This Bird has Flown

Ironically I sit here the stillest I have been for quite a while, recovering from abdominal surgery. But this bird has flown, after struggling against the bars for so long.

These were the bars of a gilded cage that I had made for myself using the words of others said against me. The bars were strong and I thought that they protected me from further harshness, but actually they just kept me a prisoner, a victim, of that past, without seeing my present or the fresh air available outside. I’ve been reading about mindfulness and whilst I’m still a beginner (these wings are still new) each day I am getting a little bit stronger as the poisoned words lose their power and I let go of the wreckage of my past.

I used to think that I had to go over everything, analyse every lesson that could be learnt from mistakes, bad words said of me or bad things done to me, in order to forget and move on. I felt that I couldn’t move onto, because there was still something yet to learn, to distil, condense and that way the problems would become smaller. Like a bowl of muddy water, I felt I had to keep stirring, keep remembering so that I could write it down to forget, rather than just letting it slow down, settle and let the silence inbetween hold my gaze. I was so wrapped up with trying to reduce the mud – perhaps I thought that slopping it over the sides was best, I don’t know, that I forgot some things float, and some things, no matter how hard you try to alter them, fight against them, they will always sink.

Returning to the wreckage anology, I had been holding on but forgot to look around me, to see how far the tide had taken me. The buffeting waves had initally seemed to be working against me, were actually taking me away, letting me survive, drift away from those mad, bad times, but inevitably the current does quieten. I was too occupied with holding on to see the present shore or that the water was now shallow enough for me to put my feet down and drift no more.

I used to see holidays and enjoyable concerts as escapism from life rather than seeing them as the enjoyment that living in the present can bring. I loved the moments, did as much as I could to the full by myself or with hubby and/or son, then felt life intervened when really it was my past bringing the weight and the sadness that I experienced at home again alone. Now I’m focussing more on being present in my present rather than letting it all pass me by. I'm working towards what I want, not fully sure what that is, but a blank page is full of potential: it can be anything and that has to be the best :)