Thank-you for Your Life, Little Bird

One day while putting Jude in the swing, I almost stepped on a bird. Startled, I squealed. Jude looked down and saw the young bird, dead, awkwardly splayed out in the grass. 

     "What's wrong with the bird?" 

      "The bird died." 

His expression turned quite sad, so I deliberately pushed him high enough that he couldn't look over the buckle bar on the toddler swing to see the bird below. As he swung, he shouted no gleeful chant - yook out beyow! - as usual. Instead, he quietly asked.

   

     "Why do birds die?" 

I point out almost everything of nature to him  - the starling's chrr-chrrr warning other birds away from the nest. The dance of a sparrow attracting a mate. The long, mournful call of doves. Jude listens and notices with me. Today, for the first time, we must notice death. I really wasn't in the mood for explaining death. I didn't want to answer questions, or have him help me put the bird in a box and bury. Nor did I want him to watch Papaw throw it on the compost pile. 

I still haven't really answered his questions about how birth. How Aunt KK will get the baby out of her belly. I remember mumbling something about a special place in the body for birthing babies, without providing details. One of his favorite books is Once Upon a Potty; it's a toddler's delight with it's mind-numbingly numerous references to body places and body functions. I confess after a month of reading, I hid the book!  But I did love how the book provided me with a simple explanation for birth too. 

Remembering, I took the simple route for the death question too. 

      "I don't always know why birds die. Maybe it fell out of the tree, or didn't get enough to eat. When I get too sad about birds dying I just say - Thank you for your life, little bird."   Jude pondered this for a few seconds.

    "Why?"   

     "Because when something dies, it's important for us to notice. Because I'm thankful for life, and because it helps me feel better."  I looked down as I answered, carefully avoiding stepping on the bird's body as I pushed. And from the highest arch of swing, drifting down on wisteria scented breezes, came the sound of a small boy's happy voice.    

     "Tank you for your yife, yiddle bird." 

Completely Normal Power Struggle Angst

Our small boy, grandson, darling child, is three. Every parent, nanny, grandparent knows....a three year old is adorable, expressive, demanding, bossy, stubborn, full of -    

            I want to do it       
                         MYSELF! 

- and wails of  "'Dis is mine!" or "Yeave me a-yone; I haff to do my werk!" 

One minute a 3yr old is high-fiving after success on the potty, or wanting to snuggle with you, and the next minute defiant
and hauling back an arm to hit some one or some thing. 

In the midst of all this completely-normal-power-struggle angst, they throw out endearing expressions that melt your heart and make you want to hug them forever. (If they'd let you!)

Yesterday, after lunch, I sang this ditty to my grandson when he stubbornly refused to finish his milk: 


 
        "Drink your milk and drink it all 
          then you will grow strong and tall." 

 Songs often change a toddler's disposition, (and mine, to be honest) especially my song-loving grandson. Thankfully, I know a song for almost every mood or situation. Surprisingly, the milk music ditty didn't work, so I upped the ante by name dropping. And whisper singing the sneaky addition. Whispering usually works for me too. 

            "Drink your milk and drink it all,
              then you will grow strong and tall.....like Avery."


Mentioning Avery, the older, stronger, longest admired cousin really got the small boy's attention.  He picked up the glass, put it to his lips, but didn't drink.                




I had to go higher on the power and adoration chain. And use the opposite of whispering. It's all about timing, sound, facial expressions....drama, in other words. Drama is  EVERYTHING  to a toddler. 

              "Drink your milk and drink it all,
              then you will grow strong and tall.....LIKE PAP!!!"

Notice I didn't say Papaw, my husband, and the man across the table from Jude. Absence does truly make the heart grow fonder when it comes to grandparents. 

BINGO!!  Small boy downed his milk in breathless, gulping 
swallows.  After coming up for air, and with a ginormous
milk mustache, he exclaimed,

        "Oh yeah, becuz, Pap is WAY miles BIG!!" 

A Morning Like This

This is the morning I finally succumb to sick.
Sick at heart – reading earthquakes in Nepal, uprisings
over race and cops, and thousands of other  stuff
on social media …mostly trivial matters , but
human.
Sick of voice, larynx on fire, throat dry and swollen.
I've given up; letting this virus have its way
with me. Perhaps now, healing can begin.

