Following the Feathers

Phoenix Rising, Semi-Selfie featuring me within Chris Milk’s The Treachery of Sanctuary circa Sundance 2015

Sustainability of self is a renewable resource. Our flocking to the signals placed within our lifepath’s reach is typically the communication of resuscitation our soul needs. Compounding the dots showered upon us amplifies our reformation. Often, a single, seemingly frivolous endurance may blossom into a betrothal of consequence. Chronically, especially with me, the more trivial the better. It’s as if unbeknownst happenings dropped in one’s crossings are fit to galvanize our connections. Anticipating your every awakening are symbolic stories lounging about with your specific name tattooed all over themselves. Following the feathers is my organic euphemism I’m sharing for you which tempts that you’ll want to obey the laws of tracing interpretation in most anything. Conspicuously, those twinklings that include a strangely pungent gravitational tug might offer a healing feast.

Fear is excitement without the breath. ~Robert Heller or Carl Jung or Fritz Perl

My anxiety is weeks overdue for a deserved vacation. While I’m not waging your standard war, I’ve been battling the big C-word (cancer). Monday through Friday have become round the clock health calls, Zoom’s, and doctor dates. So, when the first bird thwack slapped the windowpane in front of me stewing in my seat it leapt me from my own numbness quickly past freeze and into a full-blown present action caring craze. Now, I’m familiar with brain bashing of varied sorts. It’s precisely the state of mind I’ve felt the last month trying to pilot the pressures of disease, coupled with a history of migraines yelling at me whenever I’m not listening enough to what my body stipulates is more dandy than a host of items I’m feeding it (physically, mentally, spiritually). These thuds of being knocked unconsciousness are frequently a palpably conscience plea for rescue beyond mere tangible nuggets.

Sometimes, I wish for the invention of an instinct switch. We’d be able to turn it on and off at will. Until then, properly pursuing our ensuing eventualities is gonna have to do. Ergo, I gingerly approached the wide sliding glass door to peek outside. This small Japanese White-Eye was stunned unmoving at the foot of the house. Barely any weight, it had fallen just shy of its collision zone. I started pleading with God as it startled and flew hard straight into its reflection again! I did an about-face, grabbed a towel, and tiptoed onto the porch to scoop it cautiously without mingling my human scent with its own. I found a shady spot I hoped would safely reground it far from the sight of mirrored-looking frames. I was bawling my eyes out by now, as it remained frozen. I watched from a distance, as tears continued to pour from me. Then, a flapping, accompanied by a full shake, succeeded by a renewed journey onto a high branch of the nearby plumeria tree.

I’m gonna find you and take it slowly ~Fugees, Ready or Not

Frantically, amidst my petition to the universe to spare this creature (as I was hoping to be saved all the same), I’d Googled to find much of the internet telling me I ought to have boxed the poor thing indoors. In hindsight, I’m super happy I stuck with my intuition. In combination with this little fellow, a second chirpy songbird crashed my consciousness two days later. Only, this time I was a tad more prepared. I equally sobbed and begged for it to be kept in the land of the living. Lords heard my prayers. Next, while enthralled witnessing a bestie’s son and his toddler towhead neighbor boy (I keep thinking to steal for myself) bopping the local quack-quack gang with bread crumbs, I randomly received some duck luck. The golf cart security man John volleyed unique world travels with me after I complimented his Veterans chapeau and subsequent service for our country. He even slipped me his digital photography business card with his text noting for me to message him ahead of a future park walk so he could bring me a copy of his Antarctica documentary of rare footage.

Shamanism is a component of my medicinal belief system. A hands-on healer friend texted me a comment she said came from “Master White Eagle”. The crème de la crème occurred when my dreamy imagination took flight one night. I awoke with the impression of a man’s lingering hug. His unusual moniker I thought I’d made up ~ Anso. Yet, I was spellbound to learn it was truly of old Germanic/Frisian origin meaning “eagle” and “God’s helmet”. Woah.

Over the course of the same seven days, I’d gathered an enormous compilation of feathery innuendo. An anatomy of my current personal crisis appeared to be emerging in the elements exterior to my inner issues. Birds are known as strength linking us to our spirituality. I couldn’t ask for a better reading during my life-affirming intensity. Where we’re snagged by our experiences, rather instead tend to the symbolism. Uncovering the source of shadows can crank our light.

For All Conserving More Than Your Own Life, Photo by BradensEye with special nod to The White Feather Foundation #conservelife

May your allegories gift you the grandest wings!

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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