2012-05-13 06:28 am (UTC)This is the truest most honest statement about flight I think I've ever read.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 10:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-07-08 10:00 am (UTC)