This is the morning my dog eats a nest of baby bunnies,
soft and downy. I turn my back, asking Death to come
quick and painless, while my eyes tear up
for babies everywhere lost, dying
abandoned.
Sick of mind, knowing the ways of this earth. Of
predator and hunter, unfairness and bullying. Of human
vulnerability expressed in art and poetry and innocence.

This is the morning my dad shoots a squirrel; pest digging

In flower beds, and discovers the bedridden woman two

houses down fondly watched that squirrel every

day. Imagine his chagrin and her loss. Sorry, just so

sorry.

This is the morning bluebirds come back. Harbingers

of joy;  the dying one’s  symbol of hope. This is the morning

all is well, of exquisite sunrise, of open heart and silent voice.

HOW TO SAY "Yes!" TO LIFE

Pay attention. Watch for bluebirds                                         

and trains. Distant train whistles are soulful

echoes; speeding cars delight little

boys. Blue wings beat out the rhythm and

colors of hope. Notice the plump song

sparrow - a little body pumping out

music. Trains and birds are accordions, holding

our collective breaths before transforming

us into dance tunes.    

 

Show up. Count the eyelashes on a

sleeping child. Catch the smile of your

suckling babe, when the tiny mouth

opens wide, spilling milk from cherub

lips that dribble down your breast all

sticky, gross and indescribably

precious. Be pen and paper for the

last requests of one you love.

Smooth your hands over your body.

photo by Stephanie Landis

Let hands say with fondness  -my body has

many parts. Marvel over the lines and detail,

having a toddler's no shame. Then, being

gassy is only "peeping."  And, maybe even

marvelous like horses exploding 

into a gallop.

                                                                   

Play with your shadows. Invite your inner 

multitudes to dinner. Notice how love, 

ymiu.com clip art

like sunlight and your own position, 

lengthens or shortens your characters.

Use your best china on colorful linen

cloth. Introduce yourself to yourself; get

to know humanity this way, through honesty,

acceptance, compassion.  

 

Be gentle. Always and above all, be
tender, easy, forgiving your processes, your
angst, your temper, your struggle to love. As you 
do with you, so shall you offer to others. Throw 
away your measuring stick; fling your soul wide 
awake. Embrace what is, stomp and kick your way 
to acceptance. Or sigh.

When stuck in the mud trumpet loudly.

Ask for help from the herd. Do your 

hard inner work. And then watch Tim

Conway's Elephant Story outtakes. Laugh,

cry. Wear your heart on your sleeve right

beside the washable dragon tattoo. Set your

Facebook account to pirate lingo.

Listen with your heart to the song of the

moon. It will drop your jaw, like Richard 

Strauss music.  So will the gak gak! of a 

crow harassing an eagle in mid-flight. Lie

on the beach under the splash of milky way,

listening to the night sky. Hear the sound

a soul makes when awed.

Stay with what's uncomfortable. Put 
up a bluebird feeder and nest box for
your dying wife, knowing every time a
bluebird feeds, builds, your heart will rip
apart with loss and love. Allow your farm 
dogs to hunt groundhogs. Gentle souls 
can know reality; predators can lay across 
your lap, cozy. If you turn away, hurl up 
your pancakes after the first kill, embrace the paradox. Somehow, it all belongs.   

Say goodbye. No matter how hard or 
full of weeps. Build monuments, cairns of
stone or shell. Gather wood. Stand around
the funeral pyre, the birthing table too, and give honor, thanks, dignity. Record your steps. Plant trees, light the fire, look deeply into eyes of loss and place, of memories, of hellos and dreams. Then, when it's time to move on, say goodbye firmly.  

Open your heart.  Let that movie in, fully. Lay 
down your armor; bring tissues, let stories stir 
you to action or sleeplessness. Especially, when 
the little one trips into your room rem-stage 
sleep, and throws up undigested pieces of the day 
on your good quilt.  Hold the sobbing girl, depressed, 
anxious, let her heart open yours. Lie on the 
green grass and stare at the sky, until your heart is wide and expansive. 

