A Beautiful Cage

Live free or die. A literal motto for many.  One taken not lightly, but with courage, pride and blood. For thousands of years human history repeats the theme again and again. Who wields the chains, who wears them and who breaks them. Stories of great evil, great power and great triumph. The greatest victories time and again won by those who are the least among us. Least in power, and riches but mightiest in heart and virtue. Yet men still seek power over honor often at the cost of their own souls.

Man is a funny animal. He has a habit of caging things he says he loves. He sees a great bird soar far beyond the reach of any man. Like a feathered god the eagle carries himself higher than all life on earth. Man envies the wings that take to the air with an ease and grace that he can only dream of. He loves it so much, he steals the very gift  he admires from its rightful owner. He rips the birthright from the sky and into a cage it goes. The cruelest of doors slams shut. Is not the bird in the air more beautiful than the bird in the cage? Would we hide a Monet under the bed, or toss Bach into the sea? To enjoy music it must be heard. To enjoy canvased art it must be seen. What of a bird in flight?

You see, man also sees himself as a god, higher than all else on earth. Often he believes he is greater than that which is in heaven as well. But while the eagle proves its greatness with his own glory. Man proves it with force by stealing the glory of those he sees as lesser than himself. Why does man have to own, life? Does he not know that he doesn't even own the life he calls his. Gianna Jessen so beautifully states "Do you not realize that you cannot make your own heart beat." For all his might and all his power he cannot make his own blood course through his veins.

Is there a creature that prefers captivity? The companion dog or the loyal soldiers horse maybe. But is there a bird, that once loosed from its iron bars would return? Its cage means safety. Bird is always warm and dry and fed. Free from predator, disease and parasite. A long charmed life, behind bars. But the bird...he knows. With his primitive mind he knows what man has yet to figure out.

One little finch knows not what life outside the cage means. He was born and has lived his entire life behind bars. Some would say he knows no difference. His heart cannot long for what it does not know and has not seen. But I beg to differ. Freedom whispers her song to all with a beating heart. Finch knows you are outside and he is in. He knows you are free, and he is not. He knows what his wings were created for. He knows his God given gift has been taken against his will. So he waits. His sharp eye each day watches and his mind conspires according to the plans Freedom has for him.

One day his loving captor missteps. He seizes the moment and without the slightest hesitation he flees from his cage. The open air under his wings, the rush of air for the first time forcing through his feathers. Flight! Fan! Wall! He lands on the threshold of a door. As if fate could hear him pleading, the door swings open as an unwitting family member and co-captor passes through. Out he goes! He races though the open door as fast as he can carry himself. His wings beat nearly as frantically as his heart and he carries himself higher and higher. The rush, the glory, the truth all around him. He made it. Chest pounding he finds a branch and struggles to catch his breath. He's never exerted that much energy in his little life. His cage would not allow it. He listens to the world singing to him. Welcoming him home. The world he once watched from behind bars through no fault of his own, now is his own. The breeze greets him as well, softly rustling his feathers reaching through to his tender skin. Birds who have only ever known freedom singing all around him like its just an ordinary day, but its not. It is not an ordinary day at all. This day is extraordinary for little finch. Little finch is free. He wants to sing but isn't sure what to say. So happily, and even a little nervously he sits and watches and listens to freedoms song. Maybe tomorrow he will sing along. As the sun sets and his body relaxes he falls asleep.

There is an unusual chill in the air when he wakes. He turns to find a bowl of fresh food, but there is only freedom to enjoy on this morning. Happily he realizes that his flight to freedom was not a dream. He is hungry. But he cannot forage. He does not know how, or where. What he eats, what he has been eating, does not grow wild here. There are no bowls of fresh food or water. But there are no bars to set them on either. For several days he watches a flock of wild sparrows. And as each new day passes he is still unsuccessful.

Daily he hears the tender voice of his captor calling out. The familiar whistle she sang back to him every day gets his attention. He flies in closer, then sits very still, careful to not be noticed on a nearby branch of an ornamental tree. He knows this particular whistle is the one she uses when she feeds him. He also realizes that he is sitting in the tree he always admired from behind his golden bars. The sun would dance on its scarlet leaves creating a glow. Like fire, it was almost blinding in the afternoon sun. It only had a crisp leaf or two still holding on now. He watches as one of the last is taken by the wind. His captor continues to call. She knows her little bird must be hungry and fears for his life. She wants him back safely behind bars. In her hope, she removes a screen from an open window, opens the cage door and leaves the room. His captor has never brought him harm. She simply stole the greatest gift of his existence.  He sees his cage through the un-screened window, but will dare not return.

