Three Birds
By Rose S. Harbour, Images by ChatGPT v4
In the quiet, moonlit night, under a sky embroidered with constellations, Maya lay awake, wrestling with an invisible torment. Her womb harbored a ball of pain so dense and dark. This pain was a mixture of grief, despair, fury, shame, and confusion. It was a burden she had carried for what felt like lifetimes, an unwelcome inheritance.
Yet, within the depths of her despair, some part of Maya’s being was listening. Maybe it was her heart that sought answers to soothe her pain. It was on one such night that Siris, a star of unparalleled luminosity, descended from the heavens to visit her. Siris, a celestial entity, embodied wisdom and compassion, and to Maya, it appeared as a beacon of pure, radiant light.
"Siris," Maya whispered, a mixture of awe and desperation in her voice. "Why is this pain my constant companion? Why does it suffocate my spirit?"
Siris's light pulsated softly, enveloping Maya in a warmth that felt like the gentle embrace of the universe. "Dear child," Siris began, its voice a melodious harmony that resonated within Maya's soul, "the pain you carry is fed by your own energy. Close your eyes, crack it open with your light of awareness, and go deep into the ball to see what is in there."
“But I don’t want to - it hurts too much. I can barely breathe, “ replied Maya.
“I’ll be right here by your side, “ assured Siris.
Feeling braver with this luminous star at her side, Maya used her inner sight to connect to this black ball of pain. Within it, she discovered that three birds were trapped within, one was frozen, one was locked in a cage and the last was fossilized in stone.
“We will give ourselves three years to free each of these birds,” said Siris.
The First Bird
Light from Maya’s heart warmed the frozen bird, and as its beak wrestled free from the ice, a strained voice said, “I am afraid to move. Afraid to be. Afraid to sing. Can you set me free?”
Maya’s eyes brimmed with tears, for she remembered. She saw herself as a child, twirling beneath the sunlight, unburdened, wild and free. But a painful experience had taught her to silence that joy, to suppress it.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I was afraid to connect to you, to feel your pain. But I’m ready now. I want to hear your song.”
The little bird raved with anger, shuttered with fear. She knew it still didn’t know it was safe yet with her.
To set this bird free, Maya asked her inner bird what it needed every day, approaching it with kindness and curiosity.
“Listen to my story, listen to my story, “ it said.
As she did so, the bird's song grew stronger, filling Maya with a sense of joy. Once the bird’s pain was shared, its feather turned into a luminous color. She felt the pain eased within her own belly and she felt a bit lighter.
The Second Bird
The second bird bore the colors of the earth and sky. Locked in a cage, it batted its wings around the metal skeleton.
“Who are you?” asked Maya.
“I am the part of you that you have locked up,” the bird murmured. “The part of you that you reject, that you are ashamed of. The part that doesn’t trust the life within you.”
Maya knelt, remorse curling in her belly. She saw her past in flashes—how she had manipulated, feared, and sought control, never trusting the world to love her as she was. She had worn masks, shrinking in some moments, sharpening in others, afraid that her true self would never be enough.
“What must I do?” she asked.
The bird gazed at her with knowing eyes. “You must trust both the fire and the water within you. Strength is not hardness. Softness is not weakness. Balance and honor all that is within. And so will others.”
Maya wept as she held the bird in her hand. The bird stretched its wings and took flight. Maya felt a shift within herself, lighter still.
The Third Bird
The form of the third bird was etched within a stone. It was hard. A sorrow clung to it, and when Maya touched it, the chill of grief seeped into her bones.
“I am your children who never came,” the bird whispered. “I am the life you feared, the love you denied yourself, the trust you never placed in the hands of fate.”
Maya staggered, for this wound was the deepest. She had built her life with walls so thick that love could not pass through. She had believed that to give life was to invite pain, and so she had shut that door before it could open.
Siris’s voice drifted through the air. “Maya, what will you do with this sorrow?”
Maya looked at the bird, so fragile, so filled with everything that could have been. She cupped it gently, pressed it to her heart, and whispered, “I will mourn you, and I will love you, even still.”
And in that moment, the stone dissolved, and the bird rose into the heavens, its dark wings streaked with light. Maya watched it go, knowing it would never return, but also knowing that love had been set free within her.
As the final bird disappeared into the sky, Maya turned to Siris. “I am lighter,” she marveled. “I am changed.”
Siris’s glow dimmed, gentle as the setting sun. “You were never meant to carry these birds within your belly,” she said. “The birds were always waiting to be freed.”
Maya raised her face to the heavens, where the stars burned bright and boundless. For the first time in her life, she felt as they did—unburdened and full of light.