Cultivate wisdom. Roll over and play dead

when needed. Say no frequently, so your 

yes can be wholehearted; aren’t those fully alive

attractive? And, every time you take off your

shoes, or fall asleep, or sigh into a yoga pose,

practice dying. Slip off whatever is too tight,

and breathe, knowing in your soul – 

after the pinch - freedom!

Honoring the life of the newest angel in our family- Elaine, much loved and newly released from this earth. 

A Bluebird Hears My Heart

photo by Mim Hurst

Bluebird, bluebird through my window

Bluebird, bluebird through my window

Bluebird, bluebird through my window

Oh Johnny, I am tired.

My daughter, Stephanie, and I were talking about my new bluebird feeder and how much I hoped to lure bluebirds to our meadow. We started singing the children’s ditty above, but couldn't remember the second verse:

Find a little friend and ……

Find a little friend and….

Steph offered- “....and put ‘em in your pocket”

I shook my head. Those are words to the song Catch a Falling Star. Again we sang hoping the melody would trigger our memory. Suddenly, we heard a soft childish voice and realized my grandson had been finishing our phrase quietly in the background:  “Find a little friend and tap her on the shoulder!” 

We hadn't heard him as we were engrossed in our exchanges. Delighted, we tapped him on the shoulder, then hugged and tickled him in celebration of his cleverness. He squealed his happy response!   

Kids remind us how often we don't pay attention to the smallest voice. We hear what we want to hear, give attention to what we deem important or on all the externals, and miss the inner, the quiet, possibly the most profound.

Truthfully, I love deep listening. I tend to be good at picking up on what others miss. I’m not so good that I don’t need reminders, though. It’s been a deep listening kind of winter.  Cold, endlessly windy and snowy, I’ve sat by the hearth of my heart- warmed by internal fires - and did inner house cleaning.  I’ve listened and noticed, allowed some difficult transforming and releasing of old stuff.  So much so, that I want to be DONE with the season.

My body and soul longed for spring. 

So, I prayed for blue birds. Praying involves doing what I can do provide food and habitat, then lovingly sending out a call to the bluebirds. It involves waiting, watching, trying to let go of all demands on said bluebirds. Why should I mess with their lives making them help me cope with mine?  I peek out the window frequently though, and hold my breath, as it's possible to be obsessive and impatient while letting go.

As I mentioned before, it’s been a horrid winter. The snow never ended. People died. My family received news of my sister-in-law’s end stage cancer. Other difficulties were challenging. Interior shifts unsettled me. I often felt helpless and discouraged. I thought I needed a sign of hope, of new life, of spring after this long grunt of a season, so I prayed for bluebirds.

I’m thrilled to announce: A PAIR OF BLUEBIRDS FOUND MY FEEDER TODAY!!!!

I watched them this morning, skin tingling with wonder, as the male bird tenderly fed his mate a meal worm.

His loving attention reminded me of my brother’s tender care of his beloved, dying wife.  Some churches practice washing each other’s feet as a reminder of the call to service during holy week. Foot washing isn't always nice; it requires humility, love, and staying with what is uncomfortable. My brother, and maybe this blue bird, are doing ‘foot washing’ in real life. 

As I watched, I asked the pair of birds to choose my nest box to nest to raise a family, even while knowing the fleeting beauty of the moment. I know I can’t pray and summon anything. If I could I would instantly heal my brother’s wife. And my cousin and all my family and friends.  

Once in a while, when I am vulnerable and open, something unexpected and wonderful happens. Something comes as pure gift, an intersection of my asking, my receptiveness and Divine outpouring. A bluebird hears my heart. Or another small miracle – marvelous but, easily missed. Like a bit of synchronicity, a child’s delightful whisper, a Divine consolation or soulful contemplation. All bring a goose bumpy sense of timelessness and connectedness to love.

Bluebird on Holly, photo by Mim Hurst

All this blue bird longing made me curious, so I looked up “bluebird” on a dream symbol website. “To see a bluebird in your dream symbolizes both happiness and sadness. It is also an indication of purification and resolution to the opposing conflicts/paradoxes in your life.”  Day dreams and longings must count, because happy and sad – yes indeed!  

