Love
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
A week or so ago, as a result of human error (me, I’m the human, it was my error), I found myself locked in an outdoor aviary with the juvenile Jackdaws. I was in what we call ‘the lower lands,’ a rather magical spot in the rescue centre which is bursting with life, though very little of it human. So, after a few pointless calls of “Hello?” I surrendered to the wait.
Having just been fed, the Jackdaws were especially mellow, lined up on a branch looking out at the day. After spending a few minutes taking in their particular breed of blue-eyed and black-feathered majesty, I turned and joined their line-up; standing head height alongside them, looking out at the morning Sun. And from there, there was nothing to be thought. Only witnessed. It turns out that Jackdaws are also proficient meditation teachers.
What a year this last week has been. Becoming a faithful and loving companion to any being who is set to embark upon a journey on which you cannot possibly go—whether to the great above or the great beyond—has heartache woven into it from the beginning; such is life. With every set of wings released, and with each companion accompanied to the line at which we must part, the bond of our earthly entanglement offers a momentary glimpse into otherwise inaccessible expanses. I dip a toe into a realm not my own, and then I am left behind—again and again, and again.
I wonder whether some strange and subconscious part of me has deliberately constructed my life in a way that means I am to live out my worst fear, on loop, until I come to accept that there is, in fact, nothing to fear, and that we, the many resounding echoes of a singular big bang, cannot leave one another behind; such is our inherent connection.
My work sees me privy to some of the most vulnerable moments of a person’s life. Such a level of trust and relinquishment is required of all parties that an unspoken agreement is made, whereby the usual ways in which we armour ourselves are surrendered at the threshold. From there, we jump hand-in-hand into the deep end; and as someone who is uncomfortable in the shallows, the location suits me well.
I have long been drawn towards the unknown and the unknowable. A part of me still wrestles with the oh-so-human need to grasp at certainty and to try to understand, but more and more I am able to surrender to the part which delights in mystery, and which lays down the shield of my analytical mind so that I may be besieged by awe.
So much of the supposed knowledge which we’re comforted by is, in reality, conjecture; but we cling to the illusion of knowing like a shipwrecked man clings to driftwood. There is, however, much relief to be found in the relinquishment of understanding—and in letting some air out of our lungs so that we might descend to the shadowy depths of the unknown, and be suspended in uncertainty a while.
It is said that we each are waves, momentarily cresting out of It All. How precious, then, to witness waves holding waves in loving regard as they form and return (form and return, form and return). The process of reabsorption back into the mystery from which we emerged can, naturally, be an exquisitely intense process. Decades may have been spent perfecting the art of being one self, so a sudden realisation that one must become another thing entirely contains much potential for overwhelm.
There are times when we are asked to step into a reality so altered that the ground we know and trust simply disappears. It is a worthy pursuit, then, to cultivate a relationship to reality which honours the fact that our perception of it is far from the whole story. Outside of the existence of love and my own ultimate ignorance, I am certain of nothing.
Back in the baby Bird unit, the revolving door of tiny Sparrows continues to turn at pace. A new, young Sparrow was placed in a group of similar-aged Sparrows recently and, given his entirely new reality, was understandably frightened. When I went to feed him, he backed away and cowered—a gut-wrenching thing to see any being feel the need to do. Thankfully, one of the other Sparrows took matters into his own beak and began taking food from the brush I was offering and turning to the new Sparrow to place it into his mouth. Love, and my own ultimate ignorance.
The Swifts and Swallows circling the countryside skies tell me that it is Summer. My posture and palpitations tell me that I need a break. Dawn, today, told me that the Sun and the Moon can occupy the same sky, and brought news that not all of us made it through the night.
How, then, to spend the day? How to hold the immensity of our impermanence?
Lightly, the Birds tell me. Lightly…
Yours in aimless flight…
Friends, an earlier version of this post was sent out entirely by accident, unedited and without voiceover. Yikes. My apologies (though really it’s Sparkle, the Goldfinch nestling I’m fostering, who should be blamed—classic Sparkle).
When I was a child, my mother was a district nurse caring for elderly patients. I would invariably get to know many of them and they would give me biscuits, make me cakes, or invite me round to watch the football on their colour TVs. Then they would die, seemingly quite suddenly, and I wouldn't see them anymore.
Now that I am far closer to the end of my life than the beginning I have come to realise what a blessing it was to be surrounded by death and be exposed to the normality of it all.
Death opens us up, if we allow it to, in often beautiful ways.
When it came time for my mom to pass , through tears I saw a~
“…momentary glimpse into otherwise inaccessible expanses. I dip a toe into a realm not my own, and then I am left behind—“
Though she left many years ago, I always felt she left in darkness. Today, my heart has learned she left in “Love”
and now I understand it was “…my own ultimate ignorance.”
Your gift has lifted me back into the
light .♥️