Planting feathers; planting vaporating-unconditional-care 

A bird is covered with its feathers, which are essential for him to fly and warming him up from the cold wild wind. This bird needs more than one feather to make himself fly away, and those feathers grow up with the bird himself. Their existence is mutual, and most importantly vital for their own survival. Nevertheless, when a new season comes, this bird goes through shedding, replacing all those feathers that have helped him to be himself throughout the year. Feathers fall as a tear-drop or as a drooped leaf, showing their lonely death.

Within this cohabitating, feather seems to have less importance than its main organ that represents, even thought it is actually the feathers we perceive when we look at the bird. The colours and the scent of feathers are the very observation we first encounter with the existence of one bird. I had a realisation that I am a feather and maybe I have been jealous about other feathers still attached on the main body. I decided to be free and light, falling away from the main body, and I have tried to convince the other feathers to do the same; which maybe leads to a self destruction of all cohabitating beings. Perhaps this envy comes from the feeling of death that a feather fears; for death is always perceived as a lonely process so I was trying to convince other feathers to self-destroy. But eventually they will all fall out (not by my convincing but by automatic shedding that comes every season) and the main body will replace whole new feathers; which is also an important step for the main organ for its maturity.

Then what about a fallen feather? Is it just a mere death and the end of a life story? I was lying down at Plaza Francia, reading some articles and sunbathing, and saw that someone had planted feathers on the very next glass from where I laid down. Feathers had given a vaporating love; unconditional love that lasts only an instant. The bird could fly away from the coldness, leaving them behind to make a space for the new feathers to grow with him. Those fallen feathers, as I saw, were planted like a baby trees on the ground. This was a hope that showed that there would be a care for carers. It should be a profound understating of caring. Feathers are invisible as they always have been. Even though someone planted those feathers and they grew up high, people will not see those detailed caring but only the main park-body. Their destiny maybe isn’t to be visible and noticed by its main body.

And the story goes same as an invisible tree with its leaves. During the summer the main trunk needs leaves to breath and grow as a photosyntesis but during the winter it vanishes all leaves to survive itself. A fallen leaf eventually became a nurturing soil, becoming again a part of the vital circle.

Now, a criticism can be made; why can’t a bird learn how to fly without feathers then? Would it be a cruel suggestion? If he were a baby bird it can be, but if he were a already-grown-up bird, shouldn’t it be matter? Is this interdependency between the feathers and the main bird-body just a mere moralising mechanism for main body to absorb other small organs’ utility? Should all feathers be free and independent floating away with wind to wherever it takes them? Should the main-body be forced to learn how to appreciate having feathers not taking those for granted?

The answers can be differed by each personality. But for my personal perspective, I decided to be a feather-like, floating in the air, used as a feather quill pen with elegance, and planted in Plaza Francia. I’ve been attached to the main body serving with my utility at most then vanished, and even I liked the fact that I got vanished away from the bird, because I still keep the very essence of that bird. If I were a feather of peafowl, I’d be only thing that matters of that very peacock. I’d be vanished with a essential character of being, rather than substituting others every now and then for me to survive on them; maybe this is what pure religious logo wanted to say to humanity: that even the most sacred man came not to be served but to serve, even to give his life as a ransom for many (Matthew 20:28).

*I was with Melissa and Crissy at the park, and they were my inspiration of such realisation. I am greatly appreciated for them.

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