The funny and beautiful thing about Chloe's writing is that, even when I have an overwhelming number of messages in my mailbox and feel too weary to read any of them, I cast my eyes over the first sentence of 'Death & Birds' and find myself transported seamlessly through it to the end where I feel better than I did before I began it.
Graham, it honestly means a lot to me that that’s the case. Thank you for carving the time, even in the overwhelm. I’m so glad you feel better at the end.
It's so true! 👋 Right there with you this morning. And here's a great trick too - when I'm done reading, if a D&B is punching particularly above-weight, I mark it as Unread and slip it back into the mess and the overwhelm, so that whenever I next attack my Inbox with a shovel, I will get this same joy all over again. A mid-chore reward.
Dear dear Chloe — there are no words for this utter horror here in the U.S. Perhaps the only consolation is in knowing that for all who intend harm, there are legions more who wish to help — who live acts of kindness over and over again. Thank you for reminding me of that, and for your great and tender and broken heart. I and so many, many people are grateful for your life and for you.
There are legions, and I do believe that they’re the quiet majority, even when the noise makes it difficult to hear. I'm feeling the weight of what's unfolding over there, and my heart truly is with all of you, Kate.
Even the smallest acts of kindness, that fit in the palm of your hand, sometimes become our greatest gift of grace.
Yesterday, John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s lyric, played in my head; "I read the news today, oh boy", from the renowned Beatle’s song, A Day in the Life. Humane/human sanity cries a world of tears , once again, this time, the man ,a VA nurse who spent his days, with hands outstretched, helping another.
“Life, it would seem, leans towards life. There is a pull to tend, to keep each other alive”. Today, he died while doing the same, on a street in America.
My human ability to make any rational sense of this horror has fallen into a fathomless black hole. But today, I send a fierce hug and a thousand thank you’s to you, my dear friend for the gift of solace, a soft place to land; ”A prayer for all the broken hearts”. For the man lying lifeless on the pavement; the thought that Death reached down with love and kind hands…
Thank you for invoking the image of Death reaching down with kind hands, for Alex. The black hole is real and the rational sense-making fails completely. He spent his life tending others and was killed while doing it. The horror is so absolute. I send you a fierce hug right back, and fierce love to Alex as he makes his way back into the everything.
Amazing thoughts. "Kindness sprouts in the darkest of places and care grows, like mycelium, through all beings." Love that. And still that grief on the beach reverberates through some of us today... through your words... her grief moves through strangers. Like its own entity. You got me thinking about these things....
Yep, grief as its own entity is exactly it. It doesn't stay contained in one body or even one moment, it moves through us, and finds homes in strangers decades on. I so hope she found her way through. Thank you for letting it move through you too, my friend.
As always, your words are gentle, clear and wise. Thank you 🙏
This: “Our linguistics make Death wrong, but the wrongness—when there is wrongness—lives in what happened before. It lives in negligence, or violence, or in systems which have failed.” These are the times in which we live now, perhaps always.
Your clarity and kindness on the subject of death is a welcome tonic. While I don’t intend to expedite it, I look forward to my natural transition from this life to what lies beyond. What a privilege to be a part of this dance.
It has always struck me as… and this will sound somewhat cruel and out of place - wildly funny when I hear someone speak of someone else who met with Death - “oh my God, she DIED!” As if that was a wholly unnatural occurrence. I know few of us are yearning for that final embrace too soon, but this culture has an unnatural aversion to the reality of departure and a return to the fundamental building blocks we’re all made of.
Your words encapsulate and shore up my feelings about what Death is - in essence, the womb of creation from which new life can emerge.
Not cruel at all—I mean it is pretty funny when you think about! It being met as though it’s an aberration rather than the most guaranteed thing about being alive is kind of wild... And I think the culture has an aversion to reality, full stop, tbh. Thanks for getting it, my dear friend.
This is so beautiful Chloe and so natural. I've always felt so different than most people in that I too feel that death is natural...at any age. Of course the pain of losing those we love is tremendous, yet it is still natural - nature doing what she does. And yes, it IS part of who we are. I love how you honor our life cycle, our death cycle, where all is one. That is why your words flow over me like 'home'. And your beautifully honed phrases land softly as music, as a hymn. Thank you for this. xo Andrea, from my woodland, my little place of enchantment near New York...
