Wings of Breath

Soft blades of dying grass brush beneath me as loose winds beat the sweat off my neck. Odors of trees and moisture invade my mouth. My stomach aches and I salivate, as my eyelids bear heavy, closed shut, yet I evade sleep.

Opening them for a moment, I look out over the cleared hill at the immense forest of trees, then up to the sky where my ancestors now live.

Thoughts come and my hands tremble, as memories dance on the crumbling edge of my fractured, once beautiful world. I am broken.

Breathe.

I try to breathe.

Then I remember.

I hold her soft wrinkled hand on top of mine, as Grandma coughs violently on the cot, her body shaking. The scent of the fire pit lingers in from outside, mixing in with the incense set for those soon dearly departed.

“Grandma, are you okay?” My voice trembles.

She squeezes my hand like everything is alright, like she won’t enter into the great beyond before long. “I’m okay, child. I’ve always been okay, but my time is coming.”

Please don’t leave me.

That is what my heart wishes to beg of her. Her life is so precious to me. She’s that smile at ease with me and laughter when times are free - oh, how I want her to hold me please when night falls and the big cats prowl outside our village seams.

But those are the wishes of a child.

I shake my head. “I love you, Grandma. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Life is such a mystery to go it alone - and to think soon I’ll be a man and not feel ready for it. What if I don’t find myself at initiation?”

The edges of her lips curl up into a faint smile. “You will find your way. I know you will. Just follow the wind of life and you’ll find your place.” She then lets go of my hand and her face melts into a frown. “But, you must learn to let go of me. You are a child now, but once initiated, you will be a man.”

I shake my head. “How can you say that? It’ll be so hard being without you.” Tears well in my eyes. “I don’t want to be a man if it means losing you.”

“Let go of me, child, and once you do, you’ll learn I’m only ever a breath away.”

A pain seizes my chest, aching and ripping as I break into a cold sweat and chills run down my back. Breathe, try to breathe. Do it for Grandma.

The memory melts in form and color and I open my eyes. Though my body is here in our initiation ground without food, my mind feels like it’s somewhere far off, perhaps traveling through time to catch up to this tired body of mine.

I think of my childhood and all my friends, a past life. Telmir was good at hunting and was sure to join the ranks of our best. Jao was so funny and everyone believed he was meant for our fun rituals to make us laugh until our bellies hurt.

It seems like they all had a place

Except me.

My mouth becoming dry, I rise and walk over to a nearby river. When I come to the edge, I see my reflection in the clear, pristine water. An old boy or a young man looks back at me with gaunt cheekbones.

Then I gaze longer. Within my eyes and the structure of my face, I see my father and his brothers - I catch hold of a root stretching across time to my ancestors that link our souls together.

How could I have ever thought I don’t belong?

Trembling, the air is taken from me and I drop to my knees and look up at the sky as tears fall from my eyes, raining sorrow onto the grass. The loss resurfaces from immeasurable depths I tried to bury it in. Pain explodes from the darkness in me.

A piercing scream rings throughout the village. Through the hut fabric, I see the burning torches of strangers outside. My heart pounds in my chest, and I turn over and see my Mother and Father’s beds empty.

The curtain rips open and Father stands in the way. He comes to me and kneels by my side. “Moea, the white men have come. You must get out of here now. Run far.”

“What? I can’t leave - not when you and grandma and mom-”

“Be silent.” His face hardens, but there’s a softness to his eyes. “Leave this place and go to our ritual grounds - become the man you’re meant to be. You’re my last remaining son. I won’t let them take you.”

A dark silhouette outside our hut encroaches. The white man appears in strange clothing and yells at us in a foreign tongue. He waves his sword in one hand, as his brow furrows in the shadow cast by the fiery torch he carries.

Father readies his spear and takes his stance. He glances at me for a moment. “Go on. Leave right now.” He barks his orders, and I sprint to the other end of the hut and crawl underneath the fabric to the outside.

