As a child I had great sympathy for the bat; if there was truly to be no conflict between the birds and the beasts, he should have been welcome at either table. The hypocrisy on both sides was appalling.
As an adult, I've reconsidered my stance. The bat's identity politics are rather frustrating -- why would he tell the birds he's a beast, and then still go try to party with them afterward? It's one thing to deliberately test social boundaries, but his self-pitying sigh at the end seems to indicate he has taken all this rather personally, and I find this kind of contrariness to be exhausting in people as well as bats.
Like in the fable I associated with the Lovers, what we have here seems to be an inability to commit to a single course of action. Does the bi-curious bat really feel he is neither here nor there, or is he simply unable to make up his mind? His actions after peace is declared suggest the latter. One also has to wonder why he hasn't initiated any friendships with other bats. Or flightless birds, for that matter, or even octopi.
So it appears to me that the bat's solitude is a self-induced condition, whether or not he'd care to admit it. Meanwhile, he has all the makings of an Aesopian hero of independence and specialization -- now all he has to do is realize it, and act accordingly.
Walking the Hermit's path is hard work, and it's not for those who rely on attention (positive or otherwise) from others to fuel their introspection. Reach inward! For those already on the path who are looking for the off-ramp, remember this: we often actively contribute to our own isolation from others in ways we're not altogether aware of, even if it's companionship or understanding we crave. Reach outward!
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