Who Am I

A comet streaked across the night sky. It was Mother in her long white dress. She was out making deliveries. I was supposed to be sleeping, Mother had tucked me carefully into her basket. She sang a song that seemed to keep the other creations sleeping. I could not sleep. I wanted to gaze at Mother’s beautiful face. I wanted to see the stars we flew by. I wanted to dance to the song Mother was singing. I wiggled from my place among the other creations and began my dance. I heard Mother laugh and saw her looking down at me. Her attention felt warm and invigorating. I leapt into the air, again and again. To dance for Mother was a pleasure. I heard her gasp. The wind had swept me out of the basket and I was falling. I watched Mother grow further and further away. Her tears fell like rain, ushering me down to the earth.

I landed in a tree with a family of sloths. Mother Sloth had pulled me to her belly to quiet my tears. I slept with her until I was strong enough to move about the tree on my own. I had been watching the other sloths move about, they held onto the tree limbs with their claws and pulled themselves forward hand over hand. I tried it myself. I seemed to be missing a set of claws. I hung upside down from the limb unsure how to move forward. My claws would not move hand over hand the way I saw the others move. I hung there until my head began to ache. I needed to right myself. I struggled, flailing my arms. I jumped down to the next branch. The speed with which I had jumped scared Mother Sloth. She scolded me, “Don’t you move like that again. You will get hurt. Sloths move slowly and carefully.” She encouraged me back into a hanging position. I refused, telling her it made my head ache. She was angry with me for being obstinate. “I have been hanging my whole life and I have never once gotten a headache. This is the way we do things in this tree.” Her words pounded me into place.

I tried my best to do as she said, I knew she meant well. But I didn’t feel good moving so slowly all of the time. My head ached, my vision was blurred and parts of my body screamed to be stretched. I couldn’t take it anymore. I righted myself on the branch and stretched my arms to the sky. My arms had felt as though they had been bound to my side. I wanted to jump, stretch and beat my arms up and down to get rid of the sensation. Mother sloth caught me. “No, No, No.” she fussed, “You must not do that. If we hold very still moss grows upon our coats. It gives us camouflage that keeps us safe. It also provides a home for moths that we can eat. We need the moss.”

My heart sank, it felt wrong to let other creatures inhabit my flesh. I didn’t want to hide. I didn’t want to wait for my food to come to me. I wanted to go and find it myself. I did as I was told. I held very still and the moss grew. It made my skin itch. Was this life; to hurt, and to hold still? The other sloths seemed content with their lot. I longed for more.

I hung in my tree late one night, unable to sleep, unable to move. The moss had taken hold of every inch of my body, it had bound me completely. I would soon starve to death. A great wind came blowing through the tree. I tried to hold on. Limbs were cracking and leaves spiraled around the tree. I had wanted so badly to leave this tree, but in this moment as the wind tried to rip me from it, I was terrified. I held on as long as I could, but the branch snapped under my weight and the wind took me from the tree.

I was pushed into the ground, I smashed into rocks. I felt sharp snapping in my body. The web of moss that had incapacitated me was stripped from me as I tumbled. A wind tunnel picked me up and carried me high into the sky. My arms and legs flailed as I went head over heels again and again. The night was so dark. The light of the moon and the stars were blocked by heavy clouds. This was the darkest, longest night of my life. I struck a tree. There were enough branches to hold me there. I was beaten and exhausted, sleep fell upon me.

I awoke to a piercing hum all around me. It made my ear drums quiver and fret. It was difficult to open my eyes. My body screamed in pain. I tried to bring my arm close to me and couldn’t. It seemed to be broken. I would have blacked out if it hadn’t been for that awful, persistent noise. What was it? Anger gave me the strength I needed to get up. Even with all of the pain, I couldn’t believe how good it felt to be moving. I hopped up and down. I turned my head to the left and to the right. I was free from the moss. I was upright, so my head and my vision were clear. I listened with some concentration and was able to isolate one part of the noise, it was near me. I hopped toward the sound and found a great big cicada. Before Mother Sloth could have ever stopped me, I pounced on the bug and crunched it in my mouth. It tasted like heaven to me. So long I had been eating leaves and twigs, finding them hard to chew, and even harder to swallow. So long I had been moving in a way that felt completely unnatural to me. Mother Sloth had been trying to teach me how to live, and how to be safe, but she had been killing me. I was understanding what deep down I had known all along, I was not a sloth.

