What we desire is hidden in our fear. Thank you, Chloe, for the gift of this profound truth. I will carry it with me today. And a full-hearted yes to this: “love is a force so powerful that it is unbound by time, untouched by Death, and unhindered by walls between worlds.”
Dear Chloe, I really don't know how you write as you do, or how your words break me open with alarming regularity. I'm going to sit with this for a while...
A friend died recently, quite suddenly, only 29 days after a terminal diagnosis. I hadn't seen him in some years, meeting last at a funeral for another friend. Having not thought about him a great deal from month to month, I've found he's with me almost constantly. Not in a sad or regretful way, but as if I can appreciate him more deeply now that he isn't physically here. It made me think about other people I've known and loved who have died, and how there is often a greater peace, contentment and gratitude in holding them within us than there ever was when we could sit together physically. I see this as a gift of death.
Graham, I'm so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing how your friend is with you so much, now. I've experienced something very similar myself. The work then was in adjusting not to the loss of the friendship but to the new iteration of it.
This piece is so profoundly beautiful on so many levels. Truly inspired and brilliant. Thank you so much as always dear Chloe for sharing your world with such tenderness and grace ❤️
I love all your essays, but this may be my very favorite. It speaks to me at 73 years old. I want your last paragraph read at my funeral. It captures how I feel about the here and now and whatever comes next.
I absolutely love to read your words - they have such beauty and grace, especially when you talk about death. Thank you, thank you for your writing and the work you do for birds.
I too have experienced that feeling of connecting to those already dead. The wall between us is very thin. And thank you for honouring magpies. Our Australian ones are equally special. They build such bonds with us!
Another wonderfully read post. So clear and intimate and loving. Take care dear Chloe. 🤗❤️💕
Thank you so much, Chloe, for today’s moving essay…on Death and Birds of course. At 76 I find reminders of what surely lies ahead, yet the present I find compelling. One such force is birds. This morning while walking our dog the call of a Green-Belted Kingfisher rang out from somewhere proximate to a small pond behind our home. Masters of concealment visually, yet a voice that’s unmistakable. Many other species of feathered messengers, changing with the seasons, called out as well.
“…and lay down the arms of information and prediction, even for a moment, in order to surrender fully to the now. Just as it is, in all its perfect imperfection.” Beautifully expressed, Chloe.
Information and prediction about the birds I see and hear serves in that very capacity. Life lists and the logging of same aren’t synonymous with being in the now.
Thank you Chloe and Andrea for placing your hands on both sides of the wall! Placing fingertips and heel of hand on the wall feels compelling! No better time to start than now. ❤️
No better time! Thank you so much, Gary. Always. It's such a joy to have you read. As it is to learn of your local bird friends. I suspect that the present will remain compelling the entire way through...❤️
Thank you Chloe for these kind words. Of course I don’t remember reading an unkind word from “Death and Birds.” “…compelling the entire way through.” I like how you expressed that sentiment. 🙏🏽
“Death can seem like our departure from the natural order of things, but in reality it’s our fullest and most intimate participation in them.”
What a compelling frame for looking at death! There’s the Buddhist idea that our lives are drops, like ocean spray, before they are nothing at all, but I’ve never read until this that there is a discrete and mystical moment at which the tiniest drop becomes a sea.
I’m paraphrasing here what I think you’re revealing, but it’s “Intimate participation” alright.
What we desire is hidden in our fear. Thank you, Chloe, for the gift of this profound truth. I will carry it with me today. And a full-hearted yes to this: “love is a force so powerful that it is unbound by time, untouched by Death, and unhindered by walls between worlds.”
Thank you, Julie! It's a brilliant cosmic plot twist, really...
Dear Chloe, I really don't know how you write as you do, or how your words break me open with alarming regularity. I'm going to sit with this for a while...
So grateful to you for being so open to them, my dear friend.
Always.
A friend died recently, quite suddenly, only 29 days after a terminal diagnosis. I hadn't seen him in some years, meeting last at a funeral for another friend. Having not thought about him a great deal from month to month, I've found he's with me almost constantly. Not in a sad or regretful way, but as if I can appreciate him more deeply now that he isn't physically here. It made me think about other people I've known and loved who have died, and how there is often a greater peace, contentment and gratitude in holding them within us than there ever was when we could sit together physically. I see this as a gift of death.
