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Sunday morning, 13rd April, I saw a great titmouse enter the box. In that way the little
busy bird reminded me about something important: The metaphor is about the birdbox, not
about the bird. Lots of ideas and associations about birds will easily be provoked by the
box, and they are very useful and interesting, they are, however, not to the core of the
metaphor. This is a bit difficult. I have myself been writing close to something like "the box flapped its wings and flew away". Metaphors are slippery! I have been thinking that I should construct another special box to help focus on the meaning it is conveying: The front of the box should be in the shape of a heart. The birdbox metaphor is about my heart, i.e. what happens to my emotions and comprehension when somebody enters it.
Only three out of ten great titmice will survive the winter, - the ones who survive might have nourished on the remnants of their dead companions - and the biology of this species, living so close to the house and the garden, is a fascinating topic. Still this essay should be on the box i.e. my very personal experience when somebody enters me! The box is my hand stretched out, it is open, for anybody to land in it. Do I realize what I am doing? The box is about learning to know people, about engaging in them, to give them the real welcome I intended to offer. The birdbox is on me involving myself in other persons. How does this involvement work? Does it work? What does it do to me? What should I do that it could work in its best way? Why and how does it work? I very willingly accept the joys it brings, - what about the pains? 13.04.2003 |
