Saturday, May 9, 2015

When I learn to fly





 It's hard for me to tell stories these days, without the aid of birds. And so I start here.

I wanted to die a little, of embarrassment, of self-consciousness, the other night when my I asked my husband to take these photos of me. We visited the Museum of Flight for the express purpose of seeing a tiny exhibit tucked against a wall, below all the impressive historic airplanes: How birds fly

From one end of this wall to the other, we watched videos and beheld stunning photographs, studied artifacts and framed wing displays and skeletons, honoring the sacred mystery of flight that has existed long before airplanes. My eyes misted over as I watched a short video clip of pilots raising Whooping Cranes from hatchlings to young adults, flying 1,200 miles with each flock to teach them their migration route, in hopes of raising their population to greater numbers. I held my fingers up to brush against photos of birds I may never see in person, to trace the edges of wings. I took this all in, breathless, that no matter how sophisticated our technology becomes it will never compare to the innate intricacies of bird flight. 

And then, I saw these graphics on the other side of the walls. 






Something in me rose up to hush the dissenting caw of embarrassment. I needed to meld myself to these backgrounds, allow myself to become one with them, or part of them, because this is my not-yet-visible reality that I'm leaning into. I have wings and one of these days I will learn to fly. 

We belong to each other, these birds and I. This whole of creation and I. In ways I yet have no words to convey but know so much deeper and more primal than many of the things I claim to know. And any chance I get to participate in this reality, even in the form of a painting on a wall, I will. Because I must.

Because birds, for me, tell a parallel story of my own unfolding journey, and sometimes the most I can do is speak of myself in metaphors, mirrors of them. 

But, oh. How there are things I'd like to share here, discoveries to quietly utter, stories to capture in words, transformations to pay my respects to in writing, relationships offered to me as gifts, from this past month of life. But even as they are being written on my insides, in the darkened places not often privy to the eyes of others, I find that words elude me. As they often do when so much is taking place right on and far below the surface of the everyday. I used to fear, and sometimes still do, if I didn't transcribe them from experience to words they might slip away forever, forgotten in their un-telling. 

I'm learning to get over that paralysis.

And yet, perhaps I'm learning to tell these stories through mediums other than written words. Through photos and laughter and tears and voxes and painted bottle caps, through road trips and binoculars and walks and yoga poses and all the quiet, pregnant spaces where life expands to fill. 

It's only a matter of time before these wings are formed enough to fly. 










25 comments:

  1. Oh Amber, this is so beautiful. If I'm truthful I came over and stalked your blog the other night, read so many of your posts and soaked it all in. I was on my phone and I knew if I tried to comment I'd probably say something offensive because the combo of chubby fingers and autocorrect's absolute lust to make me say ridiculous things has gotten me in trouble before. But I had to stop and lug out my laptop because this is stunning and I tend to be wordy and long winded when I'm moved. I love those images of you with your arms spread wide, putting on your wings. I can only hope that days and days of ridiculous selfies and face offs (which we totally won) have somehow contributed to that kind of brave but either way they made me so happy. You have a way of seeing life and I'm enriched from it. I lugged the chair out onto the patio and tried my best not to kill myself taking a picture of those birds this morning and the whole time I was thinking Amber will love them. And although this is the 3rd nest and I've always enjoyed watching them, this is the first time I felt pure joy seeing over the rim of that glass to their tiny mound of feather and beaks. And that's your doing. Friends help others to see more clearly simply by being themselves. So yeah, those wings? They're something else, friend. Beautiful and glorious and just exactly the right size. Give Pepita my love and take some for yourself too because I'm feeling all mushy again.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh Alia. It's still hard, several days later, to know how to respond to these words in a way that does them justice. Friend, you seriously made me snort-laugh, made me feel seen and heard, and made me cry. All in one paragraph. How you do that, I don't know, but this is why you are among my favorite writers. I am truly honored to be getting to know you, to have your presence here, to have photographic evidence of your stunning zombie-like qualities. I just love you (and speaking on behalf of Pepita, stoic as she is, I'm guessing she will, too).

      Delete
  2. The photo, your wings, fly, like Alia Joy said, just the right size and when I saw it, the tears just spilled right back out tonight. Meeting you at the last? It was the connection I didn't know I still needed. I thought I was full and I had no idea there would be more. You're a gift for the unwritten places in my soul, a companion in the days of no words and this?

    if I didn't transcribe them from experience to words they might slip away forever, forgotten in their un-telling.

    I get it!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This: "It was the connection I didn't know I still needed." I'm so grateful you were one of the last conversations I had before getting back in that minivan to head home. I sure needed it.

