Standing at the sink, I torque to the left, lifting the ubiquitous Ikea-Crate&Barrel-Pottery Barn white, ceramic bowl out of the cabinet – all so alike in their differences. Bowl to counter, cereal to bowl (raisin bran – an all time fav). Through the crisscrossed paining of the kitchen window, I see a Robin, completely still on the tippy top fence post. Delicately posed, solidly planted, micro moving without toppling. Infinitesimally small adjustments keep the stillness in place.
I am not one, so much, for things spiritual which live outside the blunted edge of my concrete understanding, but I look up “meaning of a red breasted robin,” and get this from the inter webs. Adapted from www.shamanicjourney.com:
Robin’s medicine includes…the wisdom of change, growth, renewal…Robin is a bird of divine service and a good parent…the red breast a badge of honor. Robin has the ability to nurture itself into adulthood. Robin will incite new growth in all areas of your life, areas that have become stagnant and outdated…The Robin’s eggs are powder blue. This color is…linked to heavenly inspiration…you will be lead to new beginnings without fear by restoring trust in yourself and your soul. Meditate on Robin and the right path will be shown to you. Although growth can be slow and testing, with patience, compassion and proper focus spiritual ideals will be fulfilled.
Dear Robin, (I write in a letter to the bird)
You – renewal – pressed my nose to the window sill of growth. The other side is possible, you say? You – the good parent – wing me to the promise of a blue egg inspiration. Breathing in. You – the badge of honor – start new beginning’s without fear. As if it could be. You – inciter of change – restore trust. But how?
Internal trust is a newly arrived immigrant in my town. Looked at, smelled, questioned when she doesn’t understand the modernity of this place, the rip van wrinkle of people rushing by, covering their asses, promoting their rightness.
Goodness is more critical for survival in the soul’s refugee camp. If really you are to show me the path, Robin, lonely aloneness will need to become triumphant solitude. My heart’s tyranny to become trust. I will meditate on you, Robin, waiting to see the first step, the path from here to there. I will meditate on you, Robin, stirring the stagnate, inviting the current’s flow. I will inch towards you, the post you stand on, an island in the wash of anew.
©Gabriella Strecker, 2016
photo courtesy of https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/600×315/12/d3/2a/12d32a029785bad6b492caf86fdab950.jpg