junk drawer

Her mind was a junk drawer.  She knew better, but things just piled up.  Some useful, most not.  It interfered as she would forget the littlest thing going from room to room.  Circling, wearing a path into the floor – one might see her limited movements and mistake her for a captive animal.  No bars or locks, just her mind and her fears and the element of complacency.

The birds freed her mind from its trappings.  From inside she adored them; she watched them through the pane (they came closer this way).  Her eyes seized each one like a prize. Over and over she saw perfection in their small beaks and smooth feathers. Always a moment of magic – they existed only for her.

Her childhood was similar, she recalls, getting locked on to things (things of freedom) though never feeling free. Listening to cassettes on repeat while she searched each song for its longing; she found certainty in the repetition and familiarity even at a young age.

Her head burned, begging for fresh air.  She felt immobilized -like chains held her to this space.  What was this behavior?

Self afflicted bondage? A retreat? It had grounded her, yes, but she no longer had wings.  She abandoned them somewhere along the way, clipped them off in haste and was feeling the pains.

It was a lifelong effort growing them back and taking flight again.

Excerpt How To Grow Wings:  Awareness by Angella Meanix

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the angels are preening

I wrote this (and a few others) years ago after my brother died when I was in a lot of physical pain (a separate journey altogether).  We, as a family, were fortunate to be with him -by his side, though many constraints were placed on us before this day.  Constraints that still inspire anger in me.  I’ve never been one to protect and shield. The requests to “not cry” around my brother were not only ridiculous, they were vain and inauthentic.  I will never do that again.  Never.  Finally, the day came when David took his last breath; I’ve never experienced something so significant (except the day my son took his first; that’s another story).  I cried.  I still cry.  It was an honor though to be there.  I will be lucky to sit at the bedside of every loved one I know who dies before me.

it slips in and consumes me.

i thought it was over.

but, it’s a tight grip that wants me to be true.

what’s true is unclear and deep feeling.  it’s overwhelming and constant.

i’m reeling – if my mind turns it off, my body takes it on.

i have limited space inside me.

confining,

the pressure builds, i can’t seem to break a new dawn.

i reach the crest and see the path, but my footing won’t hold – i’m gripping the past.

no longer upright, along come crows – they swoop and caw.

the awe of it distracts me.

a quiet unfolds.

and steeps in me, wisdom behold.

it’s not the end, it’s the beginning.

i am a newborn to death.

the angels are preening.