The feather does not stay long on the ground, but is constantly moving with the wind, kept aloft, flying away from the earth into the open air that propels her away, away from you– just as you try to touch and hold her beauty, she keeps moving, dancing, flying slowly and softly into the unattainable, ever-moving wind– sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but always moving gracefully through life. And in my life, I have always been like that feather in the wind.
My life in the beginning was not so bleak, even when my family struggled just to survive. I was never screaming and crying from hunger, because my father always knew how to provide for us, even in the darkest moments of World War II. To claim that I was hungry, scared or martyred by the war would be baloney! I grew up happy, curious, loving– everything was fun and I just went flying and floating like that feather on the wind .
A Venezuelan friend of my sister nicknamed me “cocoon,” a baby butterfly, and today as I am writing, I realize that in reality, that immaturity has been my life for a long time– my feet still do not touch the ground! Being free to flutter and float away, I never had to assume any real responsibility, that I could not manage by a mysterious way I went on and on, maybe do too God has love for me, in everything I felt there was no real pain– the alcohol and drugs numbed my pain..
There were a few exceptions. One day mother and I were abandoned by all our relatives, and we ended up in this town Valencia where the oranges grow, separated from the others mostly by mama’s choice.
I remembered (for only the second time) that fear took hold of mi , what is going to happen to us? I will be alone! If she going to die and live me alone? The first time was that time in Europe when we were in or carazo horse coach, with a caravan of Cossacks escaping.
I was left in a hospital for only one night or two, with severe bronchial congestion and a high fever from the cold and snow.
So in the evening when there were no nurses or patients walking around I climbed up to the window, to see where I was, hoping to see mama coming to rescue me. The night was pitch dark, with no moon, and that cold weather and chill feeling went deep inside of me, a feeling that I was alone with no one to help. Now I know God way their.
That desperate fear: “They are not coming back to fetch me”– took me in to the dept of fear, next day rescue by my family and in the road again, we went to reunite with the rest of the caravan.
Note this is not a finish material, their be more description and details in the book “Dreams on the Swing” and will have dates and more .