The bird, the blade, the beast

Little bird, I hear your song of life and grief, an unceasing call for connection.

My love, which dying bird have you held lovingly to your chest? When have you turned the blade on yourself?

12. 09. 2024

Image Dialogue

Woman: I have not come to harm you

Wild Cat: Why then do you hold a blade?

Woman: I have carried this for as long as I can remember. You see, I have been trying to dissect myself for meaning.

Wild Cat: Your blade is sharp, and so are my teeth. I know what it means to bite into something, to sink into it, in the hope of finding something that could satiate me.

Woman: I have been looking for so many years.

Bird: And I have stayed here with you, I cover your heart with my wings, I know you will not harm me.

Woman: It is true. You have carried my sorrow with me. You have been holding my heart, but it is time now that you take flight and live your own life.

Bird: I cannot. You see, I am dying and grief has always been my home. I belong here with you.

Woman: And I will hold you while you die and when you are gone, you will remain in my heart.

Bird: Promise you will never go looking for me beneath the surface of your breast.

***

Her tears spill and she surrenders. She knows the blade, the bite, the bird, the breast, the beast. Eyes and ears open, she is feeling, listening, witnessing.

It feels, in these times, that the whole world is weeping. My body is a small frame for such an immense emotion. Grief pulls back and rises again, crashing me into its shoreline. I discovered recently, through my lover’s touch, a tender place in the base of my belly - a spring of loss.

What is beautiful about grief is that it melts us, unfreezes us, and moves us. We grieve-with. Our hearts reach outside our bodies searching for a home in each other, acutely awakening us to our capacity to love. If we can allow it to, it will lead the way.

The bird lies upon her chest wings open protecting her heart. It reveals its tiny heart to us, resting a while on hers. Perhaps they beat together, creating a complex rhythm. Oh little bird, what do you know about grief? I hear it in your song, piercing the world as you call out.

In this inner life, there are birds and blades and beasts. What are the blades we turn in ourselves? The persecutors within? The many blades we use to dissect ourselves, scrutinizing, incising, judging, blaming. There are many blades that I carry, I know how to keep them well hidden.

There are beasts too. Beasts reside in this inner life, snarling, canines out, ready to bite. Who is she, this beast? She knows aggression and vitality. She knows how to fight and how to protect, how to devour, and how to love fiercely.

I leave this image with you. Which blades could you gently lay down? Which beast is calling to meet you? And which little bird lies lovingly across your chest? A wing across your heart, protecting, holding, and loving you. There is a song there - buried beneath your breast calling out for connection as we breathe in and grieve with the world.