|photo courtesy of peter myska via www.vivanatura.org|
She comes when I need her, her gentle cooing reconnecting me with the softness in myself. I didn’t know I wasn’t breathing deeply. I didn’t know I had put new layers upon myself. I didn’t know the world was hurting me, squelching my sacred song. Until she came. To remind me.
Her feathers are green, or are they blue, and is that yellow, too? I can see her heart beating, feel her beautiful vulnerability from afar, for she is so very much alive, so very much filled with her own sacred song.
Does she still visit while I am away? Will she wonder where I am? Or does she already know? Does she send her sisters of the North to visit me here, on my new island home? Yes, I think she does. And to honor the gifts she has given me, I will feed the birds…honor our sacred gifts of song.
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May the birds you see this week remind you of your own gift of song and may you realize that you are the only one on this earth that can sing your own sacred song.
A bird doesn’t sing because it has an answer.
It sings because it has a song.