The Magpie

He came to me with passive beginnings. I held out my open palms.

At first, he was wary, as all luminescent and wild creatures are. He cocked his head to sense the air around me.

I asked him to read of me, my words and my marrow.

He hesitated and I moved away, gently. And then I fell into his torrent of feathered splendor and deepening gasoline sheen.

When he came to learn that my love is irreducible, he became awed and also shamed.

This looked beautiful glinting off his lean tail feathers.

Shame illuminates with a green sheen, Awe, with indigo bright.

I sang for him in my lilting songbird chortle which imprints upon magpies, as their sound language is not sung in the sun, but spoken through manyIMG_7548 stars. A different dialect entirely.

And yet still, we both understood our each respective music making patterning.

The words unmatched against a cloud quilted Azure sky.

I lost him to the sky. To never say goodbye was the hardest thing.

He clipped my wing.

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Clipped Wing

So…I’m barren. There, it’s out; I’ve written it–it’s real. Those words, so small in form, so insignificant looking in type, are a jagged edged shard; a corner from the broken china plate of my heart– grinding a permanent cut that runs deep and bleeds afresh with every hilarious toddler blog/ facebook post, detailing birth of perfect,new babe/ happy family photograph, intact with smiling cherub cheeks and loving, down lashed and moist eyed mother gazes.

My situation is complicated. I have chosen to become barren through a procedure called Essure , where a doctor blocked my Fallopian tubes with a tiny, metal coil. What this Doctor forgot to mention was that these coils also seemed to block my heart chakra, but not my tear glands; they blocked my connection to self and healing and ancestors past and not yet, never born, but not my guilt or shame.

I chose this childless path after years of inner and outer dialogue and debate. I chose this path because I have two chronic diseases which limit my ability to support life inside my womb and risking it anyway, could have meant limiting my own life, or quality there of.

So even though I made this choice with eyes open and awareness intact, I still didn’t expect the emotional fallout.

When I was nineteen, I became pregnant while on the birth control pill. It was about the second time I had sex with my then boyfriend and it was devastating news. I wasn’t ready to become a mother and he was in full panic mode. I went to specialists who told me my chances of a healthy pregnancy to full term and viable birth, in terms of terrifying and cold statistics and worse case scenarios. I decided to have an abortion. My mother thought that she saw God resting in my womb and that if these same scary statistics showed that I could be one of the two percent who can become pregnant while on birth control pills, then my pregnancy would be just fine, if I had faith. See the thing she didn’t realize at the time was that I had faith aplenty; faith in my education, faith in my travel plans and future husband, who I knew wasn’t meant to be the one I was with then and most importantly, faith in myself to know that I didn’t have the physical, mental or fiscal resources to bring a child into the world just then. The key words being: just. then.

Having all this faith certainly doesn’t make the choice or process to abort a fetus any easier, as I’m sure all women who’ve shared this experience can attest to, but was it right for me? Yes. Do I regret it, now? Yes. Can this dichotomy of emotion live inside me side by side in harmony? Not really and this is why I’m having such a hard time. I haven’t reconciled this choice because I always thought I’d have a chance to bring a baby into the world– when my health was more stable and my life better situated. So….(extra period included for emphasis) what do I do now? Grieving is messy. It’s an intolerable condition for many outside of the grieving sphere, yet, it is an acceptable part of being human. It has to be, because at one point or another, we all experience grief. It is all these things encompassed.
Grief is not a physical ailment…nor is depression, or sorrow–or anxiety, necessarily. These are not things we wear on our physical being. They are silent hangers-on. Internal, yet affecting, holistically to our persons. I feel that every day I exist is a day I am reminded of my coming death…that my life is finite and that I will not leave a legacy behind me in my genetic code. But I will write…and get my grief out on to a page–the truth in black and white ink. A silent witness out in the collective ether. Is anyone out there?




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Waxing philosophical in Whitley Bay



20 June 2007
I live on a street. It’s a magical street, the sidewalks made up of paving stones, one fitting perfectly next to the other, just so. Every once in a while, I step on the corner of one of these stones and it’s opposite end lifts up, the stone having been set unevenly, and with my next step, it falls back into the place it’s meant for; the fluid and sudden motion of sinking into the ground and the rich, musical sound it makes, clanking against it’s neighbor leaves me with a feeling of exhilaration and immense satisfaction; kind of like finding fresh, thin ice, and crunching it underfoot; soooooo good to me.

 Everything’s trying to grow on my street. It’s lush and green and the vibrance of the flowers in bloom  makes up for the seemingly perpetual greyness of the sky. There are tiny, green gardens, bordering tiny brick flats and everything is neat, manicured and almost…polite looking; like the gardens themselves have developed a personality; not just human though…English. They’ve taken on the feeling of this place, it’s essence. It’s the same in every place, if you know what to look for. Sometimes the people shape the land, sometimes the land shapes the people, but in all cases, the two are part and parcel; intertwined.

 It’s beautiful here. Lately, the streets have been shrouded in mist rising off the sea, and I walk through it, every morning, feeling like a polite fairy in an ethereal, almost holy land. This place still doesn’t seem real for me. I can see it’s beauty, how could I not, but I’m not taking that beauty and translating it into something tangible, or creating with it, or allowing it to inspire me because I haven’t embraced this place yet. I’m still adjusting.

I see the buds on the trees, the moss and ivy on the stone walls, all growing, striving to be; straining and searching towards the light– their life force because it is their nature and they will survive; they will grow and be because they don’t know how not to– but for me, I know how not to, I’m human and I’ve been conditioned, but all it takes for change is a choice. I recognize this as a truth, but I can’t seem to manifest a full acceptance for this place. I miss my friends and family; the feeling of home, and although every day I create more and more of a home for myself here, it’s still lonely from time to time and the loneliness grips my heart and holds me down.

 Ahhh, moving. I moved and moved and moved to end up standing still. Humans are such fragile creatures…I will persevere though. I’m here, and it’s truly amazing! The wonder of this place will eventually seep in and take over the loneliness…My spirit refuses to be broken.

P.S. I’m starting to see that true happiness comes from within and is NOT created by your environment


P.P.S. I thought I learned that lesson already…

P.P.P.S. I have an unhealthy penchant for semi-colons in the “write” and wrong places. (grin)

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