I hopped from branch to branch, crunching every cicada I came across. I ate more in that day than I had eaten in a whole year. It made me feel strong. When I was full, I found a comfortable spot at the very top of the tree. A grass plain stretched before me. It was beautiful. The jungle I had grown up in was congested. Looking out I could only see the tangled branches of other trees. And the sounds there were deafening. Monkeys and birds could be heard screaming across the canopy. Insects buzzed night and day. Frogs sang continuously. But here there was silence as I watched the sun set. Deer crept in, they nodded to one another and bedded down beneath the tree. I felt their peace and I too tucked my head and went to sleep.

I woke up as the sun began to rise, the sky pink and orange all around me. The deer still slept beneath the tree. A murmuration of starlings swept across the sky. I was alive, and I was seeing something I could never have imagined. I stretched towards the sky and hopped around the tree. I was amazed at what had been provided for me after that terrible night. The wind, that I thought was there to kill me had set me in paradise.

I stayed in paradise eating cicadas and moving my body. When the deer grazed nearby I found I could hop among them. The grass dropped seeds that I loved to eat. The deer didn’t mind me, and I could climb back into my tree whenever it pleased me. I reveled in each moment. But the season of the cicada came to an end. The grass grew dormant and there were fewer seeds to find. I sat in the tree and wondered what I would do? The deer left. They went to greener pastures. I could not hop fast enough to stay with them. Where was my family? Who would help keep me alive?

I nestled into the tree. Clouds rolled across the horizon and the wind picked up. Even though the wind had brought me here, I still felt fear when the tree began to sway. I clung to the tree. This had been the happiest I had ever felt. This tree was my home. Rain began to fall from the sky and then hail. I was pelted with ice and the tree could do little to shelter me. The wind tugged at me. It seemed to be begging me to jump. I didn’t trust it. I held fast. But the wind persisted, “If you won’t come willingly, I will drag you.” I was dragged from the tree. I spun to look back. I know I had said I wanted more. But not like this. I wanted more to come to me right there in that tree. Again, I was pushed into the ground, the arm I had feared to use since it had been broken, was wrenched from my body. I was terrified. I longed to see Mother Sloth again. To feel safe in her tree. For her to pet me and tell me that sloths had lived a long time in that tree, and they would continue to live in that tree for a long time to come. I missed her warm body sheltering me from rain. I missed her stories about my grandmothers. So, what if I had died in that tree, at least I would have died loved.

The wind smashed me into a rock, “Stop your whining, you never wanted to die in that tree. Open your eyes, move with me.” I yelled at the wind. I told it I hated it. I hated it for hurting me. I hated it for robbing me. I hated it for lying to me.

The wind stopped suddenly, and I fell from the sky. I fell and I fell and I fell. How high had I been? Where was I now? Would I be falling for all of eternity? I wouldn’t be falling for all of eternity, the ground rose up to meet me and I crashed face first into water and mud. I couldn’t breathe. I floundered trying to find which way was up. I found air and I breathed it in sharply. The mud in my nostrils sucked into my lungs, I coughed and wheezed. I was alive. But I was in trouble. There was water up to my neck and deep mud below it. I could hardly move. My body was weighted down by the water. Every direction I looked, water. It would take me years to hop across this marsh. I was cold. I was hungry. I was mad. I beat my arms against the water. That was new. I hadn’t had much use of them, but something had been put back in place in my tumble. I waved them awkwardly about. They made my tantrum feel powerful. It felt good to be angry. It would feel so much better to have food. I waded through the mud and found there were insects.

I ate and I was exhausted. I slept standing, my head just above the water. If I let my head dip, I was awoken by water burning my nostrils. I slept as well as I could. Unrest led me to open my eyes. Looking down I could see little fishes swimming at my feet. They looked tasty. I darted after one and caught it in my mouth. It tasted good, better than bugs, and way better than leaves. It seemed funny that to find food in this place I had to hold still, waiting for it to come to me. Mother Sloth had taught me something I could use. When I was well fed, I gazed out at the stretch of mud and water before me. How would I get out of this place? I was cold, and unable to get dry. I was tired, and unable to sleep. I longed to move freely about, but I was held down. I wondered if I should just plunge into deeper water and let myself float easily out of life. Anger boiled in me once again and I began beating the water with my arms.

The splashing must have attracted the large heron that landed nearby me. He looked to have been built for this place. His long legs were like stilts that kept him safe and dry above the water. His beak was long and spear shaped allowing him to snatch tasty morsels from under the waters surface. He looked at me and stretched his mighty wings. They spanned for days. He could fly across this vast marsh in minutes, with those huge, powerful wings. He fanned the wings creating wind gusts. I felt like he was showing off. He jumped and hovered for a minute, still fanning with his great wings. He touched back to the earth. His wings kept moving. He jumped into the air three more times before he flew far away from me. I hung my head and wept. How had others been given the talents they needed to make it in this world? I had been given nothing. A tear fell from my eye and caused a ripple to stretch forth from me. Watching the ripple, I caught sight of my reflection. I had a beak. It was not shaped like heron’s, but it was obviously a beak. I lifted my arm, in my reflection was a wing. It was wet and the feathers looked ruined. But they had been feathers, not fur. I was a bird. As a bird I should be able to fly. I beat my wings up and down, jumping simultaneously. I didn’t get anywhere. I was too wet and too tired. I needed to find somewhere shallow, somewhere I could let my feathers dry. I hopped till every muscle in my body screamed with fatigue. I found a spot that was more mud than water. I was able to sit and rest my legs. I let my head fall and I was asleep.

