Soaring With Sore Abs

Like a Phoenix I am rising on the wing

Up from the ashes hear me sing

Like a Phoenix I am rising on the wings of love

Soaring through the heavens high above.

The birds I see here in Petaluma are mostly Turkey Vultures which are deemed ugly by our cutesy Tweety Bird-loving culture. Back-lit by a brilliant sun they appear graceful enough and are so large they cast large shadows over the landscape. This week, while attending a workshop on Memory and Emotion in this pastoral setting, I feel the impulse to duck when a Turkey Vulture temporarily blocks the sun. It’s as if the sky is falling.

They have naked faces - designed to plunge into dead animals without getting all the icky sticky blood and sinew clinging to them. That would be really unsightly. So they have these unsettlingly bald faces - a little like orange Teflon or basketball leather. If they were cartoons the artist would draw them with gawky necks and large adam’s apples. I shudder and try not to look at their faces, but rather remember that they have an important scavenging job to do to clean up the landscape.

I enjoy watching how the very ends of their wing tips curve upward like five human fingers as they navigate the wind currents. They have made an impression on me because Friday night I dreamed I was flying. In the dream, I’m a huge bird - soaring over green rolling hills dotted with grand old oaks. Another bird is beside me and our wing tips are giving gentle five-finger traction to one another. Solid. Good support.

Flying is not a regular feature of my dream life, so when it happens I welcome it.

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Part of me is ready to get on with life and the task of reclaiming and rededicating our home to our purpose. Another part of me is still wrestling with grief attendant to Mama Barbara’s death and the absence of her beloved care-giver Ellen, who moved out a month ago. April First will mark two months since Mom breathed her last while we, her family, sang to her. The house feels very empty. Mark and I have lots to talk about regarding our next steps. 

Grief is a bit like molasses or like being under water. I feel as if I’m moving very very slowly and carrying around lead weights on all my limbs.

The flying dream portends new stirrings and new possibilities. 

I look forward to lightening up in every way possible.

Leaning into the support of a colleague, Mary G. of NYC to do a session of grief work during lunch time yesterday was a good next step. There’s something about just being held (met and listened to and literally held in the arms of another human) while I cry. Sobbing and laughing are both really good for the abs! I'm a little bit sore today from yesterday's grief work-out! Sorrow and joy seem so close. I cried ‘til I laughed and vice versa. Mary’s sage advice was just to slow it all down. Truly, it seems to be the best way to get the most juice out of this healing time... slow it down and go with the flow.

Like a Phoenix... I’ll keep rising on the wing

Up from the ashes you’ll hear me sing

Like a Phoenix I am rising on the wings of love

Soaring through the heavens high above.

... and with strong abs to boot!