You see, birds fall from the window ledge above mine, then they flap their wings at the last second. I can see their dead weight, just dropping like stones, for small loaves of bread, past my window all the time. But unless I get up, walk across the room, and peer down below, I don't see their last second curves toward a horizontal flight. All these birds just falling from the ledge like stones. Now, due to a construct in my mind that makes their falling and their flight symbolic of my entire existence, it becomes important for me to get up and see their last second curves toward flight. It's almost as if my life will fall unless I see their ascent.
Death usually has to take life away. I don't know if that's just the animal. I don't know if it's not braver to die. But I recognize the habit. The addiction to being alive. We live past hope. If I can find hope anywhere, that's it, that's the best I can do. It's so much not enough, so inadequate but...bless me anyway. i want more life. ~Prior, Angels in America, Perestroika
There are some fish that can't be caught. It's not that they're bigger or faster then other fish, they're just touched by something extra.