Birds of a Feather
Sometimes I feel as a feather must feel looking at a bird...we are essentially the same being, capable of the same opportunities and possess the potential to do the same things. It's just that the bird can fly with a dignified purpose and I can only ride upon the draft that blows over from it's glorious wings...
When baby birds develop their wings,
they are supposed to fl y away from the nest.
Every now and then a baby bird will be too scared to jump.
But then it is just a matter of the parent to give it a push.
Sometimes I feel as a feather must feel looking at a bird...we are essentially the same being, capable of the same opportunities and possess the potential to do the same things. It's just that the bird can fly with a dignified purpose and I can only ride upon the draft that blows over from it's glorious wings...
When baby birds develop their wings,
they are supposed to fl y away from the nest.
Every now and then a baby bird will be too scared to jump.
But then it is just a matter of the parent to give it a push.
So what happens, when it is the parent bird who refuses to let go?
Does the baby bird jump anyway?
What happens when it can't? When the parent bird unwittingly cages its young in?
What then?
I like feathers, I really do. It doesn't matter what kind really or from what bird they came from. Chicken, goose, peacock, pheasant...you name it, I'll like it. Still, I can't help but wonder, is liking feathers as bad as liking to wear fur? Am I doing something abhorrent here? Or perhaps is feathers like leather, okay if the animal was killed to serve another purpose other than some snotty woman's vanity? Like for food per-say.
Then again, who am I, or any of us to say why it is okay to kill some animals over others? Why is it justified to kill in some instance and not in others? Is killing a mink for a fur coat any different than killing the cow to feed some empty stomachs. Right now I will tell you "yes, there is a difference." but the more I think about it, the more confused I get.
I'm just not as motivated anymore. The more I think about things, just things, the more I wonder "why?". Why do I bother doing things anymore and more importantly, to what ends? Is the whole scheme of things we do just to live up to the expectations of others? Why do we do what we do? Why do we live the way we live? There is no real answer here, at least, not one that I haven't heard already that I liked.
Sometimes I wonder if we are not like feathers in the wind, unable to control our paths, sometimes I wonder if we aren't at all like them, with at least some semblance of purpose to our otherwise erratic and meaningless movements. At the same time, looking at others, I can't help but feel maybe I'm the only one, or at least one of a few.
Sometimes I feel as a feather must feel looking at a bird...we are essentially the same being, capable of the same opportunities and possess the potential to do the same things. It's just that the bird can fly with a dignified purpose and I can only ride upon the draft that blows over from it's glorious wings...
Sometimes I can't help but wonder,
why I am the feather, and you are the bird.
PEACE OUT
Does the baby bird jump anyway?
What happens when it can't? When the parent bird unwittingly cages its young in?
What then?
I like feathers, I really do. It doesn't matter what kind really or from what bird they came from. Chicken, goose, peacock, pheasant...you name it, I'll like it. Still, I can't help but wonder, is liking feathers as bad as liking to wear fur? Am I doing something abhorrent here? Or perhaps is feathers like leather, okay if the animal was killed to serve another purpose other than some snotty woman's vanity? Like for food per-say.
Then again, who am I, or any of us to say why it is okay to kill some animals over others? Why is it justified to kill in some instance and not in others? Is killing a mink for a fur coat any different than killing the cow to feed some empty stomachs. Right now I will tell you "yes, there is a difference." but the more I think about it, the more confused I get.
I'm just not as motivated anymore. The more I think about things, just things, the more I wonder "why?". Why do I bother doing things anymore and more importantly, to what ends? Is the whole scheme of things we do just to live up to the expectations of others? Why do we do what we do? Why do we live the way we live? There is no real answer here, at least, not one that I haven't heard already that I liked.
Sometimes I wonder if we are not like feathers in the wind, unable to control our paths, sometimes I wonder if we aren't at all like them, with at least some semblance of purpose to our otherwise erratic and meaningless movements. At the same time, looking at others, I can't help but feel maybe I'm the only one, or at least one of a few.
Sometimes I feel as a feather must feel looking at a bird...we are essentially the same being, capable of the same opportunities and possess the potential to do the same things. It's just that the bird can fly with a dignified purpose and I can only ride upon the draft that blows over from it's glorious wings...
Sometimes I can't help but wonder,
why I am the feather, and you are the bird.
PEACE OUT
