Migratory birds


I watch them soar across the fjord. Migratory birds. The chill is not here yet, and yet they already sense the change of weather, change of season.. The slight change of color that meets the eye that sees, when turned to the sky above. Darker blue. The polar winds are already travelling across the continent, a movement stirred from the rays of Sun, the cosmic winds of change. Stirring the Ocean. The magnetic fields, the ecliptic. The turn of seasons.

They send me a message as they always do, in noting the ability to soar the Sky, glide through Air. What magic they perform.

They must have been always considered sacred. The ability to glide into sunsets or rise with the sun on the horizon of the Ocean. Those liminal spaces. Their song and sounds. I think of the thrill down my spine and the electrical awakening the shriek from my She-Bird-of-Prey causes when she finds me, greets me, connects with me and instigate the opportunity for exchange. I wonder if that’s where music came from. Strange sounds- or perhaps we were actually able to listen to the waves and frequencies already singing from within? The rush of the blood, the hum of your sOul, the beat from your wild heart? The calling from the star pattern within urging you to imitate and put to sound the music of the spheres, making you feel home at certain places, feel inclined to make certain rituals, have the wits to make fire, align Rocks with a rising Sun at certain Winter days, that also aligned the Setting Sun at certain Summer days.

They send me a message across space and time, that instinctively we always know when to get up and leave, when to go home. When to come back. When certain places have fulfilled our needs. Activated certain patterns within. The ley lines under our feet. Sending electricity through our beings. To acknowledge and know the snake to be a sacred being and you fear her Spirit no more. You laugh at your own folly for mistaking her medicine with poison. You know now that death isn’t dying. It is being born again. The soul searching complete. We can’t walk forever. We also have to bring forth our wisdom and apply it to our daily lives, our activities. Our interactions and entwining.

A long time ago I heard a tale being whispered softly to me in a sacred grove of trees in a valley named after the Moon. I was called to go in there one early May day, before the Sacred Heart initiation. Back when She wouldn’t tell me her name.

I always saw women from a distant past, perhaps from a different realm, dancing in there. Much later, Men from a warrior tribe buried a king there. They raised rocks in his favor aligning the East-West direction, so that he could rise and greet the Sun walking onto the next world. Much later a Beech grew on the top of that mound. Its trunk split in two and made the Tree a perfect symbol of the Sacred Union. It always made me wonder, if that could be the reason he was buried in this sacred feminine place. But I’ll never know.

The two trunks from the same root. Where they are dividing, there is a wet spot, the sap from the tree leaks out. They lean on each other, the two trunks from the same root. And when you sit there on the rocks meditating under the tree, you can hear the squeaking sounds from where the two trunks meet and it sounds like they are having the most profound conversation of what it means to lean on each other. Support each other. Dialoguing. Stealing each other’s thunder. Or work together. Communion. Union.

This space is so sacred, so any thought flow that feels altered from your own happening in there, is to be noted and listened to. The tale whispered about the Snake and the Eagle, that I only understand now, so many Moons later.

Sometimes we need to let time pass by to unfold the mystery before we understand, what the mind isn’t ready to. We need to surrender to instinct and the wild at heart-ness. See the action over time, that walks out from the space and time eternity moment and manifest.

The migratory birds. Taking off. At the right time. Instinctively. Telling you it’s time to come home. The last effort, before the big rest.

Sacred spaces, sacred messages and the ability to hear, feel and see. And then wait for the right time to act. It’s all out there. And it comes to me in this moment, watching migratory birds soar the sky above the fjord.

​© 2020 by Camila Reland

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