The Kingdom of the Stork

In the liminal space between what is and what will be, we often find ourselves suspended, like a feather caught in an updraft. It is here, in these moments of profound change, that we begin to understand the true nature of our existence - not as static beings, but as creatures in constant flux, forever migrating towards an unseen horizon.

Here then I stand at the precipice of great change, preparing to uproot my life and transplant it into the fertile soil of Poland. And in this moment, I find myself drawn to the image of the stork. These majestic birds, with their stark white plumage and ink-black wingtips, have long been revered in Polish folklore as harbingers of new life, guardians of the home, and bridges between the earthly and the divine.

But it is not just their cultural significance that captivates me. It is their very nature - their innate understanding of the necessity of change, their unwavering commitment to the journey, and their ability to find home in the act of migration itself.

Like the stork, I too am about to embark on a great migration, both physically and emotionally. But unlike these graceful creatures, who are guided by an internal compass as ancient as the earth itself, I find myself navigating by a different set of stars - hope, fear, anticipation, and the relentless pull of the unknown.

On Vulnerability.

As I prepare for this journey, I am reminded of a scene from Elem Klimov's haunting film "Come and See" - in which a lone stork, disoriented and drenched, stumbles through a war-torn forest. This visceral image serves as a stark reminder to me that even the most natural and necessary of journeys can be disrupted by the chaos of the world. It speaks to the vulnerability we all face when we step out of the familiar and into the unknown. When we, however falteringly, “embrace change”.

Yet, I think it is precisely this vulnerability that opens us up to the possibility of transformation. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, or the stork returning to its nest after a long winter, we too have the capacity to emerge from periods of great change not diminished, but renewed.

As we all know, the landscape of change is rarely a smooth one. It is pockmarked with the craters of past conflicts, both personal and historical. Poland, the land I am preparing to call home, knows this all too well. Its landscape is rich with the memories of wars, occupations, and revolutions. But it is also a land of incredible resilience, a land where storks return year after year to build their nests atop the chimneys of villages that have seen both tremendous suffering and joyous rebirth.

On Longing.

As I contemplate this, sat as I am on a simple bench in the village of Izbica, being quietly observed by a stork, I’m starting to see my own impending journey not as a linear path from one point to another, but as a complex web of interconnected moments, each one a nest built from the twigs of my experiences, perched precariously on the roof of my consciousness.

In Polish, there is a word - "tęsknota" - that defies simple translation. It speaks to a kind of longing or nostalgia, not just for a place or time, but for a feeling that exists somewhere between memory and imagination. As I prepare to leave behind the familiar contours of my current life, I find myself experiencing a profound sense of tęsknota - not for what I am leaving, but for what I have not yet found.

This longing is like the pull that guides the stork across vast continents, an invisible thread connecting where I am to where I am meant to be. It is a reminder that home is not always a physical place, but a state of being - a moment when the external world aligns with our internal landscape in perfect harmony.

Yet, as the disoriented stork in Klimov's film reminds us, this journey is not without its perils. The path of change is often obscured by the smoke of uncertainty, the terrain made treacherous by landmines of doubt. There will be moments, I know, when I will feel as lost and vulnerable as that rain-soaked bird, stumbling through a landscape made unrecognisable by forces beyond my control.

On Movement.

But it is in these moments of disorientation that we often find our truest bearings. Like the stork using the earth's magnetic field to navigate, we too have an internal compass. It may not always point towards comfort or ease, but it unfailingly directs us towards growth and authenticity.

As I stand on the threshold of this new chapter in my life, I find myself wondering: what does it mean to truly migrate? Is it simply a matter of moving from one place to another, or is it something more profound - a shift in our very being?

Perhaps, like the stork, we are always in a state of migration. Each day, each moment, we are moving from one version of ourselves to another. We build nests of habit and routine, only to abandon them when the seasons of our lives change. We fly great distances, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually, always seeking that elusive place where we can finally rest our wings.

But what if the journey itself is our true home? What if, like the stork, we are most ourselves when we are in flight, suspended between what was and what will be?

This concept both terrifies and exhilarates me. To embrace change not as a means to an end, but as a state of being - to find comfort in the discomfort of constant motion - that might be the greatest migration of all.

As I prepare to make Poland my new home, I am acutely aware that I am not just moving to a new country, but stepping into a new version of myself. Like a stork returning to its nesting grounds, I will be building a new life from the bits and pieces of my experiences, weaving together the old and the new into a tapestry uniquely my own.

But unlike the stork, whose migration patterns have been honed over millennia, my journey is uncharted. There is no well-worn path for me to follow, no ancestral memory to guide me. I am, in many ways, just like the stork in Klimov's film - disoriented, vulnerable, stumbling through a landscape altered by forces I cannot fully comprehend.

On Discovery.

Yet, it is precisely this lack of a predetermined route that makes my journey so full of potential. Each step is a choice, each moment an opportunity to redefine what home means to me.

