...that after birds moult, they cannot fly well and are very vulnerable. They have to rest. In ducks, this is called 'eclipse plumage' - a beautiful phrase. The book - a charming little volume called A Short Philosophy of Birds - asks why we humans do not give ourselves 'eclipse' time, time to mourn, time to accept our losses, time to accustom ourselves to changes.
duck
I guess this is how I feel now. I thought that change would lead at once to dawn... but in can't... because I have not settled into it yet.
Besides, I have work that is challenging my adaptation process, leading to stress and fatigue alongside the process of trying to learn new things.
We always want to be like we were at some past time - confident, competent, content... but do our memories deceive us? Me, I can't actually remember a past time like that. I think that I have always and ever felt liminal. The best times have been on the cusp of hope... which, more often than not, was sorely dashed.
Now I feel like an amoeba seeking the right shape to be, but I am too mobile and flexible so I could be any shape and yet no shape is right. How can that be?
One man once told me that if, instead of doing many things, I focused on one, any one, I could be world class at it. I laughed for I knew and know that I don't have that in me. So am I destined to be always fitting into the wrong hole and so constanting trying out others always and forever at the same time without ever settling?
What is it like to know what you want or who you are or where you belong?
Is there anything anywhere that I could call home?
Just this... the evidence of where I picked up a life, dropped it and moved on; evidence of where I once passed through..
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