Like Jude singing the song lines for me, my body and soul have wisdom my mind hasn't grasped. My body and soul know what I need to more fully lament and rejoice. Like a small child’s voice, intuitions and longings, bring wisdom and encouragement.  This is the voice of God in my life, the voice of love, helping me notice, hold the moment, and at least know somewhat of a desire to not clutch or grasp.   

My winter was full of purification – a task I may never truly finish – but I am finished with winter.  

Whether or not the pair stay, THIS is the season for new life, for hope  .....and for bluebirds!  

carolinabirdclub.org

Emergence

Photo by Stephanie Landis

Emergence

Waiting. Body still, eyes

absorbing the quiet morning; thirsty soul drinks in the beauty. Yesterday’s snow laces

the pines, a thin veil of cloud mists the sunrise. Moments later, sky brightens, revealing snow geese silhouetted by gray light.

Their honks beat

a longing in my soul- oh how

I ache to fly with white wing, up and up,

soar! Belonging - right there third in the row –

following the impossible

 pull of instinct, urgency.

housefinch eggs: photo by Stephanie Landis

Does spring pulse in my

soul, tugging me toward conception, nesting,

a turning and breaking of shells?  

First, I must work for emerging,

struggle, grieve the loss of womb, cave, 

hearth. I tremble, even as I stretch

toward what is dawning.  Dreams 

incubate, impatient to pip. Embracing reality

- challenge enough. How do I engage what  

is forming, stuff too new own?  Too 

strange, unfamiliar, so downy

and vulnerable.

I weep my goodbyes, reach 

for tomorrow, catching hints of 

yellow, newlings tumbling 

about, tripping through grasses,

bobbing on currents, comforted under wings

surprisingly there. Feasting on life, and

the softness of Mother.

photo by Owen Newman

Sweet Cauldron of Wonder

It's snowing; winter is dragging on. I must play to remain sane. I'm far too serious much of the time anyway, so a 'play' reminder is good. Even when life is difficult, maybe especially then, I must play.  

Some of the photos in this blog post are from a personal retreat. One is from this snowy day. The poetry is a free write assignment from an Abbey of the Arts online retreat:  The Soul's Slow Ripening: A Lenten Retreat.  (scroll down for links)  I combined things from both retreats, and managed to do what was suggested while not doing what was suggested. Love when that happens! 

My heart sings and plays when writing poetry. Even when I'm not very good. May you find some joy in my playful, 

poetic becoming  ..... 

~ ~ ~ 

Fire Within

I am a silhouette, illuminated

by Fire within, and by

Spirit walking, breathing,

praying me on,

from behind. 

                                                                             ~ ~ ~

Sweet Cauldron of Wonder

I am a curtain,

canvass for the sun

who playfully paints me

with Light. Draws

me in waves, like S’s, and

calls my name: Soul. Sharon.

Sweet cauldron of wonder.

                                                                       ~ ~ ~

For Liza

I am puppy.

Vulnerable, self-centered, needing

love, life lessons, consistency,

and wild, succulent play!

I am pure POTENTIAL.

First following God properly

on the left; perfect heeling position.

Only to break out, forgetting left.

Nipping at God’s heel, driving, wanting,

controlling. And God whips around,

laughing. Surprised, I fall into obedience.

But, Love sends me ahead. Confused, I wait.

Love encourages, motions me onward, smiling.

Scampering ahead, a new game!  This

puppy body pays attention.

Somehow, with false starts, sudden finishes,

spiraling path, Life walks behind me, showing

which way to turn. How to trudge, to heal.  

Mourn, play; stop.  And when to simply sail,

empowered by Spirit’s breath. I am puppy!

Miraculously, finding boats forming

under my quivering animal body. 

                                                ~ ~ ~ 

Links:

~  Retreat in Lancaster, PA city - A place for solitude, soul tending and refreshment.    http://tendingplace.weebly.com/

~  Abbey of the Arts - Transformative living through contemplative and expressive arts.   http://abbeyofthearts.com/