Palomar As a Metaphor

“Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.” —Orson Scott Card

(This blog comes with a trigger warning.)

I was so busy taking a video of our tour guide’s talk on the palomars (dovecotes) that I missed the chance to take photos; at least any that didn’t have fellow tourists in the foreground, so I borrowed this one as an example. The video link is at the bottom of the last blog, on Hórreos, if you’re interested— about two minutes in. Notice the sole entrance on top in the photo, designed for pigeons to enter. Never to leave. The idea seems rather macabre. As the guide explained, the owner would leave food for the pigeons, mainly corn. The birds would eat to their hearts’ content, fatten up, nest, and lay eggs. As she said, far better for the owner to have pigeons for dinner than corn.

Call me a pigeon, and the carb-rich aisles of the grocery store, my palomar. Hunger aside, I can picture myself cozy in my LazyBoy chair, streaming something on my big screen TV, with one hand in the “comfort calorie bowl,” numbing my cares as my scale upstairs awaits my next check-in. Food is one of the most widely accessible mood-altering drugs around. For me, it’s been a hand-to-mouth habit that shifted off and on depending on my smoking habits. My love of food, body issues, and a multitude of triggers led to a life-long struggle with disordered eating. Even with some futile interventions, smoking or food issues have been pecking away at my wellness and longevity.

In my screenplay, Wayward— one I hope I’ll see produced in my lifetime, Farren carries her grief and her daughter’s ashes on the Camino. Livy had died from an overdose at a party three years before while Farren was out of town for work. I drew on my angst of having, and losing, a brother who struggled with addiction to street drugs. I write what I know, to some degree, because I can give lived experience a new life through my characters. In this case, I threw my sorrows at Farren. When she considered that the palomar could be a metaphor for grooming young addicts, the epiphany brought her to her knees, just as it had for me.

I thought of all the vulnerable young people out there taking tentative steps towards their palomars. And then I thought of all those who make money off them, enough to keep themselves well fed, like the palomar owners: the dealers and big pharma. One gets them hooked, another is paid to be part of the solution. The same could be said for alcohol, nicotine, marijuana, and gambling, to name a few. Companies reap their fortunes knowing people will suffer physically and mentally from their product, that they contribute to family dysfunction and social woes. And the government takes its cut but underfunds support services. Heavy topic, I know. Not all metaphors have happy endings.

One day at a time. The next few blogs will be lighter, I promise.

What’s in your personal palomar?

If you’re a fiction writer, how can you draw from your lived experience to show the shadow side of your characters?

If you write creative non-fiction or memoir, how deeply are you willing to dig into your own story? How likely are you to share it?

Ultreia! Forward, together.