When I awoke, I stretched, my body felt warm. I ran my beak through my feathers, they had dried out. I opened my wings and shook them. I knew these wings had purpose and ability. I felt hungry, but I was not about to go into deeper water for fish. I never wished to be wet again. I felt a tickle on my toe, I looked down to find ants walking in a line across my feet. I was amazed that once again the earth provided for me.

I jumped and beat my wings hard, up and down. I fell back to the earth unable to maintain any distance above the ground. I jumped up again, beating my wings. I kept my wings going, sure I needed to build some strength. Eventually I began to feel a little lift. I practiced this for hours. I did not feel tired, I did not feel stressed. All I could feel was excitement in knowing that I would soon fly.

The sun began to set. I could see a patch of cattails. They were high above the water. I could sit there and stay dry. I jumped as high as I could and beat my wings hard, I managed to hover three feet above the ground. I decided I had nothing to lose, if I got wet, I would just wait until I dried again. I flew across the water and crashed into the cattails. My heart fluttered, I had done it. I was a bird and I had flown. Tomorrow, I would fly myself to wherever I wanted to go. I slept that night smiling and dreaming of clouds and wind. Wind I no longer feared, wind that would help me soar high above this lonely marsh.

I awoke early, I could see trees far in the distance. I didn’t know if I could fly that far right off, but I knew that was the direction I wanted to go. I looked at some potential stopping points between me and the trees. The first one seemed far off. I was too excited to doubt myself. I climbed to the highest point in the cattails and leapt into the air. I flapped my wings but struggled to find the right rhythm. I knew I was off because I would gain some altitude and then suddenly drop. Quitting was not an option. I just kept flapping my wings up and down. I had to close my eyes so I could focus on what was happening. Wind would gather beneath my wings, there came a subtle point when enough wind gathered there that a wing beat would propel me up and forward. If I beat my wings before the resistance had built, I fell from the sky. I laughed and opened my eyes. I was high above the earth. I could see for miles. A gust of wind came up from beneath me, I stiffened my wings against it and allowed it to push me forward with no effort of my own. I wept, realizing the wind had been trying to tell me I was a bird all along. I had been unable to understand. Now I would fly with the wind, I was excited to see where she would take me next.

After a long day and a long night, the wind died down and I drifted into a land of red. The rocks were red. The sand was red. The sun was red. The trees sat low to the ground and there was very little vegetation. A shelf jutted out from one of the rocks and I landed there. I looked out over the horizon. I could hear the wind whistling around the large, red rocks that dominated the area. I heard a scuffle behind me and peered into the darkness of a small cave. I saw two dark eyes and a red tongue. It was a snake. He was beautiful. I loved watching him taste the air as he moved forward. He came to my side and looked into my eyes. “Hello Raven.” I was surprised. “Snake, I have flown here from across the world, and you will call me Raven?” “You look like a raven, there are many ravens here.” He looked wise. I listened to him for a long time while he told me about the ravens in this area. He said that I belonged to race of birds that were the smartest animals on earth.

I contemplated my life, I wondered how it had been possible for Mother Sloth to have mistaken me for a sloth. Had she always known I was a bird? Seeing the other ravens fly I knew they looked much different than the birds I had known in the jungle. Birds in the jungle are brightly colored and sing beautiful songs. I was not that kind of bird. Maybe Mother Sloth had not known what I was. She had only known what she was.

I flew out from the cave. Looking down I noticed a fox. He was carrying a rabbit in his teeth. I wanted to taste the rabbit. So, I flew close to the fox, teasing him by staying just out of his reach. We danced together, me touching him on the back and then soaring up and away from him. I forgot I was hungry; the fox and I were having so much fun. When I became tired of the game I went back to the cave to rest.

The snake was still there. “Raven, that is reckless to tease the fox. You are smart enough to find your own food and smart enough to know the fox would eat you if he had the chance.” I looked at the snake, he had been helpful to me. But who was he to tell me what I was, and what I should do? I ate the snake. In that moment, I knew that I would do what felt good and right for me. I did not care if I was a sloth, a deer, a snake or a bird. Because I am me and I am free.