By Mary Ewa
Birds are meant to fly, to perch, and then to fly again, responding to the quiet needs of their lives each day and season. It is a circle of daily routine, a rhythm of existence that defines their call from wake to dawn. Yet even in their graceful flight, they too struggle with the silent burdens of survival ,the windstorms, the migrations, the droughts that test their wings.
Life, for all creatures, is never without its turbulence. And for humans, it is no less so. Life is an undeclared battle that begins in the peaceful enclosure of the womb. Science has shown that even the fetus plays, cries, and laughs, as if rehearsing for the unpredictable drama awaiting outside. From the very first heartbeat, existence demands participation; silence is not an option.
Life is an equation without a fixed solution. Each day arrives with its own set of unknowns, fresh challenges dressed in ordinary moments. Like a farmer rising before dawn, we wake to tend the field of our lives, solving problems not only for ourselves but for those who orbit our existence. To live is to cultivate; to breathe is to battle, quietly, persistently, endlessly.
The world itself is a vast web of interconnected issues, global, continental, national, communal, and deeply personal. Every node in this web vibrates with the tension of human experience: wars and whispers, triumphs and tears, discoveries and disappointments. None of us stands apart; the tremor in one strand ripples through all.
And yet, in the midst of this motion, there lies a quiet truth, that life does not always reward the strongest or the swiftest, but the most resilient. The true measure of survival is not in never falling, but in learning how to rise again with grace. Every scar tells a story of endurance, every tear a chapter of growth. We are shaped not only by what we conquer, but by what we choose to rise above.
Perhaps what saves us in this unending contest is not the size of our victories, but the warmth of human connection. When hands reach out to lift another, when voices share laughter in the dark, when hearts remember compassion, the battle softens. We begin to see that no one truly wins alone; even in solitude, our spirits are held by invisible threads of shared struggle and silent hope.
Yet, in the noise of survival, the consciousness of who we truly are often remains unborn. We chase solutions without asking who the solver is. We fight battles without naming the cause. We build and break, heal and harm, forgetting that every equation of life begins and ends ,with the self.
Perhaps the real battle is not against the world, but against our own forgetfulness, the loss of awareness that we are both the farmer and the field, the question and the answer, the storm and the calm after it.
So we rise each day, not merely to survive, but to remember: that even in the chaos of the battle we never declared, there remains in us,still the laughter of the womb, and the wings of the bird that never forgets how to fly.