Graham, I'm so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing how your friend is with you so much, now. I've experienced something very similar myself. The work then was in adjusting not to the loss of the friendship but to the new iteration of it.
I wish I could find words such as yours before I leave.
That’s a very kind thing to say, Christoffelina. Thank you.
I have never thought of this before, Graham, but you are right.
This piece is so profoundly beautiful on so many levels. Truly inspired and brilliant. Thank you so much as always dear Chloe for sharing your world with such tenderness and grace ❤️
Grace, thank you my dear ❤️
I love these lines from Andrea
and how much they resonate with your words. Thank you for opening my heart this morning.
“What’s the worst thing that ever happened
to you? my mind asked me long ago.
I said, Not believing in what I couldn’t yet see.
What’s the best thing that ever happened
to you? my mind asked me long ago.
I said, Learning that you are not me”
These are among my most favourite of their words... Thank you, dear Sandy 💕
I love all your essays, but this may be my very favorite. It speaks to me at 73 years old. I want your last paragraph read at my funeral. It captures how I feel about the here and now and whatever comes next.
Thank you and keep writing.
Jenny
That's at extraordinary compliment, Jenny. Thank you, so very much.
Oh gosh, Chloe, what an incredible tribute. Andrea would be also in tears.
Beloved Kabir, that means so much to me ❤️
I absolutely love to read your words - they have such beauty and grace, especially when you talk about death. Thank you, thank you for your writing and the work you do for birds.
Jules, I love to have you read them! Thank you, so much, for your kindness.
Such beauty, the walls are thinning 🖤🙏🏼.
May we all be blessed with thin walls between worlds 🤍
I too have experienced that feeling of connecting to those already dead. The wall between us is very thin. And thank you for honouring magpies. Our Australian ones are equally special. They build such bonds with us!
Another wonderfully read post. So clear and intimate and loving. Take care dear Chloe. 🤗❤️💕
So very thin, at times! Your Australian magpies certainly are special. I dearly hope to meet one in real life, one day 🤞 Thank you, dear Beth. Hugs 💜
Beautiful, beautiful writing, thank you from a daughter, grieving her mother.
Sue, thank you so much. Sending love to you in your grief.
Thanks Chloe. It's complicated! 😔
Then I'm sending you even more ❤️
Chloe, your words hold such power. Thank you for the healing and wisdom you bestow through their offering.
Lisa, you're incredibly kind. Thank you, greatly.
Thank you so much, Chloe, for today’s moving essay…on Death and Birds of course. At 76 I find reminders of what surely lies ahead, yet the present I find compelling. One such force is birds. This morning while walking our dog the call of a Green-Belted Kingfisher rang out from somewhere proximate to a small pond behind our home. Masters of concealment visually, yet a voice that’s unmistakable. Many other species of feathered messengers, changing with the seasons, called out as well.
“…and lay down the arms of information and prediction, even for a moment, in order to surrender fully to the now. Just as it is, in all its perfect imperfection.” Beautifully expressed, Chloe.
Information and prediction about the birds I see and hear serves in that very capacity. Life lists and the logging of same aren’t synonymous with being in the now.
Thank you Chloe and Andrea for placing your hands on both sides of the wall! Placing fingertips and heel of hand on the wall feels compelling! No better time to start than now. ❤️
No better time! Thank you so much, Gary. Always. It's such a joy to have you read. As it is to learn of your local bird friends. I suspect that the present will remain compelling the entire way through...❤️
Thank you Chloe for these kind words. Of course I don’t remember reading an unkind word from “Death and Birds.” “…compelling the entire way through.” I like how you expressed that sentiment. 🙏🏽
“Death can seem like our departure from the natural order of things, but in reality it’s our fullest and most intimate participation in them.”
What a compelling frame for looking at death! There’s the Buddhist idea that our lives are drops, like ocean spray, before they are nothing at all, but I’ve never read until this that there is a discrete and mystical moment at which the tiniest drop becomes a sea.
I’m paraphrasing here what I think you’re revealing, but it’s “Intimate participation” alright.
I have a hunch that the moment of merging, of reunion, is it's own special kind of mystical ecstasy...
You are a special person Chloe, full of love and empathy, we need more like you.
Likewise, Lionheart ❤️
Grace.
🤍