Gloria
a reflection of life’s inherent wholeness
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
I have a friend, named Gloria, who is a complex being. She had a difficult start in life, and although her circumstances have since changed, she still carries the scars of her earliest days. She is stubborn, mischievous, curious. Like me, she is flustered by change and, like me, she can be unnervingly mercurial. Occasionally, she will attack another chicken, seemingly out of nowhere; though I’m sure she has her own, private, reasons. She is beautiful, tenacious, extremely vocal, and she is surprisingly forgiving. I once caught her yanking a large elastic band out of the earth. She, no doubt thinking it was a long, stretchy worm, was thrilled and began bashing it repeatedly against the ground in violent delight, while I threw myself towards her, terrified she’d swallow it—which is exactly what she did when she saw me lunging for her juicy worm. Thankfully, I was able to grab both her and the very end of the elastic band right as it was disappearing down her throat. As far as she was concerned, I had coveted her prized worm and had had the gall to snatch it right out of her mouth. All this, and she forgave me within the space of a few minutes. Gloria is a far more enlightened being than I, and is way too busy to hold a grudge. She makes no effort to be seen as good by those around her, as she is preoccupied only by being herself. Her complex, sweet, violent, affectionate, determined, and perfect self. She is a teacher, a reflection of life’s inherent wholeness, and I, her smitten student, mindlessly singing Vivaldi to her, changing the words instead to, “Gloria in Egg-shell-sis Deo”— all this and she not only tolerates me but runs, joyfully, wings flapping, towards me. I am duly humbled. To elicit genuine, joyful enthusiasm in another simply by being, is a revelatory experience. It casts light on the sacred nature of being seen and being valued, purely for existing. And if there comes a time in life when we’ve nothing left to offer but our existence, may we all be run towards with the fervour of a rescue chicken.
We owe such a debt to the beings with whom we share this world. A debt too massive to comprehend; too massive perhaps even to acknowledge. If the behaviour of our species were expressed by a singular human, they would rightfully be placed under a life-long psychiatric hold. But, even our collective insanity is fleeting against the backdrop of time itself. All that begins, ends. You and I, included. Gloria, included. All that we love, included. Even that cherished star towards whom we tilt our smiling faces, will one day exhaust her hydrogen and expand to a proportion which will render our green jewel of a home unrecognisable; if, of course, we have not first rendered it unrecognisable, ourselves. Then, a billion or so years later, she herself will shake off her outer layers, flinging them across space, like clothes at the end of a long day, her great undressing forming artworks of geometric nebulae. Stunning remnants marking her all too brief cosmic tenure as a yellow dwarf, single star. A yellow dwarf, single star—what an odd way to describe she who presided over the formation of the moon, and the complete works of Shakespeare, and every Bird that ever lived. Of sweet, violent Gloria. All that begins, ends—except, it seems, for love. But, then again, perhaps love does not begin. Perhaps love is more a current into which one falls, a current which flows in, around and through us. Perhaps it has no end because it is a foundational piece of this universal dance. Love cannot be completed. It might change direction and, dependent upon that which it flows towards, increase or decrease in power, but there is no completion of love, just as there is no depletion of it. It remains the only endlessly regenerative force. I suspect that this is why a cosmic treaty exists between Love and Death, why the latter has seemingly agreed to turn a blind eye towards that one thing. Because, ironically, Death loves life—and life, Death.
When it is time for me to die, I hope to honour my friend by finding it within myself to run, joyfully, wings flapping, towards whatever it is that comes next. My deepest wish is that I will be welcomed by the many Birds and many beings that I have known, and that I love, who have already had the chance to find out.
Yours in aimless flight…
The first words from my mouth after listening and reading this post, are words I will not share verbatim (and I did, indeed voice them aloud). Mainly because the first was a rather strong expletive that escaped unbidden and might be misinterpreted negatively, when it was anything but. My vocabulary in that moment was not sufficient to express how utterly astounded I am, each time I read your words Chloe. These are sacred incantations arriving each fortnight where I worship at the feet of Death, and Birds, and Life and Love. I exited organised religion in my early twenties, never to return, but I do wonder whether here, in this place, we might organise our own religion, where Gloria might be our great teacher.
Many years ago, we (my husband and I) adopted chickens, including a beautiful, affectionate hen called Ginger. She would flap up onto our laps when we sat in the garden, lauding her status over the other hens, enjoying neck scratches and rewarding us with her purring (honestly no idea what to call that noise they make that you can feel reverberating through their slight bodies). I had forgotten, but Gloria has reminded me. Thank you always for your beautiful words x
reading your description of Gloria, running towards you, wings flapping, spreading joy and excitement, I am reminded of our grandchildren, with whom we spent the past week in the Algarve. You are absolutely right ~ "To elicit genuine, joyful enthusiasm in another simply by being...." is truly a blessing.