What is fire but the transformation of one reality to another
As Maya weaves through time and space, she can transform into an entity as small as an atom or as large as a star. These transformations allow her to grasp what is happening in the universe from many different perspectives. During these times, Maya experiences the world through another being, wholly immersing herself into its mindset.
I know that they do not consider me to be animate. Yet I live. I assemble my mind and body from the building blocks of life. I multiply and I propagate. If that is not being alive, then what is? I am smaller than any living being, yet so much more powerful. I am a mighty virus. But my metamorphosis is not stable, for I am swayed by the pained longings of the virus for its past. For the surroundings that comforted it for countless generations. I am transforming once more.
From the Novella
Svevi Avatar Glimpses: The Pandemic Begins
Maya transforms into other entities and sees the world through them.
29 October, 2020 — Vantage Point 6
How peculiar it is to be able to perch oneself atop a lamp post. Had I not transformed into a little blue bird, this tall metal structure — no matter how sturdy — surely would have complained about being burdened by a fully grown woman’s weight! That lady from the crowd is standing very close to Bunim. What could she possibly want from him, I wonder. Does she not sense his discomfort? Is she trying to rattle him on purpose? There is something odd about the way she speaks. I can’t quite discern what it is.
25 September, 2020 — Vantage Point 5
Bunim’s attention has drifted to that woman standing a bit to the side of the crowd. This little man is getting too loud for my taste. Last time he thumped the handrail in his zeal I almost fell off. How amazing it is to be as agile a being as a little bird, for I can fly anywhere I wish. If I were Maya, if I were myself, I would not enjoy this freedom. I must relish it as long as I can. I unfold my spectacular blue wings and propel myself into the winds above the crowd of humans below. They are too busy doting on the little man in the balcony to notice me as I fly toward Bunim.
26 August, 2020 — Vantage Point 4
That balcony looks inviting. I’ll fly down and perch on the wooden handrail next to that little man. He seems to like attention; his face lights up whenever the crowd below cheers. Why are all these people assembled here? They hang on this man’s every word, yet he’s not really saying much of substance. There’s Bunim in the distance. I can see from here that he doesn’t want to be here. How burdensome it is to be human. But in this moment I am free, for I am a bird.
19 August, 2020 — Vantage Point 3
How trivial the cares of humanity when one is gliding on a soft breeze. I’ve been so engrossed in this experience of flight that I forgot to look for Bunim. There he is, walking past that large building with the garden of flowers. I’ll fly lower so I can hear what they are saying to each other. That’s one of the marvels of being a bird. No one suspects that I am actually a human woman transformed into a Blue Jay.
12 August, 2020 — Vantage Point 2
I am as blue as the sky, blending into it as though we were one. How freeing it is to soar above the river below. How light I feel. How carefree. My arms have transformed into delicate wings, my mouth into a beak. I am a Blue Jay riding the winds. Perhaps I can stay a bird and not have to be Maya again. I have lost sight of Bunim. Where is he? The last thing I remember is being a blade of grass at his feet.
3 August, 2020 — Vantage Point 1
How strange it is to observe Bunim from the ground on which he stands. I feel supple, yet rigid simultaneously. I am no longer Maya, but a blade of grass that touches the walking stick that he leans on. I feel the vibrations of his thoughts transmitted through his hand through the ancient wood he holds down to me. He is not like the others. He is not disconnected like they are. His senses are attuned to the winds, as mine are. He knows that change is coming.
27 July, 2020 — Padded Steps
I lower my snout to the tracks in the snow; a deer calf was here not long ago. I can tell by its steps that its right hind leg is injured. Ah, I won’t have to run far to catch up with it. The snow will pad my approach and I shall be successful in capturing the animal. The calf will feed my pack for a few days. And we will thank it for its life, for we wolves are the guardians of our habitats. We maintain the balance of prey and predator, so that all life can flourish.
20 July, 2020 — Ailing Contours
As I roll down her cheek, I stop to listen to the pores in her skin. They speak to me of grief in her heart. A grief that sighs so mournfully that even I, a single tear, am burdened by its heaviness. Each time I journey down her face I trace the contours of what ails her. Today she remembers the man she had believed would be by her always, but who left one day without looking back.
13 July, 2020 — Descend Swiftly
So high above the earth, there are no boundaries, except those carved out by the waters. These are my hunting grounds, stretching below me in all directions. I am not deterred by the borders humans impose on each other. I concern myself only with my prey. My keen eagle eyes discern the tiniest of movements far below me, signaling that it is time for me to descend swiftly. How glorious this dive through the blueness of the sky that caresses my wings.
8 July, 2020 — In the Breeze
I am the sleeping place of dew drops. In my veins flows the breath of earth. When the sun warms the sky, I begin my work of making the food for the old tree of whom I am a part. I toil all day, but when the breeze blows, I stop to play for a while. I am a leaf, ever ready to absorb what humans breathe out, so that I can keep them alive. This is my duty, no matter how many of my brother and sister leaves they kill when they fell the trees of the forest for their own gain.
1 July, 2020 — Inanimate Life
Who decides what is worthy of the title of being a living, animate being? Humans? What are the criteria for qualifying as a life form? Invading others? Check. Benefiting myself at the expense of someone else? Check. Depleting the resources of those off of whom I leech? Check. Not caring whether others live or die, as long as I thrive? Check. If these are the conditions to be met to be called alive, then I, the mighty virus, am as powerful a life form as humans.
24 June, 2020 — Crevices in the skin
How stupendously large the world seems when one is a mosquito. I can see crevices in the skin of this man I’ve landed on. I may seem insignificant and weak. And yet, my needle-like mouth is extracting precious blood from this human, while injecting him with chemicals that make his blood thinner. Who is the weaker one, really?