Samsara
By Gray Winsler
Art by Jamie Chihuan
Published in Issue 134, February 2025
To wake up and find oneself covered in feathers is a rather unsettling experience. To then find that these feathers were not scattered about as the result of some debaucherous pillow fight, but actually attached to one’s body like some bizarre avian acupuncturing, is even more disturbing. To then find that one has in fact transmorphed into a bird, well, that’s just odd.
This is what happened to Nolan. He denied it at first. When he attempted to raise his arm and found that it had become a wing, he thought he was hallucinating. When he stumbled in circles on his newly pronged feet and eventually toppled over into the dirt, he thought he may have taken magic mushrooms. When he attempted to pluck out his own feathers and found he was greeted with an immense amount of pain, he was certain that he had taken magic mushrooms. But the hours passed and his condition remained unchanged. Nolan convinced himself for a time that he was dreaming. But when he dove head first into a rock and found that the only change to his condition was an excruciating headache, the reality of his newfound form began to sink in.
Eager for help, he searched the landscape for life. The world around him was dusty and dim. He was on the edge of a woods. In front of him: a stretch of red rocks and short shrubbery. He parted his beak to speak and found that chirps came out. He was startled by his own voice, but even more startled by the fact that he could understand these chirps, that he had heard both Tweeeeet! and Helllllp!
Finally, at the edge of the woods, he saw another bird who was bathing itself in dust. Nolan hopped toward the bird, which was the best he could muster, as he was still getting used to his taloned feet.
“You! You there! I need help!”
The bird looked up at him and cocked its head.
Nolan hopped closer, and the bird, who upon closer inspection was a lady cardinal, demure in her coloring but magnificent in her plumage, continued to watch him with curiosity. Nolan thought he may have felt a slight attraction to the cardinal but quickly hushed this feeling.
The cardinal chirped, and Nolan understood it to mean, “How can I help?”
“I’m not supposed to be here,” Nolan pleaded.
“Who is?”
“No, I mean, there’s been a mistake.”
“That’s usually how it goes. Did you get too close to one of those dreadful cats?”
“No, no, that’s just it — I’m not a bird.”
“Hm,” the cardinal said, looking Nolan over. “You look like a bird to me.”
“I mean, I wasn’t a bird.”
“We were all birds once.”
Nolan’s feathers bristled. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Perhaps you should paint.”
“What?”
The bird nodded toward an easel.
“No, I — I don’t need to paint,” Nolan said, frustrated.
“Painting helps soothe the mind,” the cardinal assured him.
“I don’t even have hands!” Nolan erupted.
The cardinal was confused by this, then picked up a twig in its beak and began to motion the act of painting.
“Please, I’m begging— ” Nolan began, but was interrupted by a great gust of wind which toppled him over and covered him in a generous blanket of sand and dirt. He blinked through the dust and saw an enormous raven towering over him, a dark shadow against a crimson sky. Terrified, he rolled and flopped until he managed to get himself back on his talons.
The raven spoke with a deep voice that seemed to emanate from the Earth’s core: “Nolan Matthews. I have been sent by the Great Kingdom of the Finch. You have been welcomed into their ranks with open wings. You will cease to be known as Nolan Matthews from this moment forth, and now be referred to as Twitch.”
At once, both terrified and befuddled, Nolan found himself stammering, incoherent, as he gazed up at the twilit raven.
The raven, sensing Nolan’s confusion, offered: “You are within the samsara.”
“The what?”
“Did you not read the Bhagavad Gita?”
“The-the yoga thing?” Nolan asked.
“You have shed your garments and put on new ones.”
“What?”
“The cycle continues on.”
“Are you — are you trying to tell me that I’m dead?”
“Do you feel dead?”
Nolan felt queasy, and suddenly vomited up a worm he did not remember eating.
The raven plucked it up, careful not to let it go to waste.
“That can’t be. I can’t be dead … ”
“Is a worm in the belly dead, or is it merely on its way to breathing new life?”
“It is dead!” Nolan screamed. “Of course it’s dead!”
The raven shook its head, dismayed. Then it stabbed its enormous beak at Nolan’s eyes.
Nolan hopped back. “What the hell!”
“You do not see,” squawked the raven. “What use does one who does not see have for such magnificent eyes?” It pecked again at him.
Nolan fluttered his wings madly, finding, for the first time, the pulse of the wind, and managed to thrust himself backward into the woods. He flapped furiously, not daring to look back for the raven, flying himself into a dense thicket. He crashed into the earth through the brush and looked up to find a grouse peering down at him.
“Who are you?” asked the grouse.
“Me?” Nolan thought on this and found that he could no longer remember his name. “I — I’m not sure … ”
“Then it has already begun.”
“What has?”
“Your next life.”
“But, no … No, I — I had a family!”
“Well, then, you should go and see them.”
“What?”
“Just because you are a bird does not mean they are.”
“How?”
“How does a bird learn to find the roost of their ancient ancestors? Do not think. Fly. Let the wind carry you.”
“I can’t even fly!”
“You will learn. But be forewarned: the raven will come for you.”
“Why?”
The grouse shrugged. “It is the way of the raven. They are responsible for carrying forward the samsara. Visits to one’s past are forbidden. But birds always find the way to their roost. It is within us.”
It took time, but Nolan followed the advice of the grouse. The more his own memories faded, the easier it became to let the wind be his guide. He flew in the direction he was called, and stopped questioning why.
By the time Nolan arrived, he was no longer Nolan. He had entered the Great Kingdom of the Finch. But there was something within him still, a memory preserved as an instinct. He descended upon the red house that called to him like a beacon. He circled high above it and spotted a woman sitting at a picnic bench in the backyard. He swooped down and landed on a branch beside the bench.
He looked at the woman, whose eyes were puffy and red. He did not know her, and yet he longed to hold her, to envelop her in his wings. He felt her sadness, and he wished for it to end. He chirped, and found that he had said, “I am always here.” The woman looked up at him then, studied him, and when she smiled, he felt that he had finally found his way home.
Gray Winsler is the first ginger to be published in Birdy Magazine, Issue 091. He loved living in Denver despite his allergy to the sun and is now based in Ithaca, NY. He spends his mornings with his dog Indy by his side, writing as much as possible before his 9-to-5. If you’re curious about Normal, IL or why TacoBell is bomb, you can find more on his site.
Jamie Chihuan is a Latino Art Director and Designer based in Denver. No matter if it’s an ad campaign or a mural you can expect him to get his hands dirty. He was born in Longmont, Colorado and realized he was destined for a creative future when he failed my 11th grade art class. It was the only class he failed 🙁 But little did his teacher know she sparked a creative fire in him that still hasn’t died till this day. As a multi-disciplinary creator, he dabbles in motion graphics, photography, filmmaking, graphic design and branding, and the many mediums he uses in his fine art. He likes pop culture, art history, and music. If he’s not inside creating or learning new mediums he’s outside enjoying the Colorado sun or watching a new movie. He is the owner of A Deal In Hell, where you can see more of his work as well as on Instagram.
Check out Gray’s Best of Birdy January install, Ellie & Ringo, in cased you missed it or head to our Explore section to see more of his work. This is Jamie’s debut in Birdy. Keep your eyes peeled for more by this talented artist.