Should billionaires be permitted? This question came up recently and reminded me how we fit uneasily with other animals of our world.

I admit to being jealous. I can probably beat them in target shooting, mountain biking, or maybe some arbitrary measure of decency. But whether we admit it or not, they are the winners of the big game we are all playing.

Someone close objected to the unfairness of many who live on very little because of genes or other involuntary factors. I told her that cheetahs are fast, and we have to accept that. And elephants are more powerful, and we can only stop them with tools of our minds.

Then I thought of birds. During recent storms here there were gulls soaring in roaring rain and whipping winds. They didn't have to. They want to because they can. Who doesn't wish they could fly?

Aren't we jealous? Why shouldn't we kill them away, so we don't have to see how they inexplicably achieve what we only dream about?

Reminds me of the Elton John song "High Flying Bird".

Leo Jia writes: 

Reminds me of "The Song of the Stormy Petrel" by Maxim Gorky

Up above the sea's grey flatland, wind is gathering the clouds. In between the sea and clouds proudly soaring the Petrel, reminiscent of black lightning.

Glancing a wave with his wingtip, like an arrow dashing cloudward, he cries out and the clouds hear his joy in the bird's cry of courage.In this cry — thirst for the tempest! Wrathful power, flame of passion, certainty of being victorious the clouds hear in that bird's cry.

Seagulls groan before the tempest, - groan, and race above the sea, and on its bottom they are ready to hide their fear of the storm.And the loons are also groaning, - they, the loons, they cannot access the delight of life in battle: the noise of the clashes scares them.

The dumb penguin shyly hiding his fat body in the crevice . . . It is only the proud Petrel who soars ever bold and freely over the sea grey with sea foam!Ever darker, clouds descending ever lower over the sea, and the waves are singing, racing to the sky to meet the thunder.

Thunder sounds. In foamy anger the waves groan, with wind in conflict. Now the wind firmly embraces flocks of waves and sends them crashing on the cliffs in wild fury, smashing into dust and seaspray all these mountains of emerald.

And the Petrel soars with warcries, reminiscent of black lightning, like an arrow piercing the clouds, with his wing rips foam from the waves.

So he dashes, like a demon, - proud, black demon of the tempest, - and he's laughing and he's weeping . . . it is at the clouds he's laughing, it is with his joy he's weeping!

In the fury of the thunder, the wise demon hears its weakness, and he's certain that the clouds will not hide the sun - won't hide it!The wind howls . . . the thunder rolls . . .Like a blue flame, flocks of clouds blaze up above the sea's abyss. The sea catches bolts of lightning drowning them beneath its waters. Just like serpents made of fire, they weave in the water, fading, the reflections of this lightning.

-Tempest! Soon will strike the tempest!

That is the courageous Petrel proudly soaring in the lightning over the sea's roar of fury; cries of victory the prophet:

-Let the tempest come strike harder!


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