The Flavor of Bird Song

The flavor of a bird's song has blessedly been a part of my daily life menu since I was a girl. There is a sweet groundedness as well as vicarious joy in their flight that I've known that has a unique flavor all its own.

Sometimes sharp or shrill, equals too much vinegar. Raven's caw is like dark gray stones with layers of cloud, chuckings and warblings the punctuation.

The sounds, out there, the trillings, squawks and chips are vibrational recognition in me. So grateful for ears that hear these variances.

I once had a 10 minute conversation with a raven, until he/she go bored--and flew off, to my benefit as I had a jeep tour to shortly take out.

I've been wanting to renew my deeper conversation and connection to the winged beings. And, speaking of winged beings, dragonflies this year have been huge, and looping like Red Baron acrobats. Today I'm meeting with someone who loves dragonflies, someone who always renews magic in me.

I love the flavor of light in a person's eyes--the effervescence of their sparkle, the deep notes of their depths: notes, tastes, shivers, visions--the senses are always sending messages to each other, chatting, even as I tune in to one particular sense at a given moment.

I love to take pen in hand and follow the pheromones of their chatter, like stardust, sea spray--a gull's cry that pierces through the soft roar of ocean surf anticipating storm.

Oh, how I love a good storm, rich in sloshing deep sea-weed smells, chunks of herring dropped from a gull's mouth because his brother's morsel looked better, more juicy. One bird, like one word, leads to another.

Appreciation is the magic in us that allows us to taste these myriad flavors or birdsong; the waterfall trill of a Canyon Wren, the piercing cry of a hawk, and the haunting, eerie wail of a loon--calling us into the deep of our own mystery.

Magic, Mystery, Mayhem

I am intrigued, captivated, by the inner arc between our deep draw to spiritual and meditative practices . . . AND, reconciling that with humanity’s delight and fascination with murder mysteries—TV series, mystery-driven movies and books: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (Essie Davis/Nathan Page), BBC Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch/Martin Freeman), Sherlock (Big Screen—Robert Downey, Jr/Jude Law), Elementary (Jonny Lee Miller/Lucy Liu).

We are always “killing ourselves off,” – gagging and blindfolding historic selves that don’t fit what we need/want now; releasing what no longer works, smoking out what does even if undefined!

We’re rescuing what is valid, valuable—what is compelling within us, and within the structure of our lives. In our fascination with “Whodunits” we’re vicariously, through the storyline, sleuthing out what strangles us, undermines us, and liberating what’s been being held hostage within us by fears, anxiety and unreleased traumas, big and small.

Consider writing a murder mystery in your mind that kills off what brings you down, drains you, sucks you dry, sabotages your best interests, messes with you—and rescues the truly valid, valuable and compelling within you, that lights you up, and on that note, be careful to spare the inner bitch who holds your juice and power.

For in truth, we don't want to get rid of any part of us, rather, instead, get rid of the stifled, sideways, ineffective ways of expressing the range of what we are.

A Flight of Words

I wanted to start this blog, within a prolonged, extra-long exhale, gasp, gap in-between, since my last post, and this one, with the title: Tack vs. Tact. I'm no longer so sure that it’s vs. -- rather, that it is, truly: Tack and Tact, for both are about navigation:

Tack (in terms of sailing)

·       a change in the direction of movement of a sailboat made in order to maximize the benefit from the wind

·       a stage or series of stages in the zigzag movement of a sailboat that is changing direction in order to maximize the benefit from the wind

·       the direction of movement of a sailboat in relation to the side from which the wind is blowing, effected by the position of its sails.”

AND

Tact (as in diplomacy)

·       a style of address or approach used in spoken or written word to avoid giving offense—a skill in situations in which other peoples' feelings are want to be considered.

·       an intuitive sense of what is right or appropriate to say or share, both in delivery and content.

Words can be touchy, delicious, difficult, vague, poignant, rich, and flat— all over the map!

I love Joel Osteen’s spiritual concepts of “. . . upgrading our prayers; getting a Bigger God ". . . however, his referring to God as (only) "He" is difficult for my language filters. It does NOT preclude resonance with the message, but creates a hiccup in the reception.

In my take on things, not only is the Bible the “Living Word,” but, as I see it, Words are living, breathing utterances of energies, attitudes, concepts, beliefs, perceptions—that we house and express to others, in spoken or written form (or not—maybe just to ourselves), that take on form; become Living Essences.  

And such rich nuances: I’m thinking about the variances between the words timidity, trepidation, temerity, and . . .tremorous (adj.) or tremulous (adj.) re: persons, and emotional and/or physical states ranging from mild caution and hesitancy, and wariness to internal or external trembling from fear or weakness—vibrating, shaking, quivering. Where is Shakespeare? He introduced a lot of nouns, as verbs, into our language. While I may be hesitant, questioning, equals temerity—it doesn’t mean an unwillingness to try on what is new, or to explore new territory. Temerity is not full-on trepidation. Rather, it’s hesitancy to get a sense of bearings, so I know which tack to take, what approach—or know, for time-being, that ‘no’ is the answer.

I have, many times, been very willing to make a "fool" of myself, to invite others, in group settings, into "warm waters," -- often serving, by example, to “get them into the water.” Of recent, the acronym FOMO (fear of missing out) has been used as a pressure sales tactic. Interestingly, I’ve more often experienced FOMOFO—the fear of missing out for others, as I rarely miss out on what really appeals to me, and give little thought or energy to what doesn’t.

Well, so, in spite of owning a degree of Indiana Jones boldness, I’ve only recently really Bolded myself into, letting, allowing, permitting me to do what I MOST LOVE TO DO: WRITE--EVERYDAY! Wow! What took me so long! While the quality or intensity may cycle, or vary, I’m starting to look at as breathing: necessary, whether shallow or deep.

What the hay?” Go’n in:

·       Part of this shift is that I no longer feel immortal. I’ve lived just long enough on this planet to sense that I’m at about 50%, give or take a few years, through this lifetime.

·       The other part of it is that I’ve been reading and saying enough words (to myself and others) about both my right, and my joy, to live my own juice; to be in my groove, that I’m bolding into it, with the support of caring others—full-time--and, number three,

·       These previous two factors have kicked the stuffing’s out of my Inner Critic: FIRED, except for on-call consulting detective, at my discretion—filtered through the heart and self-honor, which generates healthy boundaries—which aren’t just about protecting ourselves from other’s encroachments, but also from ourselves and our cultivated fears encroaching upon what nourishes us.

This ‘good boundaries’ theme recalls to me the numerous nights after getting off night-shift that I drove the Lee’s Summit byways in icy chill or stifling humidity listening to Eric Clapton’s tribute to J.J. Cale, particularly these lines from Rock and Roll Music:

I make my live’n, feed my children

On         your        good       time.

I’m going to hammer out this rhythm

Until I get right next to you.

Taking this into new context:

 I make my (Life-Juice) live’n, feed my (Creative) children

On    your   good   time (stirring something playful and/or deep in you)

I’m going to hammer out this rhythm (that which Breathes and Pulses into Life Within Me)

Until I get right next to you (touch those trigger points within you that make you glad you are alive)

For my job is to mirror the depth of what you are, and what you are becoming, by touching and releasing that same within me--in a flight of Words.

Tiantana de Zhufu (Heaven’s Blessings!)