As I let all this sink in, I’m reminded of another Polish expression - "Znaleźć się" - which literally means "to find oneself," but carries the connotation of finding oneself in a new situation. It speaks to the idea that we don't just passively end up in new circumstances, but actively locate ourselves within them.

Surely then, this is the true nature of my migration - not just a physical relocation, but an active process of finding myself anew in each moment, of consciously placing myself within the flow of change rather than being swept along by it.

The magnificent storks, with their annual migrations, embody this process perfectly. They do not simply fly from one point to another. They engage in a complex dance with the landscape, reading the air currents, navigating by the stars, adjusting their course as needed. Their journey is not just about reaching a destination, but about being fully present in each wingbeat, each thermal, each moment of flight.

As I embrace my own migration, I aspire to this level of presence. To not just move through change, but to fully inhabit it. To let each moment of disorientation, each stumble, each unexpected gust of wind, inform and enrich my journey.

The image of that wet, stumbling stork from "Come and See" stays with me. It serves as a reminder that even in the midst of chaos and confusion, there is a fundamental dignity in the act of continuing forward. That stork, disoriented as it was, did not cease to be a stork. It did not abandon its essential nature, even when the world around it had been turned upside down.

In the same way, as I navigate the upheavals of my own life, I have to remember that change, no matter how profound, does not negate who I am at my core. Rather, it provides an opportunity to express that core self in new and unexpected ways.

The Kingdom of the Stork, I am beginning to realise, is not a physical place. It is a state of being, a way of moving through the world that embraces change as a constant companion. It is a realm where home is not a fixed point, but a series of moments strung together by the thread of our authentic selves.

It follows then doesn’t it, that as I prepare to make Poland my new home, I am not just moving to a new country. I am stepping into the Kingdom of the Stork, a realm of perpetual migration and constant renewal. I am choosing to see each moment as a new nest to be built, each challenge as an air current to be navigated, each joy as a thermal lifting me higher.

On Creation.

These beautiful birds, with their elegant silhouettes and black and white plumage, remind us that life is rarely clear cut. There are no pure whites or pure blacks, but rather a complex interplay of light and shadow. The history of my beloved Poland itself reflects this - a tapestry woven from threads of triumph and tragedy, resilience and sorrow.

In preparing to enter this rich and complex landscape, I do so with the understanding that my own story will become part of this larger tapestry. My personal migration will intertwine with the collective migrations of all those who have come before me, and all those who will come after.

Klimov's stork, stumbling through the aftermath of human conflict, serves as a powerful reminder of the impact our actions have on the world around us. As I embark on my own journey, I carry with me a sense of responsibility - not just to find my own place in this new world, but to contribute positively to the world I am entering.

Perhaps this is the deepest meaning of migration - not just a movement through space, but a movement towards greater understanding, greater compassion, greater awareness of our interconnectedness with all things.

Just as storks return year after year, navigating by an inner compass that transcends human borders and conflicts, they remind us of a deeper truth - that we are all, in our own ways, engaged in a great migration. Whether we physically move or stay in one place, we are constantly navigating the changing landscapes of our lives, our relationships, our world.

On Fear.

In embracing this truth, in stepping fully into the Kingdom of the Stork, we open ourselves to the profound possibilities that change brings. We learn to find stability in motion, certainty in uncertainty, home in the very act of seeking.

Sat here, right now, I feel a mixture of trepidation and exhilaration. Like a stork poised for flight, I can feel the wind beneath my wings, the pull of the distant horizon. I know there will be challenges ahead - moments of disorientation, of doubt, of feeling as lost as that rain-soaked bird in the blasted forest.

But I also know that these challenges are not obstacles to be overcome, but integral parts of the journey itself. They are the air currents that will lift me higher, the crosswinds that will push me to explore new territories of myself.

In the end, this is the promise of the Kingdom of the Stork - not an arrival at a fixed destination, but a continuous unfolding of who we are and who we might become. It is a realm where change is not something that happens to us, but something we actively engage with, shape, and ultimately, embody.

I promise to embrace this journey with a heart full of "tęsknota"- a longing not for what I am leaving behind, but for all that I have yet to discover, all that I have yet to become. I truly am answering the call of an inner voice, a pull towards something that feels like home, even if I cannot yet see its shape.

In this moment of suspension between what is and what will be, I find a profound sense of peace. For I know that wherever this journey takes me, whatever challenges I may face, I carry within me the resilience of the stork, the complexity of Poland's history, and the endless potential of change itself.

And so, I step forward into the Kingdom of the Stork, ready to build my nest in the sky, to find my home in the very act of seeking it. For in the end, it's not the destination that defines us, but the courage to spread our wings and fly.

Narration:

Kingdom of The Stork

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The featured image for this post is "Bociany" (Storks) by Józef Chełmoński. Storks was created in 1900 and first exhibited at the Zachęta Gallery in Warsaw a year later, in 1901.