The free little finch tried to be accepted into a flock of sparrows. Surely it would increase his chance of survival, not to mention subdue his loneliness. Perhaps they would even be willing to share some food. But he is a strange bird, and food is scarce this time of year. It seemed no one needed a new friend.

Days quickly grow shorter and colder. While watching the cardinals he tries to explore a bird feeder full of seed. But the cardinals do not wish to share their unearned spoils. They are unkind to him.  He sits and waits for a chance that never comes.

The next morning he manages a seed or two before the larger birds show up for their feast. He again returns to his perch in view of the slightly open window and the cage they called his home. He does not know why he stares into the window. But everyday, he does. The limited amount of food he is able to find is simply not enough to sustain him. He has lost the desire to try.  He flies off to catch a passing breeze and soars above the trees.  He flies up and up into the bright winter sky. The spinning world below him can only watch. The joy drowns the hunger and the wind disguises the weakness. He flies like a little acrobat, carelessly, poetically, freely before returning to his branch with joy. It is the same branch he first landed on, on that first day of his freedom.

His branch is cold. His body empty. But his heart is not broken and his will is secure. He looks contented into the limitless sky, then once more into the open window, still waiting to accept him, to ensure his survival. He is not tempted. The freedom he has known is worth his last breath. To be caged again would be the truer colder death. He tucks his tiny face under his wing and closes his eyes for the last time. And with every faltering beat, his little heart's song grows quieter, but no less sweet. For his heart got to live the freedom that it always knew existed, even when all his mind knew, was a small cage in a warm home and a single window to the outside world.

His captor continues watching the skies for quite some time waiting for the return of the little finch. Always leaving the window open, just enough for him to get through. She could have put his seed in his familiar bowl out on the lawn or porch at any time.  Something he may have been attracted to. Something to help him along. But she did not. She wanted him to suffer long enough to learn his lesson and come home. But the lesson was hers alone to learn. He already knew what she never would. And the little finch would probably not have risked his fragile freedom anyway. The kindly captor eventually replaced the little finch with another. Another chance to learn simple lesson. She smiles at him, as he watches the birds on the other side of that window.

There are many ways to define freedom. Some profound. If you could ask any slave who survived the birth and development of America he would tell you by the stripes upon his back. From underground railroads to a lone woman with a spine of steel refusing to take a back seat to anyone. These are the painted pictures colored with freedom. You cannot see her. But she stands like a mighty oak in the beating hearts of even the smallest of those who fight for her. Live for her. Die for her.

Some might offer up their view on different freedoms. The freedom of paying off a debt, like the last check written to your mortgage company for the house that owned you for so many years.

Some are slaves to brand, desires, stature, money, insecurity, needs, wants... I could go on and on. Sadly, many of these slaves do not even know that something unseen owns them, completely. Beats them,  mercilessly. That the show they put on for the world is their golden cage.

There are cages made for us and those we make for ourselves. Yet only the ones made for us, anger us. Even if the ones that we create are the ones crippling us. The smarter of those among us know their cages. They either accept them, or they work toward freeing themselves. Artists free themselves through their art. Writers with their words, singers with their songs. Some simplify their lives, giving up the excess, the clutter, the noise. Many give their time to those who need a hand. All of the above, even if gratified in their work are giving in some way. Isn't it marvelous how we are the most free when we lighten our load. The less we have, the more we are. When we do something, give something, share something we are at our greatest.

I think my rambling is now at an end. My long and sorted  vision of a distorted perspective born of a twisted world. I like to think that I have my priorities straight. But I know better. Just when I think I can finally say I have my act together, I come to another door. I do believe it leads to the wide open world. But when I open it, its just another ladder and another decision. Up, or down?

Like the finch we are all living in a world within a world. The one we own and the one we long for, without even knowing what waits if we were to ever find our way there. Freedom itself trapped the little finch and did not let him go. It was at the cost of his life but not his soul. Freedom was simply a bigger and more beautiful cage. But it was the cage he chose. Ultimately, freedom is not about space or time or things or power. Its about the absolute right to choose our own cages.

~Raven, caged not on the outside, but within.

* The complete version of  little finches story, "The Beautiful Cage" is available upon request