      Delete
  3. I love this. Oh so much. One night our pastor said that we were like baby birds, waiting for him to feed us his regurgitated food. Meaning that it was time for us to leave the nest and find food on our own ...seeking God and hearing Him speak to us...moving forward, not just relying on him as our source of food. It was a good analogy and I am not doing him justice, but I also think that there is a time to be in the nest. I wrote this to him at the end of a letter.....

    "If that makes me a baby bird from last night's analogy you used then so be it, because that means someday I will fly. When my wings are strong and my regurgitated feedings have made me strong enough to leave the nest and find my own food. It is how a baby bird learns what is good food for it to eat and what foods to hunger for."

    Anyways, your post reminded me of this. Birds are an inspiration.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love what you're learning, Karmen, and how you're learning what foods to hunger for as you grow stronger. You will fly, friend. I have already seen you, in the last several years, test those wings of yours - and they are beautiful.

      Delete
  4. Such beautiful words, Amber. Sorry I haven't been by here in a while...I enjoyed my visit here today and thank you for sharing your heart. :) Love the analogies about the birds. God bless you, sweet friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Your presence is a gift here, Cheryl, no apologies necessary. Grace and peace to you.

      Delete
  5. This was beautiful and it brought tears to my eyes too! Something in the telling really resonated with me. As I type this I hear birds singing outside of my window.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love that this resonated with you, Lolly, especially as the birds sang outside your window...

      Delete
  6. I love all of this, Amber. Isn't it wonderful how images come even when we can't find words for the things still becoming? I'm grateful you're part of this blogging world. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Always so grateful for you and your presence here and along the journey, Kelly.

      Delete
  7. Oh, how I love these pictures, Amber! Thank you for sharing them with us. Such a great visual. How wonderful that you are using birds to tell your stories. We don't always need words, do we? Great post!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. No, words are not always the primary storytellers, are they? I love that, too. Thank you for being here, Lisa.

      Delete
  8. Amber, how beautiful your words...and how lovely those photos. I could see on your face the inner joy you felt *sharing* the space with the bird exhibit. Birds are amazing creatures, aren't they? Where we live in the mountains we see all kinds - from the tiniest hummingbird to the majestic red-tailed hawk. And I can never look at them without thinking of the Lord, the One who is teaching us all to soar.

    I love that He's writing a story in your heart, and that you are content to let it remain *without words* at this time. I have this tendency to want to process and analyze my life, my experiences, my emotions. But sometimes, in doing that, I lose something of the inner journey. I, too, am learning to lean into the moment.

    This verse from Job is a good one that you might like:

    "Is it your wisdom that makes the hawk soar and spread its wings?"
    (Job 39:26)

    Yes, yes it is.

    GOD BLESS!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Your encouragement touches me, Sharon. I would love to see those mountain-dwelling birds someday. They are amazing teachers, yes. I love that you are learning to lean into the moment; it's no easy discipline, but it is life-giving. Grateful for you here.

      Delete
  9. Amber,
    I'm glad you hushed those voices and stood in front of those photos practicing flight...just gorgeous...Thank you...you model for me, what I long to grow in...just accept being

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm completely humbled by this, Dolly, What a gift. May we both continue pressing into "just being."

      Delete
  10. Amber, you teach me to see through my own unique eyes. You teach me to use my own wings. You give me permission to be quirky, to risk misunderstanding and to tell stories of all kinds in MY OWN voice. You help me to recognize the mysterious God who crafted the birds' wings and the trees' limbs and calls them good. I love your heart and the way you take in and tell your tales. In your loving eyes and in your hushed voxes and in your photos and in the ways you treasure up all that cannot be told and emanate the glory of mystery. And I relish every word you write. I love you and am so grateful to walk and fly with you. xoxo

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm undone by the depth to which you see me and hear me and are willing to learn from me, friend. It's humbling and sacred, and oh, how beautiful a gift it is to walk and fly with you. I love you.

      Delete
  11. I hear if you just lean in... the wind will lift you up even further! Fly higher... I think you are already in flight, my friend! This is all kinds of gorgeous!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "Already in flight"...thank you for saying so, Karrilee. What a liberating thought. We can't always tell ourselves, can we, when flight is happening? Sometimes it takes others to point this out.

      Delete
  12. Girl. There is so much to you, and I'm so glad I got to laugh with you. I'll be popping in frequently; just be careful what you write about that one particularly saint. ;)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I relish that memory of a bit of laughter with you, Brandee ;-) It's truly an honor to me to have you over here. Thank you <3

      Delete
  13. "the quiet, pregnant spaces where life expands to fill." Oh, sigh....flying will do that to you...
    (I believe we are kindred spirits, my friend. You've no idea how many photos of goldfinches I've taken this week.)
    waving from my deck...

    ReplyDelete