He showed me a painting of a bird. Swift movements, smooth angles; the
essence of aerodynamics. He told me that flying is the act of
perfection. He told me how birds are freedom itself. He regarded them as
delicate, perishable beings that disappear if touched. To him, birds
were the ideal that you can only earn towards, but never reach.
"Do you now understand Birds, my child?" he asked me.
"I do. I've always understood them. I've always known the Truth about Birds. You, however, do not. You only see them as a Symbol of the Humans."
Real birds, however, are neither delicate, nor perfect. Real birds are rough and tough. Real birds need strength. Strength to fly, strength to feed their chicks, strength to defend themselves. Even mother cuckoos need strength to lay eggs that exhaust them and could never be cared for in such an exhausted state.
Real birds are dinosaurs. Real birds had feathers and hollow bones and toothed beaks before they could fly. Real birds fight among themselves. They have strict social rules and strict songs that serve pragmatic purposes and not beauty. Real birds exist for themselves, not for humans. Therefore, humans are delusional for creating their own Birds in their head.
"You want the ugly truth and not the illusion" he told me disappointed.
"I want the Truth. The Truth is always beautiful once you dissect it and understand it. The more you know about the real world, the more you come to appreciate it."
"You seek the Crow and not the Nightingale."
"I seek the Crow because he is smart. I seek the Crow because he is different, adaptable, ever-changing. I seek the Crow because I can learn from him. The Nightingale, however, is just one in many songbirds that our Human mind has granted special favor; for, not understanding the purpose of his song, we invented one for ourselves."
"You seek the darkened, stained Black and not the pure White."
"I seek the whole spectrum. Black is the absence of light and White is light itself. I seek to see all colors and choose the ones that soothe my mind. I seek equilibrium and not extremes."
"My child, you only see Reality and not one glimpse of Imagination."
"Yes; but Reality is beautiful enough for me to be happy and content. And the more real it is, the more I love it."
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