Tag Archives: grief

Belief

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raven landing

I knew there was no god

When the mother rabbit came back later, looking,

After the crows swooped in and took her hidden babies.

Still, it comforts to believe in something, to connect.

There is heart, there is light,

There is nature, lovely and mean.

Maybe we aren’t preordained beings

or soap opera stars watched by gods.

Maybe we are just living,

Praying to our own creations,

However;

Surrender lightens,

Helps me breathe sparks of

Divinity, miracles, hope.

Keeps me going when the crows are closing in.

Hands with candle

8 Points

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It was sad to watch; your

Wild life ether

Tame

There on the pavement’s edge.

Eight points knocked off

Clean; soft fur like my dog.

A moment like that

Cold hand

Dark-eyed lesson;

Slow down.

 

Listen;

Is your life rushing on

In webs of thought

The slushy past

And what if futures?

 

Be on the road; awake

As roads are shared

With those

Who do not see

Our armored rush.

 

Did you know life had value?

Yours and mine.

And also those who

Run and dream on

Paws and

Wings and

Hooves.

 

© Angela Bigler 2013

 

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photo credit: jerbec via photopin cc

the leap between

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On February 29, 2000, my mom leaped between worlds to a new place where I could not see. I drowned without warning, unable to swim as my roots were now tangled around me. To return to land, I took my own leap through cold time, dark embers, and hologram waves of the psyche. I since came around to myself, but recast. Death must be something like that, a luminous transformation where the soul is returned to the source but now changed.

The thing about the Leap Day loss is I have more comings than goings. Each August, we dine on her favorites, sweet corn on the cob and ripe peaches. All of us feel the heat and the storms. The lightning is common and deep.  The roots of the willow rise up to meet the lily, hydrangea and lilac. We are dressed up and singing like heaven or love when just born and celestial. Your heart, that is summer, her birthday. The day she arrived in this world.

When Leap Day does come it is rare and strange to see the occasion marked there on the wall. What else can I write in the square? Most years send the gift of detachment but here it is staring me back. Is there really a way to escape? Perhaps the void between the 28th and the 1st is the space the most real because I make that leap every day – every time I leap back to her darkness and light. Every time I leap back to myself.

© Angela Bigler 2012

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photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/haniamir/2630466183/