A young cardinal lives on the farm. Mostly adolescent gray but with a fiery and manly red slowly creeping out, he is easily overshadowed by a bright red, robust and boisterous older male who can be heard singing as flamboyantly as he is colored. Determined to prove himself this spring, the younger one has taken to attacking any male competitors. Unfortunately his biggest rival is an identical bird, same age and coloring even the same movements, that lives in the reflection of the our large windows. Morning after morning the young warrior attacks his reflective twin, consistently rewarded with a windowpane smack in the face. Still he shakes it off, barely hanging on to a nearby supportive branch, quickly coming back for another run. Dull thuds fill the farmhouse mornings. Then there is silence. Soon we hear the aviary rhythm begin again on a different window as our confused hero simply regroups to meet his nemesis again on the west side of the house.
Watching him beat himself over and over again, I feel great empathy. I put things in front of the windows in hopes of detering his reflection but it doesn't. I want to free him, let him see that he is fighting an illusion, something that has no power over him other than the power he gives it. But he is vain, stubborn and proud.
Coming out of my most recent sadness, I spent some time wondering if I had any guardian angels. If I do, I bet they feel unto me as I feel unto the cardinal: desperately attempting to wake me up from a self-imposed dream of dread and suffering but impotent in the face of my vanity, my pride and my impatient stubbornness.
No comments:
Post a Comment