thought of you.
When I first was trying to decide on my website address, I struggled with “Little Bluebirds.” I was afraid that if I made bluebirds my schtick that I would be committing to it – and I didn’t know if I wanted to end up with dozens of knickknack bluebird kitsch.
A friend of mine from high school stopped by my house the other day to give me little birdcage with a handmade porcelain bluebird that she sat in a nest of grass. She saw the birdcage and thought of me – so she MADE the little bluebird.
Shannon walked into the studio the other day with a sweet little bluebird paperweight. I let it rest in my lap when I drive back and forth from Denver to Boulder.
My friend (and blossoming Anjali Restorative teacher) Elaine gifted me a sweet statue of a girl with bluebirds resting on her outreached arms. It sits on my altar.
My momma gave me a bluebird pin that had been hers for years upon the completion of my third teacher training. I’ve lost it a zillion times in the past year – but it always finds its way back to me.
Joyce taught the MOST beautiful Anjali Restorative class themed on bluebirds on the last day of our Anjali teacher training – and I bawled for hours.
I’ve learned that through these genuine expressions of friendship and love that they’ve shared with me, it reaffirms the original little bluebird that was placed so deeply in my heart to begin with. It’s not that they are giving me gifts that I know they love me – it’s that they’ve been listening to the things that I’ve said, and that it’s made a little impression on them. That I can express the love that was shared with me to others is an incredible accomplishment – one that I continue to practice, time and time again. It’s not always easy to share openly, to love freely and to have passionate faith in love – but sweet dammit, I’m going to keep trying.
I’ve had a couple of friends now pass to me this poem by Charles Bukowski. Perhaps it’s time to share on…
There’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pour whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he’s in there.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? you want to screw up the works? you want to blow my book sales in Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody’s asleep. I say, I know that you’re there, so don’t be sad. then I put him back, but he’s singing a little in there, I haven’t quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact
and it’s nice enough to make a man weep, but I don’t weep, do you?