You're certainly not alone in seeing it this way, Andrea, even though it can feel isolating. Death as natural, always. The grief real, the loss tremendous, and still: natural. I'm so glad this feels like home to you. Thank you for reading from your enchanted woodland x
Hi Chloe, that ‘linguistics’ cannot cover the ‘everything’ that is greater than us … that which we feel and lives in our bodies, as the woman’s grief that has stayed with you for decades, those reminders that we are connected … to the lady birds, who are helping my wee gum tree establish herself by eating the minuscule caterpillars that are eating the leaves. I am out there checking on their good work each morning. Thank you for your brilliant essays. I listened in the pre dawn as the magpies announced the first sight of light. 🙏🌀❤️
I adore the image of you checking on the ladybirds work each morning, tending your gum tree. That's the pull towards life right there. Please send my best wishes to your Magpies. Thank you for being out there, paying attention, keeping things alive. 💜
I have just been out there, yesterday we had a scorching 44 degrees and one of the magpies was running across the yard with her beak open ... I had bowls of water for them. Late afternoon she stood under the sprinkler and when she went back to her sibling and (new) father, the fairy wrens sat on the fence and had their turn 💙. Mother magpie Gracie when missing a couple of months ago (not too long after Piper was killed by the car)... so now the new father bird that Gracie had accepted has the two 5 month old birds with him ... they are slowly learning to trust me ... I warble back to them but no so eloquently of course. I do miss the parent birds of course, though grateful their offspring are here continuing the cycle 🌀❤️🩹🖤🙏
“Acts of compassion and acknowledgement”—perfect, thank you. I’ve pulled over more than once at my compassionate friend’s insistence that she hop out and move dead squirrels out of the roadway. (I also transported an oil-covered pigeon she found in an alley to our local wildlife rehabilitation center.) Such small acts of kindness to “lesser” beings add up.
Your friend hopping out to move squirrels, you driving the oil-covered pigeon to rehab, these things add up. They matter in ways we can't necessarily measure, but they're part of that ancient pull to tend. The world will always need more people pulling over, paying attention, acting. Thank you for being that.
The funny and beautiful thing about Chloe's writing is that, even when I have an overwhelming number of messages in my mailbox and feel too weary to read any of them, I cast my eyes over the first sentence of 'Death & Birds' and find myself transported seamlessly through it to the end where I feel better than I did before I began it.
Graham, it honestly means a lot to me that that’s the case. Thank you for carving the time, even in the overwhelm. I’m so glad you feel better at the end.
It's so true! 👋 Right there with you this morning. And here's a great trick too - when I'm done reading, if a D&B is punching particularly above-weight, I mark it as Unread and slip it back into the mess and the overwhelm, so that whenever I next attack my Inbox with a shovel, I will get this same joy all over again. A mid-chore reward.
Me too. I call it the Church of Death and Birds.
Yes! I agree
Yes, with an uppercase Y!!!
Dear dear Chloe — there are no words for this utter horror here in the U.S. Perhaps the only consolation is in knowing that for all who intend harm, there are legions more who wish to help — who live acts of kindness over and over again. Thank you for reminding me of that, and for your great and tender and broken heart. I and so many, many people are grateful for your life and for you.
There are legions, and I do believe that they’re the quiet majority, even when the noise makes it difficult to hear. I'm feeling the weight of what's unfolding over there, and my heart truly is with all of you, Kate.
Even the smallest acts of kindness, that fit in the palm of your hand, sometimes become our greatest gift of grace.
Yesterday, John Lennon and Paul McCartney’s lyric, played in my head; "I read the news today, oh boy", from the renowned Beatle’s song, A Day in the Life. Humane/human sanity cries a world of tears , once again, this time, the man ,a VA nurse who spent his days, with hands outstretched, helping another.
“Life, it would seem, leans towards life. There is a pull to tend, to keep each other alive”. Today, he died while doing the same, on a street in America.
My human ability to make any rational sense of this horror has fallen into a fathomless black hole. But today, I send a fierce hug and a thousand thank you’s to you, my dear friend for the gift of solace, a soft place to land; ”A prayer for all the broken hearts”. For the man lying lifeless on the pavement; the thought that Death reached down with love and kind hands…
Thank you for invoking the image of Death reaching down with kind hands, for Alex. The black hole is real and the rational sense-making fails completely. He spent his life tending others and was killed while doing it. The horror is so absolute. I send you a fierce hug right back, and fierce love to Alex as he makes his way back into the everything.
The kind hands of death, I’m slowly learning, baby steps…🙏♥️
Amazing thoughts. "Kindness sprouts in the darkest of places and care grows, like mycelium, through all beings." Love that. And still that grief on the beach reverberates through some of us today... through your words... her grief moves through strangers. Like its own entity. You got me thinking about these things....
