Today, I heard a bird sing. That's nothing surprising. It's spring. There are lots of birds singing everywhere. But, today, I heard the song of a bird that pulled me back to the memories and feelings of something I had experienced years ago. My mind said, "That was years ago, not now." My heart said, "The energies are still real; it is still your experience."
At about 1:30 a.m. on the 9th of October 2004, my husband died (transitioned). It was a very quiet, gentle passage but one that left me in shock because he was my husband. I drove home from the hospital on autopilot, sat on the sofa, and waited for the night to pass; at times, afraid to move, afraid to breathe for fear it would shatter my suddenly fragile world and I'd get sucked into a void of nothingness. My only thought was, "What do you do when someone dies? You go home." I had no thoughts beyond the "going home" and of simply Being.
The night passed and the sun rose to a dreary day. Still, my world was fragile and silent. But, there was a softness to it too that held me in an embrace of gentility and comfort - there for me to fall into should I no longer be able to keep the transparency of life from shattering. It didn't shatter after all. I slowly came back to an awareness beyond my own self, drawn by the song of a bird - a single bird, heralding the dawn of light.
There was something deeply comforting in that stillness that I cannot name. But, I do know that from the stillness I began a journey into tremendous, awe-inspiring, profoundly beautiful and exciting spiritual growth and awareness. Through the passage of years since, I have experienced great love and joy and peace beyond anything I'd ever imagined in my life. So, today, when I heard the bird sing, I was reminded that no matter how dark our journey becomes or how fragile it feels, there is something that always supports us - through our darkest moments and our greatest isolation.
We are never alone. We are profoundly loved.
No matter how senseless existence may seem or how large the crisis is that's looming ahead of us, we'll get through it. By our survival of it, it becomes a turning point and a new perspective from which we approach all other things. To that bird I say, "Thank you. Thank you for reminding me of that silence and stillness and the gentility of being loved."
Stay soft.
With Light & Love,
Ronnie
At about 1:30 a.m. on the 9th of October 2004, my husband died (transitioned). It was a very quiet, gentle passage but one that left me in shock because he was my husband. I drove home from the hospital on autopilot, sat on the sofa, and waited for the night to pass; at times, afraid to move, afraid to breathe for fear it would shatter my suddenly fragile world and I'd get sucked into a void of nothingness. My only thought was, "What do you do when someone dies? You go home." I had no thoughts beyond the "going home" and of simply Being.
The night passed and the sun rose to a dreary day. Still, my world was fragile and silent. But, there was a softness to it too that held me in an embrace of gentility and comfort - there for me to fall into should I no longer be able to keep the transparency of life from shattering. It didn't shatter after all. I slowly came back to an awareness beyond my own self, drawn by the song of a bird - a single bird, heralding the dawn of light.
There was something deeply comforting in that stillness that I cannot name. But, I do know that from the stillness I began a journey into tremendous, awe-inspiring, profoundly beautiful and exciting spiritual growth and awareness. Through the passage of years since, I have experienced great love and joy and peace beyond anything I'd ever imagined in my life. So, today, when I heard the bird sing, I was reminded that no matter how dark our journey becomes or how fragile it feels, there is something that always supports us - through our darkest moments and our greatest isolation.
We are never alone. We are profoundly loved.
No matter how senseless existence may seem or how large the crisis is that's looming ahead of us, we'll get through it. By our survival of it, it becomes a turning point and a new perspective from which we approach all other things. To that bird I say, "Thank you. Thank you for reminding me of that silence and stillness and the gentility of being loved."
Stay soft.
With Light & Love,
Ronnie
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