Sword Nesting

I came across this lady yesterday – while getting happily lost on the country roads. Bulgarian villages are never short of imposing soviet monuments. But this one, with it’s proud stork’s nest, took things to another level.

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Somehow the nest captured, in all it’s domestic simplicity – branch by branch, brought by beak – the inevitability of giving life. Tenderness is to return, over stone, over swords, over conquerors. We all need a home and the urge to birth is as old as the world self. A sense of welcome? Perched on a sword…  That strange feeling of relaxing into paradox, of finding comfort on the edge,  of finding stability in perpetual flux.

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I keep looking at her again, to see if her warrior’s face might have let a smile slip, might have softened unwittingly, from the life going on upstairs, from the births happening upon her hands – those powerful hands gripping the sword of will and liberation.

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As the cold comes, the birds have flown south. Her resolve hasn’t weakened but I’d say she is now carrying a promise, and letting that blade trail in the wind…

How to start a day

If I read the news first I am paralyzed by sorrow. If I sing first I am awakened to gratitude and wonder.

If I read the news second, this gratitude and wonder encounters a gripping distortion, a confusion in the face of such energetic hate and myriad manifestations of cruelty and violence.

If I look out the window at that moment, I am further disorientated by the stunning blue expanse, the gentle flight of the birds, the peacefulness offered by the clear view of the islands in their perfect paper cut-out silhouettes…

Turning back to my screen, I cannot bring myself to comment, to agree or disagree, to condemn or support, to reconcile perspectives or hope for understanding.

If at this moment, I sing?

– but who am I to sing, to create, to love, when others are suffering!?

I am not sure about it, but I am trying this out: give song/life to your surroundings.

And tell me how you go?

Offering