life and death

with some oddly guilty feelings, with some unknown memories slushing around my head . . . i arrived to find the nesting fat pigeon in my balcony to have disappeared and one foot away, a sickly baby pigeon attempting to move . . . i worried, i thought if i go outside and try to help, which i wouldn't know how, the mother pigeon would come and try to kill me . . . ive seen how protective she was when she was sitting on the egg waiting keenly for it to hatch . . then I went out of town for 4 days to a wedding . . this morning i found the baby in the same place, and not moving through the blinds.

my guilt and conscience are ravaged - my justification falls short moment by moment. this almost perfect being, conceived with hope and nurtured with a strong instinct . . . somehow fell short of the evolutionary expectation towards survival, and with no help from the likes of me . . . this nurtured and hopeful entity has lost its energy, and will soon dissolve into the next energy source.

this made me think of a relationship and how the shadow of death falls on relationships so often . . . lingering touches, heightened arguments, emotional defenses, lies and secrets, all perpetuate this shroud . . . all so easily and daily accessible . . and so difficult to avoid when living 50 years in an intensely layered liaison . . .

the nurtured egg, hatched to nothing, the mother, fled before the baby took its last breath . . . and this last breath, no one was around to witness . . . yet how does the remnant of its breath affect me so . . . who is the mother when relationships die . . . is it both parties, is it love . . . is it motivation or the willingness to 'stick it out' or 'work on it' . . . is it tolerance . . . what is it that is needed . . . maybe one element is not in control as is in the instinctual world of our last remaining dinosaurs . . . or are monogamous relationships tomorrows dinosaurs . . ?

sometimes giving relationships the care and nurture, the partially digested and then regurgitated worms, is not enough, and the mother has to flee to move on, continue life and follow her evolutionary path . . . darwin would not place blame on her, but the question remains, who should we place blame on . . . should we place blame on mistakes each party makes, on lack of motivation, on a world with too many options and few consequences, on the natural flow of energy in a couple turned family, on whole romantic and sometimes inexplicable idea of love . . .

only if darwin were here to help me . . .

not one of my most eloquent posts, albeit, necessary for my soul to heal . . .to the memory of this baby, to the memory of all relationships whose remnants are peppered throughout our actions, behaviors, thoughts, ideas, souls, and who often dictate our way of life from an invisible and omniscient place . . . to those elements in ourselves that act as a maternal force healing our wounds and allowing the bright feathers of a relationship to spread to flight . . to soar is to live . . to live is to soar . . and through this flight will we reach our ultimate relationship with our fathers, our mothers, our sisters, brothers, friends and lovers . . .

i will bury this babe and bury with it my past indiscretions, my future slights and my current doubts . . . a catharsis that will perhaps give me flight, give me hope and give me the splendor i so pursue