When I read your words I somehow feel both changed by them and more like myself. I find me in them in ways I struggled to see before you shed your light. As I read of the figurines and your will for something to be different to how it was, I was filled with a joyful recognition, only to end in tears as I read more. Thank you. Your sharing has a profound impact on my own exploration of unspoken things.
Wow. Thank you, Chloe. You wrap words around a feeling I have had but could not name. I’m reminded of the poem Because by James Mcauley “We were all caught in the same defeat”
Strange indeed, “to feel more closely related to beings not of ones own species than to members of ones own bloodline”. But perhaps something many of us feel. I wonder if the release of ashes into the breeze allows a closeness that never seemed possible during their life. I somehow feel closer to my father and more able to understand the ropes of pain and unhappiness that constricted him and left deep wounds in me, my mother and sister, since he died, and was released into the breeze. Thank you for your beautiful words and the stories you share that release understanding into the breeze, and with it the small, soft feathers of peace that gather around me as I listen and read.
This was interesting and painful to read. It's causing me again to reassess my own relationship with my maternal grandmother who, when I was about 2 years old and calling for my mother in the evening from a cot I could not get out of, came and hit me, saying I should leave my mother alone. Although I was very small it has really remained in my mind as a traumatic memory. I could never love her although it's clear my mother did. I will think again about this.
The echoes of generational trauma are familiar to me, through my mother’s mother. This generous insight caught my breath: “I know now that the ropes—placed around her before she was even born—prevented her from ever crossing that threshold.” My mother’s pain was like that. I love the image of your grandmother free on the breeze.
I did not see where that was going. Remarkable writing of truth. Beauty and truth are often cojoined; but what of pain and truth? The older I get the more I see and feel that it all belongs. You gave eloquent voice to the longing of meaning.
In some way the emotional distance between myself and my immediate birth family—this has been the case for as far back as I can remember—has driven me to find Home, to be embraced by My People. I am increasingly aware that all people are my people, all beings are my people, all is my people. What a privilege to be part of it all. We are all truly walking ourselves Home.
wow / oh wow / struck deep / just yesterday i was scrolling my sister in law's facebook looking at pictures of my 'family' brothers sister and the nieces and nephews / nowhere was i included being outcast and unmarried / the ropes of tension wrapped tightly from generations of hyper-religousity and some kind of racism / cultural racism atleast / i felt strangely sad and wonderfully free
Chloe- I do feel we are “birds of a feather”. Guilt, fear and euphoria. Yes. Holding my breath as the figurine inched closer to the edge. I already knew it in my bones. Our generations. Are most interesting indeed. I am glad you and David are safely home. Bailey and Bella entrenched in your hearts. What a beautiful pair those two are. And I feel they both are missing you madly, to be sure. My best fur girls and I are traveling to where there is true Fall, in my hometown. Where my own family rests. It is my most favorite time of the year. Ever. Deepest thanks for all you share Chloe. And always, for reading. Our best to you all.
This one hit me in the chest. The part about the psychic ropes... I know that sensation too well. I used to think that the constriction came from outside me, from a person or a room or a moment that couldn’t hold what I was feeling. It took years to see how much of it had settled in my own body, how I kept recreating that tightening. Reading this, I felt that small release that happens when someone names what you didn’t realize you were still holding. Thank you for writing something that lets the air in a bit more.
When I read your words I somehow feel both changed by them and more like myself. I find me in them in ways I struggled to see before you shed your light. As I read of the figurines and your will for something to be different to how it was, I was filled with a joyful recognition, only to end in tears as I read more. Thank you. Your sharing has a profound impact on my own exploration of unspoken things.
Wow. Thank you, Chloe. You wrap words around a feeling I have had but could not name. I’m reminded of the poem Because by James Mcauley “We were all caught in the same defeat”
I'm certain that I held my breath. So much loss and desperate need captured in the brief flight of that figure. Goodness me, Chloe...
So did I John!
Strange indeed, “to feel more closely related to beings not of ones own species than to members of ones own bloodline”. But perhaps something many of us feel. I wonder if the release of ashes into the breeze allows a closeness that never seemed possible during their life. I somehow feel closer to my father and more able to understand the ropes of pain and unhappiness that constricted him and left deep wounds in me, my mother and sister, since he died, and was released into the breeze. Thank you for your beautiful words and the stories you share that release understanding into the breeze, and with it the small, soft feathers of peace that gather around me as I listen and read.
This was interesting and painful to read. It's causing me again to reassess my own relationship with my maternal grandmother who, when I was about 2 years old and calling for my mother in the evening from a cot I could not get out of, came and hit me, saying I should leave my mother alone. Although I was very small it has really remained in my mind as a traumatic memory. I could never love her although it's clear my mother did. I will think again about this.
The echoes of generational trauma are familiar to me, through my mother’s mother. This generous insight caught my breath: “I know now that the ropes—placed around her before she was even born—prevented her from ever crossing that threshold.” My mother’s pain was like that. I love the image of your grandmother free on the breeze.
Even Monet wished to paint as birds sing Chloe - gorgeous.
I did not see where that was going. Remarkable writing of truth. Beauty and truth are often cojoined; but what of pain and truth? The older I get the more I see and feel that it all belongs. You gave eloquent voice to the longing of meaning.
In some way the emotional distance between myself and my immediate birth family—this has been the case for as far back as I can remember—has driven me to find Home, to be embraced by My People. I am increasingly aware that all people are my people, all beings are my people, all is my people. What a privilege to be part of it all. We are all truly walking ourselves Home.
I laughed so hard (probably inappropriately as usual). You really got an early start on "flight"... 🩷
wow / oh wow / struck deep / just yesterday i was scrolling my sister in law's facebook looking at pictures of my 'family' brothers sister and the nieces and nephews / nowhere was i included being outcast and unmarried / the ropes of tension wrapped tightly from generations of hyper-religousity and some kind of racism / cultural racism atleast / i felt strangely sad and wonderfully free
You seem to live in a space of inversity
As the winds become colder
As the light becomes darker
The embers of spirit memories
Glow much hotter
In the liminal space
Of your consciousness
Chloe- I do feel we are “birds of a feather”. Guilt, fear and euphoria. Yes. Holding my breath as the figurine inched closer to the edge. I already knew it in my bones. Our generations. Are most interesting indeed. I am glad you and David are safely home. Bailey and Bella entrenched in your hearts. What a beautiful pair those two are. And I feel they both are missing you madly, to be sure. My best fur girls and I are traveling to where there is true Fall, in my hometown. Where my own family rests. It is my most favorite time of the year. Ever. Deepest thanks for all you share Chloe. And always, for reading. Our best to you all.
Thank you for allowing your readers so intimately into your past. Beautifully written, as always.
This one hit me in the chest. The part about the psychic ropes... I know that sensation too well. I used to think that the constriction came from outside me, from a person or a room or a moment that couldn’t hold what I was feeling. It took years to see how much of it had settled in my own body, how I kept recreating that tightening. Reading this, I felt that small release that happens when someone names what you didn’t realize you were still holding. Thank you for writing something that lets the air in a bit more.
You write so beautifully.
Sometimes the figurine needs to be nudged from the shelf. Thank you.