How I Got My Wings, Part 2: Second Encounter

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Read How I Got My Wings, Part 1: Dead Cardinal here.

It was January 22, 2021 and I was walking with a neighbor. We chose a route that took us down Frankfort Avenue. I hadn’t walked that way since November. As we strolled along chatting, we came upon a dead cardinal. Though not in the middle of the sidewalk, it was in dirt to the side of where I had seen the body two months before. On that January day I couldn’t remember exactly when I’d seen the first dead cardinal, but I knew I’d taken a picture. When I found the photo, I discovered that I had taken it almost exactly 2 months before. Two whole months.

When I told my neighbor of the first dead avian encounter, she asked if this was the same bird. I had no idea, but I really hoped so, because if it wasn’t, that meant that more than one cardinal had died in that spot recently.

By the time we went on the walk, I had the awareness that birds were going to be working with me in 2021 (incidentally, I believe my relationship with birds will continue beyond this year). I had bought the feather-pattern leggings to commemorate the connection.

Seeing the cardinal, I knew I couldn’t just leave it there. Like the first time, I had nothing with which to pick it up, but I resolved to go back and get it. Why? I didn’t know, but it felt important. Crucial. That bird was there for me.

As I write that, I am imagining some who may read this and think, “The bird was for you? What? The dead bird? That had been lying there for 2 months? Really? Who are you? Also, that’s gross.”

The same doubts and hesitations reared up in me, too. Thankfully, I have had many experiences of being called to actions that may seem bizarre or unwise by conventional standards that have led me down beautiful paths and unexpected adventures. I knew to trust the quiet voice instead of the screaming ones.

My neighbor and I finished our walk. I went into my home long enough to get my car keys and a dishtowel, and drove back to where the dead cardinal lay.

Ever so gently I picked the body up in the dishtowel and placed it carefully on the passenger car seat. When I picked it up, I saw that the body seemed to be intact except for missing eyes. How was it in such good condition after so long? I had no idea.

I drove home and once there, I had a dilemma. I still had no idea what I was supposed to do with the cardinal body. I think that day I pulled a few tail feathers from it. But then what? I knew I wasn’t supposed to throw the body away. I knew I couldn’t just leave it on my countertop until I knew what to do.

I wrapped the cloth all the way around the body, placed the cloth in a plastic bag, tied that shut, and put it in my freezer.

Though at my core I knew I was doing what I needed to, the inner critic voices were loud. “This is nuts. What in the world are you doing? You just put a dead bird in your freezer. What will other people think? You’re vegetarian, for God’s sake!”

A week later I knew what to do.

Read How I Got My Wings, Part 3: Ceremony here.

Expanding Gratitude

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Every Wednesday I spend about an hour on the phone with a friend, or what people in Nonviolent Communication cirlces would call an empathy buddy. Each week we take turns speaking what is moving through our mind, heart, body and reflecting back what we hear. It is a practice of deep witnessing. We've been sharing in this way now for 4 years, having started just after attending our first intensive training.

Most calls we focus on one person's sharing while the other reflects. This morning my friend was the primary sharer, noticing places of deep grief and deep joy in her life, ways she is supporting others and finding support for herself. She commented on the complexity of being human, of being in relationship with other humans, and the sense of aliveness possible when we are willing to be in it all. The conversation brought us both to a place of reverence, honoring what is.

Being grateful for what is.

Turning toward what is.

Allowing what is.

Finding the gift in what is.

I am currently reading Braiding Sweetgrass, written by Robin Wall Kimmerer, who repeatedly invites readers to imagine, step into, and honor our interconnection. Reading this book, I am aware that even as I say over and over again in my work "The primary goal is connection," there are many connections that still feel fragile, tentative, waiting to be made between me and myself, me and other people, me and Creation. I believe gratitude is a primary path to connection. Kimmerer also writes about gratitude as a foundational connecting practice. Even though I have written a gratitude list nearly every night for the last 5 years, still my practice can be shallow.

Because of both Kimmerer's writing and my friend's sharing this morning, I want to practice expanding my sense of gratitude, allowing it to saturate my being. I want to practice extending my gratitude to include what and who frustrate me (how is this moment or this person teaching me?), what I see as my own shortcomings (how can this lack of skillfulness or capacity bring me into relationship with someone who has greater skill or capacity? How can I practice self-acceptance?), and in places of grief (what love is my grief pointing me to? How can I open my heart and co-create greater love in and for this world?).

As I consider these questions, let me share a few recent gratitudes:

I am grateful for three days in the car with my parents. I recently drove them from Texas to Kentucky and though not all moments were easy, I am so grateful that I was able to help make their trip possible. I am grateful for the sharing that happened between us along the way.

I am grateful to have had a small bit of time with them in Texas, experiencing and hearing stories of a place that is dear to them.

I am grateful for a recent toe-dip into relationship. I spent a few weeks getting to know someone and though we then parted ways, the gift came in connecting me to old grief I didn't even know I was holding. As it surfaced, I allowed myself to feel and to release some of that old stuff.

I am grateful for a friend who has just started collaborating with me, helping me to shape my work. She most definitely has skills I do not have. She also has the gifts of vision, insight, deep care, and enthusiasm for the work I'm doing.

I am also so grateful for you. I am grateful that you have chosen to be connected with me in ways that are sometimes fleeting and sometimes profound and long. I am deeply appreciative for times you respond to my writing, for times I get to work with you, for times I get to play with you, for times I get to learn from and with you. If we haven't yet connected in a personal way, I hope that someday we will. It is thanks to you that I can do the work that I do. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I could spend the day expanding the list. When I take the time, I notice that I have so much, so very, very much to be grateful for. I hope this is true for you, too.

How I Got My Wings, Part 1: Dead Cardinal

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Sometimes we don’t know we’ve started a new story until we are well into it. It’s only looking back that we realize, “Ah, this is different, new.” Sometimes we simply choose a starting place and tell the story from there. I choose one year ago today as the beginning of this story.

That day I was walking down Frankfort Avenue in Louisville, Kentucky in an area with lots of restaurants and shops. All of a sudden in front of me in the middle of the sidewalk I noticed a dead cardinal. Though we’ve unfortunately seen too many unexpected dead birds in the later parts of 2021, at the end of 2020 it was unusual to see a dead bird anywhere, let alone on a sidewalk in a business area.

I felt a jolt of sadness to see this once vibrant being no longer able to spread wings, song, and joy through the neighborhood. I paused, not quite knowing what to do.

If I had had some sort of cloth with me, I would have very gently moved it off to the side of the sidewalk. More than once I’ve stopped my car upon seeing a dead cat in the road, wrapped the body in whatever fabric was in my car, and moved the lifeless form out of the way of further mangling. I did it to honor the life lost and with hope that this act of care might bring a moment of comfort to the people who had lost a family member.

That day I had nothing with which to move the cardinal. I took a picture, I think to somehow honor this being, and made a mental note to come back to move the body. Then I continued on my way.

I am good at being present...sometimes. And I have lots of good intentions. My memory and follow-through are less reliable. Despite the photo I had taken, I forgot about the cardinal.

At the start of 2021 it became clear to me that I should pay attention to birds. Notice them. Study them. Learn from them. As one way to commemorate this invitation to be with the birds, I even bought leggings with a feather image pattern. Birds were going to be my thing.

Despite this newfound commitment, by the start of 2021 I had forgotten the cardinal on the sidewalk.

Read How I Got My Wings, Part 2: Second Encounter here.