My nickname has been "the bird" since I was a little girl. A name I was given by my dad when I was roughly three years of age and trying to fly with determination and utter disregard for life and limb. The name stuck. I have been changing the idea of "flying" away and toying with the idea of "staying"and opening to the uncertainties of life. Several years ago I did a series of self portraits embracing various expressions of the psyche. Recently, I have found myself drawing again. In fact I began this drawing, 11x14 graphite, two nights ago and although it is far from complete I am sharing it. While working on it I found myself becoming ridiculously giddy. Then the thought hit me right between the eyes ..."THE BIRD". My nickname. And I have been laughing ever since.
Some days, you just have to forget about ‘healing’. You have to stop trying to feel better, trying to overcome your emotional wounds, or trying to be anywhere other than where you are. You have to embrace the day as it is. And you have to give yourself the most sacred permission of all: To shatter. To break. To be an ugly mess. To lean into a place of utter humility and powerlessness in yourself. To cry out to the heavens, “I can’t do this!” To admit utter defeat in the loss of the life you had imagined. To crumble to the ground, lonely and hopeless and profoundly ruined. To want to die, even. And there, in the darkest places, in the blackness of the underworld, you may begin to rediscover... life. And learn to love the beginnings. A sacred reboot: A single breath. The way the sun warms your face. The sound of a tiny bird singing in the tree over there. The raw simplicity of a single moment of human existence. Hell has been transmuted, thr...


Comments
Perfect.