Yep, grief as its own entity is exactly it. It doesn't stay contained in one body or even one moment, it moves through us, and finds homes in strangers decades on. I so hope she found her way through. Thank you for letting it move through you too, my friend.
As always, your words are gentle, clear and wise. Thank you 🙏
This: “Our linguistics make Death wrong, but the wrongness—when there is wrongness—lives in what happened before. It lives in negligence, or violence, or in systems which have failed.” These are the times in which we live now, perhaps always.
Beautiful and powerful as always.
Thankyou. Your words are comforting.
Our world, overturned?
Sympathetic grief, felt, tries.
To right that we can.
❤️
Your clarity and kindness on the subject of death is a welcome tonic. While I don’t intend to expedite it, I look forward to my natural transition from this life to what lies beyond. What a privilege to be a part of this dance.
Truly, the most extraordinary privilege. Thank you, Robert.
thank you for articulating. this came to my inbox at the perfect most needed time
I'm glad, Allison
Thank you, dear Chloe Hope. At the moment, living in the U.S. Midwest, I don’t have any words, but I thank you for yours.
No words needed, Angela. I'm glad these ones could reach you. You and your neighbours are firmly in my heart.
It has always struck me as… and this will sound somewhat cruel and out of place - wildly funny when I hear someone speak of someone else who met with Death - “oh my God, she DIED!” As if that was a wholly unnatural occurrence. I know few of us are yearning for that final embrace too soon, but this culture has an unnatural aversion to the reality of departure and a return to the fundamental building blocks we’re all made of.
Your words encapsulate and shore up my feelings about what Death is - in essence, the womb of creation from which new life can emerge.
Not cruel at all—I mean it is pretty funny when you think about! It being met as though it’s an aberration rather than the most guaranteed thing about being alive is kind of wild... And I think the culture has an aversion to reality, full stop, tbh. Thanks for getting it, my dear friend.
"Death is one of the world's native languages."....so illuminating, so tender.
This is so beautiful Chloe and so natural. I've always felt so different than most people in that I too feel that death is natural...at any age. Of course the pain of losing those we love is tremendous, yet it is still natural - nature doing what she does. And yes, it IS part of who we are. I love how you honor our life cycle, our death cycle, where all is one. That is why your words flow over me like 'home'. And your beautifully honed phrases land softly as music, as a hymn. Thank you for this. xo Andrea, from my woodland, my little place of enchantment near New York...
You're certainly not alone in seeing it this way, Andrea, even though it can feel isolating. Death as natural, always. The grief real, the loss tremendous, and still: natural. I'm so glad this feels like home to you. Thank you for reading from your enchanted woodland x
Hi Chloe, that ‘linguistics’ cannot cover the ‘everything’ that is greater than us … that which we feel and lives in our bodies, as the woman’s grief that has stayed with you for decades, those reminders that we are connected … to the lady birds, who are helping my wee gum tree establish herself by eating the minuscule caterpillars that are eating the leaves. I am out there checking on their good work each morning. Thank you for your brilliant essays. I listened in the pre dawn as the magpies announced the first sight of light. 🙏🌀❤️
I adore the image of you checking on the ladybirds work each morning, tending your gum tree. That's the pull towards life right there. Please send my best wishes to your Magpies. Thank you for being out there, paying attention, keeping things alive. 💜
I have just been out there, yesterday we had a scorching 44 degrees and one of the magpies was running across the yard with her beak open ... I had bowls of water for them. Late afternoon she stood under the sprinkler and when she went back to her sibling and (new) father, the fairy wrens sat on the fence and had their turn 💙. Mother magpie Gracie when missing a couple of months ago (not too long after Piper was killed by the car)... so now the new father bird that Gracie had accepted has the two 5 month old birds with him ... they are slowly learning to trust me ... I warble back to them but no so eloquently of course. I do miss the parent birds of course, though grateful their offspring are here continuing the cycle 🌀❤️🩹🖤🙏
“Acts of compassion and acknowledgement”—perfect, thank you. I’ve pulled over more than once at my compassionate friend’s insistence that she hop out and move dead squirrels out of the roadway. (I also transported an oil-covered pigeon she found in an alley to our local wildlife rehabilitation center.) Such small acts of kindness to “lesser” beings add up.
Your friend hopping out to move squirrels, you driving the oil-covered pigeon to rehab, these things add up. They matter in ways we can't necessarily measure, but they're part of that ancient pull to tend. The world will always need more people pulling over, paying attention, acting. Thank you for being that.