Thursday, June 28, 2007

Take these Broken Wings . . .




Blackbird singin' in the dead of night . . .










I don't know if its the recent death of Kevin Hunt, hormones, nearing the end of a short and rather unsuccessful peak phase, or my impending race (probably all of the above) - but I am just way down in the dumps. Checkin' out the slimy bottom and wonderin' what I left down here that makes it necessary for me to visit. But here I am.

Take these sunken eyes


And its okay, really. This sadness, this uncertainty. It feels like everywhere I turn right now, I'm reminded of my limitations, my fears, my dissapointments. Mostly, I guess, because they're here and they need some attention now and again - like even the most obstinate red headed step child. They need to be visited and ruminated over and stroked for awhile before I can put them away and struggle onward.

And learn to see

Its funny how these moments of sadness, triggered by events that happen around me but not necessarily to me, cause me to visit my own tragedies - the large and the small. The self created and the uncalled for. All of these are like my own personal little rock collection, here at the bottom of my version of "the dumps". Some of them are polished and refined until they're pretty - I'm proud of these, they prove to me what I'm made of. Others are dirty, rough and ignored - things I'd rather forget, but can't. They're all mine, all here, some poke and bruise while others empower and encourage, but they're my weight to carry or drop. Usually, I leave them here, sometimes, I carry them around. It really all depends.

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free

When I was going through my divorce, this song gave me courage. I knew that even though I was "damaged" in a way, I could and would still learn to fly. It wasn't until later that I realized that we're all broken, in one way or another, and those of us who are flying have learned to do it with broken wings. Those I had admired from the ground weren't up there because of better luck or genetic superiority, but because they had learned to take their knocks and move on.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

I had the delusion back then that once I learned to fly, I would never find myself in this dump again. I somehow equated flight, freedom and growth with a graduation from sorrow. But I still find myself here, now and again, examining the griefs that have both helped and hindered my journey. It seems that evolution is a one step forward two step back proposition. And Personal Growth isn't a place we arrive at and stay for the duration of our lifetime. Life is not a linear journey, even when we follow the path that was meant for us. Its a circle through sky and dump, grimy mud and cleansing water, grief and joy, pain and triumph. This is our race and the best we can hope for is that we keep putting one foot in front of the other and reach the finish line with pride, knowing we left it all out there on the course. Knowing we didn't hold anything back.

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

(Thanks to Jeanne for the inspiration for this post. And thanks to all of you for your kind words of comfort and for your prayers for Kevin Hunt's family.)

7 comments:

jeanne said...

that was beautiful and thoughtful. no way did my silliness inspire this kind of self-reflection!

i wouldn't dream of telling you to cheer up. i will say that, whatever you are feeling right now, this too shall pass.

:)

(love that song!)

Donald said...

Um ... wow. You get very poetic when you're in the dumps. Is it OK for me to enjoy this post? Because I love the way you write.

I hope you're flying again soon.

Bolder said...

that song went through my head on my entire run tonight...

beautifully written post. i had no idea. thanks for sharing.

remember, you're not a blackbird though -- you're a phoenix.

the Dread Pirate Rackham said...

oh honey. You have the taper blues but bad.

I sing that song a lot. I sang it when the girls were teeny, and I hoped it would sink into their teeny brains and they'd know what an emotional creature their mama was...instead of the logic monster I have become.

mua ha haha.....

21stCenturyMom said...

That was a really lovely piece of writing.

Feeling the pebbles bite the bottom of your feet can be therapeutic but only for so long.

I hope your next great workout sends your black cloud on its not so merry way and lets you put the rock collection back in a jar.

Vickie said...

I have to echo Jeanne's words, this too shall pass. And this will be another one of those events that will make you fly.

Rural Girl said...

Those who fly choose to fly.

Great piece of writing.