Nested stories
A Prequel
Dear Reader,
Today’s letter to you is different because nested within it is another letter. It’s a true story insofar that the stories we tell are true though I admit I’ve also changed lots of details.
Dear Priya.
How are you? Hope all is well.
I don’t know how to say this except to blurt it out: four birds are currently living inside me. 4! I think they are somewhere in my chest though I have no idea when they moved in, or how.
I found out about them yesterday. It was just after 5:30 in the morning. So, there I lay with my eyes wide open in the semi-darkness, completely still, not ready to get up, and feeling sad for no particular new reason. Which is when I heard someone talking.
“Ever since that happened to me- you know, it wasn’t a really terrible thing. Wait. Let’s back up. Really awful things happen to people. They do. All the time. I know what happened to me wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t. I know that. Just as I know that a lot of people would’ve shrugged their shoulders and moved on. And I don’t know why, but apparently, I wasn’t able to. Since then, I’ve carried this feeling inside of me. That it must’ve happened because there’s something wrong with me.”
She sounded so familiar. That was my first thought. I didn’t question who was talking or how I was able to hear them so clearly. All I felt was relief! There was SUCH comfort in knowing that right then, at that exact moment, someone else was experiencing the world in the same way, an unexpected kinship. My second thought was she sounded like a bird. The kind that tells stories. A story bird. I assumed she was outside the open window next to my bed, perched, perhaps, on the branches of the crooked magnolia tree that almost touches the wall of the apartment building. Hearing the bird, smelling the strong sandalwood incense that accompanies my downstairs’ neighbor’s morning yoga routine, and tasting my tears on my lips- you know those moments in life when you feel this can’t really be happening, and yet, you can tell it is DEFINITELY happening- well, that’s how I felt.
“And, maybe it is true, and something is wrong with me because here I am, still not able to move on..” the story bird was saying.
All I can say is: Dear Story Bird, I know that feeling.
That’s when the others spoke up. I counted a total of four different voices (1+3= 4 birds!)
Bird 2: “The mind, it makes up these stories...”
Bird 3: “We are so different in how we process experiences.” This one sounded a little older than the others, a low, gruff voice.
Bird 4: “Wait till you hear my story!”
That’s when I noticed something strange. Stranger, I should say. Each time they spoke, my chest moved in accompaniment. I placed tentative fingers on my ribs, just a little above and to the left of my heart, and sure enough, I felt each word knock against them as they were spoken.
Storytelling birds in my chest!! How is such a thing possible?!
One last bit of strangeness.
I lay there motionless because I didn’t want to alert them that I was listening. As each bird launched into a story, I realized I knew each of their stories. That’s because they were all mine! Stories about things that have happened to me, not to some birds in my chest! They even spoke just like me, lowering their voices, the same way I do, for dramatic effect and even pausing at the same junctures I pause at. It was quite the performance.
To be absolutely sure this was all really happening, I slowly lifted my head off the pillow and tried to perform the near-impossible task of pressing my ear against my chest. Just as I got as close as I could, I heard applause and what sounded like foot-stamping, accompanied by cries of “Encore!”
My ribs actually hurt from all the movement inside.
So, here I am. Hearing my stories.
What does it mean when you hear your stories and you know you don’t want to hear them anymore?
Take care,
Your loving friend,
Namrata
Dear Reader, does any of this resonate? What stories do your birds tell? What comes after? How should I respond?
I hope you will share.
Best,
Priya
Greetings dear Priya - birds, in the chest, talking! What a great metaphor for hearing one's life experiences.
You ask if any of this resonates. I can relate on a deep level. Over the years I have reflected on bits of my lived experience mostly intentionally. Sometimes though, it seems even against my own will, as if some wisdom failed to plant roots during some past eventful time, and the uninvited reflection is determined to have me see what I missed.
There is an image of our lived experience that I came across in a book by Maurice Nicoll, and it has stuck in my understanding for most of my adult life. The image is that our life's time as an upward rising spiral. With each orbit on the spiral, there are essential lessons to be learned. If we fail to learn, the lesson will be repeated on the next orbit. It will be a different situation, perhaps with different people, but the lesson will be the same. If again we fail to learn, we drop and repeat the orbit... again and again, as many times as necessary, maybe endlessly.
One must accept many assumptions about human existence, consciousness, and individuality to accept this image on a larger level, that of repeating lives, or reincarnation. Nicoll talks about those we observe who appear to soar upward from earliest childhood... perhaps they've mastered the difficult bits on many lives previously lived. Conversely, Nicoll speaks of those we may encounter who seem destined to spiral down and down, and no one and nothing can help.
Life as an upward-rising spiral is an amazing concept originating in ancient times, perhaps in the mountains just north or west of where you reside.
In my own experience those lessons I've failed to master have been repeated more forcefully each time they are encountered. All lessons--for me--seem to center on being open to deeper meaning on the soul's development. I can reflect on major intersections of my life's path and see that I've made wrong turn after wrong turn. It feels feel as though I've repeated this same spiral dozens of times. Why am I so dense? Will there even be another opportunistic intersection?
Carl Jung spoke of a collective unconsciousness that spans all of humanity. Others, more recently, theorize that there is only one consciousness - that while we think we are individual conscious entities, we are but portals of this ubiquitous consciousness. It's difficult for me to get my head around this concept, as my existence really seems quite personal. Perhaps if I had birds in my chest, they'd tell me to open up and let everyone in, that only love is real, anything else is fear.
You ask how you should respond to your friend. I'd say listen to the bird's stories with a new mind. Perhaps they've a subtle lesson that needs to be heard.
Warm regards,
Rich Kirtland
I loved this, Priya!
It’s such a wonderful thing when we start listening to the birds within us.
Also, this piece reminded me a of poem by, Charles Bukowski ‘Blue Bird’
:)