Does This Happen to You?

Listening aimlessly to the random tunes coming from the radio, it’s already dark, but not yet five, and cold as hell I might add. They say the trees during the winter send their energy to the roots, their core. They seem to know instinctively what it takes to weather the cold, they know what it feels like to hope with every fiber of their being, that the present darkness does not have the final say.

I remember hearing on the news last week that the groundhog did notice his shadow, which indicates a long winter. I’m heading directly to my sisters, as if her home has become a beacon, guiding me safely into port, after a harrowing day at sea. Hope this sort of language isn’t too dramatic for you, I’m in a mood, you’ll have to deal.

I hear Paul McCartney singing, “blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings, and learn to fly…” For some reason the lyrics of this song accost me – words like Blackbird, broken wings, dead of night all command my attention, as these terms seem to be somewhat descriptive of my current situation.

I’m partial to Blackbirds as if afflicted, the Latin root, afflict are, means “to damage, harass, or torment,” and I have to say that is an accurate description of how I feel. My first blog post, called Living in the Gap is Not Easy, happened to be inspired by a murder (calm down – it means a group in this context) of Blackbirds squawking in my front yard, and I’ve sort of considered them a spiritual totem for my blog ever since. I was pleased to learn the Blackbird is the national bird of Sweden, and since half my DNA is a Swede (or so I’ve been told), maybe it was destined?

The Blackbird is generally thought to be a symbol of freedom. They can walk on the earth and swim in the sea as humans do but they also have the ability to soar into the sky.

I decide to do a little research, figure out why these birds keep fluttering into my life, tormenting my soul. I found out they are symbolically rich, as if Jay Gatsby, right out of a Fitzgerald novel. It’s been said the blackbird represents not only intellect, intuition, and mystery, but they are often associated with one’s search for higher purpose and meaning. Does this happen to you? Just when you think you have the meaning of life sort of laid out, it can be pulled out from under you without warning, as if a well-worn rug?

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing. Ecclesiastics 3:1-8

I want it on record, after stepping out of my burrow this morning my shadow was suspiciously present, and now I’m worried it has something to do with an early arrival of the only season I’ve yet to experience? There appears to be an enhanced version of this lore that clear weather on the Christian Holy Day of Candlemas forebodes a prolonged winter. One can only hope. Sorry, not sorry, I sort of got swept off-topic. It happens. Some people refer to it as a disorder but I think it’s rather enriching.

Come to find out the blackbird is also symbolic of life in the heavens (higher ideals, higher path of knowing) and the color black is associated with pure potential. Our lives are a great mystery, for this, I can attest, and it is not possible for us to know how they will ultimately unfold. I’m learning the hard way to stop white-knuckling my grasp on life-like Mom used to do when Dad was piloting a plane. Dad was licensed for single engines and used to whisk the family off on exciting excursions to the Nut Tree, Carmel, Tahoe, and sometimes to the Northwest to visit our relatives in the Dalles, Oregon.

Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return. Leonardo da Vinci

Ann Landers says some people believe holding on and hanging in there are signs of great strength. However, there are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it with grace. It does not change the outcome but leaves one feeling less cramped, stiff, imprisoned.

To let go does not mean to get rid of. To let go means to let be. When we let be with compassion, things come and go on their own. Jack Kornfield

My sweet brother-in-law David must have felt something like a caged bird, trapped by daily dialysis, and a plethora of medications. “Some birds are not meant to be caged, that’s all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much drabber and empty for their departure,” writes Stephen King.

Life is definitely “more drab and empty” after his departure.

When my sister’s husband of thirty-six years passed away, in the dead of the night, it’s was as if a huge wedge had gone missing from our lives. My daughter Kelley says we’re sitting Shiva, a Jewish practice for mourning, where the family gathers at the deceased home, sitting in low chairs, with covered mirrors, and soft candles, grieving together. And that is exactly what we have been doing minus the covered mirrors.

The first stanza repeats, “Take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.” It interesting because both Nancy and I have “broken wings” so to speak. She broke three bones in her left foot and recently I broke one bone in my right foot. I’ve taken the whole solidarity thing to a whole new level. And so here we sit, broken, bereaved, and I suppose that means we’ll be learning to “fly” once again, but not before the boots come off, and that won’t be for a month.

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances. Thessalonians 5:16

Death forces one to look at life from a completely different angle, what was familiar is now foreign, uncharted, remote. You don’t sign up for this sort of adventure, it abducts you, and there you are, no bikini wax, worn pedicure, your luggage is lost, and you just know it’s going to be a shitty excursion.

Life keeps moving. The sun rises and sets, the minutes pass, the mail arrives, the laundry piles up, the dishwasher needs emptying. The news comes on but they only focus on the weather, politics, and the polar vortex, no word of our loss, or mention of our personal tragedy. It seems surreal.

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We’re all looking towards our loved ones with a little more empathy, compassion, and gratitude. This must be how death teaches us to prioritize that which we value, to let minor resentments go, to recognize the limits on the time we have left. It seems to come down to the quality of our connections, this is what sustains us when we’re feeling depleted. As Oprah says, “lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.”

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? Matthew 6:25-27

I hear Paul sing, “Blackbird fly into the light of the dark black night,” and I have to believe that is exactly the way David went. He is our new bridge between heaven and earth. Nancy was walking (limping) back into the house after running a few errands the other day, when two birds flew directly towards her, parting as they made their approach, landing in adjacent trees only feet away, and they sat there singing her a song. She stood for a while admiring what she considered to be a form of communication. This is what hope looks like, this is why the present darkness does not have the final say, he’s letting her know, “I am here, I am with you, and when you’re ready, you take those broken wings and learn to fly.”

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly

Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

John Lennon/Paul McCartney

I’m Living in the Gap, drop by anytime, we’ll flap our wings a bit.

If you enjoyed this post please spill the tea and share it on your social media accounts! Thanks in advance, I’m off Facebook, de-winged so to speak. And by the way, I’m lonely as hell. Does this happen to you? Leave me a crumb…

Anecdotes:

Be as a bird perched on a frail branch that she feels bending beneath her, still, she sings away all the same, knowing she has wings. Victor Hugo
I must’ve been a bird in some previous lifetime. I feel like I’m called to flying – the convenience and the beauty of it. That feeling of soaring would be empowering. Rachel Keller
I felt in need of a great pilgrimage so I sat still for three days. Kabir

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Previously published on Cheryloreglia.blog and is republished on Medium.

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