Blessed are the Winged
Death & Birds & Fog Chaser
Hello. This is a special post about Death & Birds, as the multi-talented musician and composer has crafted a gorgeous composition to accompany it. May his music and my voice carry you to the in between. We’ll meet you there…
No one renders the liminal quite like nature. She offers the ocean shore, the cliff edge, the climb into wakefulness, the drift into sleep, emergence, dissolution, dusk and dawn—times of the in between where potential concentrates and devolves simultaneously. Permeable spaces into which the Birds insist their songs, and the reverent their prayers. The ancient alchemical pulse playfully invites us into her helical dance, offering the gentle fiction that we’ve a choice, though our freedom lies only in the manner of our movement.
Yesterday, out of the pale spring blue, came the shrieks of two small Birds, mid-battle. The Great Tits nesting in our garden have become quite barbaric in this their time of early parenthood, and so I rushed outside, where I saw one of said Great Tits stood atop a low brick wall—wings flared to breaking point, screaming savagely at something in the green below. He flew as I neared, and then knelt, carefully parting weed, grass and leaf, before spotting a distinct flash of red which could only be the face of a Goldfinch.
Whenever I am about to pick up a Bird, I quickly attempt to become as still as I am able. I’ll pause to take a breath in and briefly close my eyes as I exhale and release what tension I can from my shoulders and hands. I can only imagine what the subjective experience of being a Bird is like, but I suspect that being held by a soft and confident hand, connected to the relaxed arm of a body housing a nervous system as close to neutral as it can be, is a far less stressful experience than being grabbed by a being in a state of tension or panic.
And so I paused, taking the briefest of moments to reset myself, lest I ruin this poor Bird’s day even more. Offering a whispered, “Shhhh, it’s okay” I scooped him from the tangled green and checked his little body for injuries. Seemingly well, outside of being jarred by the attack, we sat by some bushes and a tree; he in my open hand, reorienting himself, me crosslegged, telling him to take his time, take his time. In our shared quiet I catalogued my gratitudes for every time I’ve sat in stillness with a sky bound being, one who can have their pick of worlds. I know there’s a persistent rumour that humans are somehow divinely favoured, but it seems to me that, if indeed there are chosen ones, it’s the ones with wings.
A minute or two and then, up, up and away—the quickest of flaunts of that classic European Goldfinch cape; black and white, with a bursting sunlit band of gold framing the vital, mortal form. The average lifespan of a European Goldfinch is two and a half years, though they’ve been known to live as long as thirteen. The average lifespan of a woman in the UK is 82 years, though they’ve been known to live as long as 115. As far as I know my Death is still in its embryonic state, and so I whisper and sing to it, as I would an unborn child.
When we bear witness to ourselves as temporary, mortal beings, when we stand in front a mirror with the courage and humility it takes to meet oneself in honesty, we can find, beneath the initial surface burn of intensity, a deep and perfectly still lake—at the edge of which we might glimpse our true reflection. A reflection of something more than a collection of ingenious cells and psychological adaptations. A reflection of something closer to the essence of nature herself, something which contains the eternal pulse of opposites, and the liminal tension which binds them. Being and non-being, heart-beat and heart-pause, eastern and western sun. Music…silence.
Every sacred thing holds a nascent conclusion, a genetic knowing of the need to resolve oneself—to return oneself—to the mystery from which it came.
Yours in aimless flight…
I first came across Matt—the delightful human behind —on Substack a couple of years ago, and instantly fell in love with his music and the gentle world it opens a portal to. Having him compose a piece especially for Death & Birds feels like a dream come true.
You can explore the full catalogue on Spotify, YouTube, Apple Music, and over on his Substack. Enjoy 🌿
"Every sacred thing holds a nascent conclusion, a genetic knowing of the need to resolve oneself—to return oneself—to the mystery from which it came."
So much truth and beauty here
Not often do I stumble upon an act of such grace and beauty that mesmerizes my senses so unstoppingly. This a such a gorgeous take on our human condition as it relates to Nature's creation of winged friends. I am honored to be among God's creation coexisting with birds.