A Bird’s Eye View

birds eye view

Rarely, in these wildly prescribed lives do we get a chance to step outside of the monotonous march of the patterned life and see things with a different hue. It doesn’t even occur to most of us, that there is a different way of being and feeling. For the way our minds are constructed is to exist in one mode of being, of feeling and thinking about ourselves and the world and to clasp with a ferocious defence our belief systems which we hold so dear.  So many people who are the firmest in their ideas seem to just be more eloquently regurgitating an ideology proposed by a complete stranger or have proudly adopted the viewpoint of their omniscient parents. 

Most often it is a chance meeting – another mind that cracks our perception and makes us feel an awakening beyond that which we believed we once were. But these cherished meetings are fleeting and the veil of normacy has a powerful way of snapping back any sense of change. Perhaps it is the supreme ego, that can only exist by establishing itself through an identity, thats holds onto an assortment of ideas about ourselves we couldn’t bear to acknowledge are as transient as the weather. 

On a more positive note, those that do chance the risky opportunity of going it alone and leaving behind the comfortable cave can experience an evolution of the self that holds a simple but intricate beauty.  

When we step back for longer than a moment, take our selves to a place that is uncomfortable because it bears no familiarity to the ‘normal’ responses from the environment to ourselves we begin to see our role as a part of the whole and not in the driving seat of our lives. We see ourselves on the chessboard. Although no less significant, our lives can be seen for what they really are, perhaps how they could be seen beyond death. As a performance we navigate however we like to. Yet these acts we play can become more of a prop than a lead role because of the very human way of existing in habit. Of not pushing ourselves to break through to a different scene.  

This is when the boxes are revealed, the categories we find comfort in, separate from a real sense of self. Our family, our friends, our job, our pets, our ideas, those things we said, those feelings we had. For as much as we want to believe they are anchored in who we are, each of these boxes holds its own sense of impermanency and in everyday life we find ourself working to maintain meaning in them.  

These threads that make our fibres are elements of a constructed self we form in our minds. For each thread has in itself a whole other form that extends beyond what we could possibly conceive.