I’ve been awake for sometime, the morning light has forced its way into my bedroom. Every dawn it welcomes itself like an unexpected guest. Today I find it especially hard to face directly. Yesterday’s workout is being felt in my limbs and getting out of bed will be a workout in itself this morning. So I lay for a moment longer and morph into my sheets. My eyes fixate on a pigeon perched on my balcony, it’s as white as snow and makes for a great shot but I instead I savor the moment. I recall pigeons being intelligent, and their navigating abilities are commendable. They were used for sending notes, how miraculously whimsical that must have felt. Another time, another era.
I wonder how far it flew all alone. It doesn’t seem one bit phased by its journey. The pleasantness it portrays makes me believe it’s quite content perched here, resting from some busyness, I assume. Each day I too keep myself content and busy, I write and it’s not hard, what is hard is sitting still. That is when my thoughts become unstable. At times the stillness becomes dangerous. In the evenings when the world is winding down and dusk slowly creeps in. I too mellow down into a blissful slumber but there are nights when sleep doesn’t come so easily. Again, it’s my thoughts that make way for some uncertainty.
The longer I gaze at this bird the more comfortable it seems. I suppose you get used to feeling a certain way. It doesn’t take long to become accustomed to your environment. We become agreeable to our securing shelter and then letting go seems hard. Was it ever cooped up in a cage, I wonder? Did it free itself like me? When you escape is when you begin living. When nothing is holding you back, when you release from the restraints, that is when your wings spread.
This pigeon is flawless, it’s actually pristine. How is that even possible? How does it manage to stay so unspoiled even after all the miles of flying in all kinds of weather and turbulence. The harshness of the environment must have touched its beauty somewhere. There must be some scar or some blemish to show when it tells the story of its journey. Some of our scars are inside and I reason with that fact, it too may have a tale or two hidden deep down.
I presume my railing is a pit stop for some much needed alone time. We all need that, sometime to gather ourselves and observe the environment from afar. Hence, pigeons are lucky, they easily obtain a bird’s eye view. We learn so late, to remove ourselves from a situation and look inwards. Yet it’s how we recover from the hurdles and become resilient. We could learn so much from our environment but sometimes we choose to be absorbed in our own pool of worries and the bubble in which we exist.
Perhaps it will fly back to a family or like me, is its journey solo? I commend its bravery. I admire its wonderment of flying wherever the winds will take it. What stops us from flying? It’s our own judgements, our wrongs and rights and our consciousness that holds us back.
In no time the little pigeon takes off. I scutter out onto the balcony as if somehow I could have stopped it. I could only feel its presence, so I breathed in the new air this morning. Silently I thanked the snow white pigeon for granting me a few minutes of reflection and a little marvel of beauty I witnessed.