Both men shriek with battle cries until there is only silence. I do not look back. I can’t look back, because in my heart of hearts, I know.

Running out into the forest, the yells of madmen and cries of women and children grow faint in the passing distance. In a path of tears, carrying nothing but a wish to forget, I come in three days' time to our initiation ground, far from anyone.

Home is the place my people return after this, but I have no home now.

Tears run until there is nothing else to give and my face is stale against the wind. Sniffling, after a while, I stand and walk back to the sacred altar.

Once I take a seat by the rocks, I look off into the distance and try to ignore four days of hunger and lack of sleep, rites of my initiation. I don’t want to think or feel, not now or ever again. The green world seems to lose some of its color as I grow numb.

Then something red flashes in the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I see a Scarlet Macaw perched on the rock. It squawks at me and after a while, I can’t help but smile faintly at it.

The bird hops from one rock over to another and looks at me, coming close enough to touch. At its neck and head are bright red feathers that taper down to vibrant shades of yellow and blue. Colors so bright, too vivid to be real, it takes off and soars along the current of air, circling me.

Looking up, my heart flutters in my chest and a warm tingling stirs in my fingertips.

I rise and open my mouth wide to breathe deeply the air propelling the bird's wings. Within me, darkness is dissolved by the radiant colors of this winged spirit. New thoughts form and drift like floating clouds.

How can death overcome my spirit when there is so much life around me?

Spinning in a circle, the Macaw flying around me, I take in the trees and grass rich in greenery and life. I am but a speck on this vast forest, a creature living on this massive beating heart of nature - full of colors, magic, and love, moving in synchronicity.

Why should my heart feel so heavy when it can fly with the Scarlet Macaw over ranges and trees, bathed in beauty and all things?

Warmth washes over my face and along with a wide grin, then I laugh at the dancing winds and twirling serenity. The Scarlet Macaw breaks off from its circling and flies in a single direction. The urge blossoms in me, and I smile as I chase after the flying rainbow, the glimmer of colors.

Going faster, breathing deeper, it no longer seems I follow, but that I am the Scarlet Macaw. Ascending, gliding through the air, lifting spirits pure enough to be a light load to heaven. I carry the prayers of my people right into the clouds.

As the messenger of the Gods, my beating wings propel me higher onward. With such beauty in the world, I dare to take another breath. With dazzling colors, I learn to see beyond what is on the surface. With elevation, I dream to new heights and reach for hope.

Wet with sweat, I trail behind the descending bird where it goes down by the side of a hill encrusted with large rocks. It’s there I see dozens of the Scarlet Macaws licking the clay for the earth to sustain them. Fiery red, blue, green, my heart is beating its wings!

Catching my breath, I approach and watch the family of Macaws peacefully.

My mind settles and I remember one of Grandma’s lessons.

The Scarlet Macaws are the symbols of unity and long-lasting relationships. They mate for life and tend to each other with care. This, and so much more, they mean to our people.

In them, I see our relationship to the forest and one another, the tether that connects us to all things. In the ground are plants and insects, people on the earth, while they are intermediaries

Of the first white men to encounter our village long ago, one of them kept a Scarlet Macaw imprisoned. It’s shameful. Scarlet Macaws are shadows of who man has been, yet reflections of the beauty we may aspire to.

They can heal us.

As the day passes, I watch each one takeoff and disappear until twilight looms. It’s only when they’ve gone that I realize my initiation is over. Today is the last day. I smile as I now know my place in this world.

The spirit of the Scarlet Macaw has shown me.

Clearing my dry throat, I stand tall before the setting sun and raise my voice. “Today and until my last breath, I will heal the rift between myself and the forest and every person. I’ll dare to love this world once more.”

Depression dissipates and the world clears.

My eyes wide, I see in the clouds the faces of Grandma, Mother, and Father smiling down on me. High above the canopies, the Scarlet Macaw soars.