The unfolding of the results of the worst day of your life happen
Like an origami bird shape you can’t quite master so you unfold and fold the same piece of paper over and over again until it looks like something you understand and know. ‘Til it looks like the birds you folded and shaped for the tables at your wedding. Birds with the name of beloveds, witnesses to the best day.
Months later —normal to new normal to new normal –you let go of the shapes and the paper and everything because —-truth—-nothing will ever take the shape you expect or want or need
And then one day, two years later, you are walking on the beach and a large white shape folds onto the beach and into its self and you think it is wrapping paper and then you know it’s a bird. Like the bird you were trying to make, it takes shape and fills with breath and beauty and grace and truth and looks you in the eye with its gold knowing vision flickering across the sand to your soul. One second later (though time doesn’t make sense right now) your beloved tells you what you somehow already know. Binoculars in hand, Your beloved shouts, “it’s the Snowy Owl!” It’s what you have been looking for, what you are seeking and it shows up in front of you and you know you did not make it or will it to be there. In the showing up on that old January morning —wind biting through the layers of your clothes and coat— eye filling, sacred beauty revealed. In the being, not doing, wisdom in the form of this bird, unfolds.
And you follow wisdom– the owl — as it moves up the beach. Lifting when sensing territory threats, wing still as winds rush. One time it flies far into the ocean landscape almost disappearing into the far, far way. You follow the dark, flat shape flying close enough to the waves that you know the mist of the salty sea is collecting in its snow white feathers. Just when it seemed to give up on you it flies back, slowly filling the field of view with its wide wings and swift, quiet way. The bold wing strokes of the returning owl infuse you with wonder and strength just by being witness, being near.
Your heart, weak as origami paper on a windy, misty beach snaps up and open and re shapes itself. Vulnerable and open and expectant and ready. The salt on your lips tasted like curious wonder. And Your beloved, open hearted and forever healing, looks like a survivor.
Days Later, when you come back to the spot where the paper turned bird turned wonder happened all you find is the wind and the rain and the memory. And through the wet, water freezing rain the memory of how it once was is enough…sort of.
Rev. Red Shoes Writes 