Early Tuesday morning in the before dawn light, I’d just made my coffee, turned on the radio to listen, as is my semi-regular practice, to The Road Home, and settled on the sofa to begin writing in my journal.
Listening to Bob weave, with song and spoken word, the morning’s theme of the Great Mandala. Pen in hand as I scribble a snippet of lyric, “Take your place on the great mandala as it moves through this moment of time…”
Pulled from my reverie as suddenly a crash to my left. Rising to investigate, I find the paper and porcelain, peach and terracotta angel that has hung for several years suspended from the ceiling by a brass hook, giving quiet oversight, has fallen to floor, taking hook and invisible line with her. Intact except for one broken wing which can be easily and almost invisibly repaired, I begin to resume writing when I realize this inexplicable moment deserves my attention.
Stay together, friends.
Don’t scatter and sleep.
Our friendship is made
of being awake.— Rumi
I think about something dream walker guide Toko-pa Turner wrote in a recent post – “Our purpose is to welcome these refugee aspects of the Self into belonging” – that impelled my reply – “Thank you for this beautiful story. Your words above struck a chord…and I immediately thought of our current global refugee crisis being the macro manifestation of the consequence of our micro, individual repression of the refugee aspects of Self.”
Bringing light and life to shadow. Bringing our refugee aspects home.
Fallen angel. Banished from Heaven. Lucifer, the angel fallen from grace. The angel crashed to the floor in my living room. This is what she brought me:
Fallen angel with a broken wing.
Aren’t we all like her?
Aren’t we all stardust from Heaven (whatever that means for any of us?)
Stepping onto the stage of life, into a play mid-way,
not sure of our lines or the other players.
Oh, glorious sweet thing, ashamed and hiding the wound, the broken wing.
When can’t you see we’re all the same
To fly our way home.