Fear of falling

I’m having a hard time reconciling.

We had a lovely dinner out last night, taking advantage of an anniversary gift certificate from our kids. My oldest brother is celebrating the start of a new decade. I have nice neighbors – well, one of them anyway. The kale and mustard plants I put in too late last fall have not only survived but are greening up in preparation for a spring-induced peacock tail display of fortitude.

But, our world is rife with cluster b bullies in positions of authority. I’m shedding tears for the millions forced to experience the horrors of war. Covid continues to slice into the fabric of our existence. Marginalized communities endure blow after blow, and Nightbirde’s two percent chance of survival dwindled to zero then disappeared.

I’ve spent more time than usual this week dipping my toes into the doomsday lagoon, testing out the idea that this is how the apocalypse plays out. I am reminded of how Daniel Quinn’s Ishmael describes humans’ first attempts at flying. Having flung ourselves from the highest peak, we move our constructed wings up and down, convinced we’ve mastered it. It takes us some time to even suspect that the ground is getting closer, but when we can no longer quash the evidence, we determine to flap that much harder, hoping to stave off the inevitable.  

Falling isn’t flying.

When I launched this creative machine, I pledged positivity. I think of myself as someone who keeps promises, but not only is optimism slippery, there are times when it feels disrespectful. Where is goodness in the midst of so much anguish?

Some find it in prayer. I’m not one to discredit this approach. But, begging for mercy and abdicating action by foisting responsibility onto a higher power leaves me feeling a little smarmy.

Some find it in the heroism of those who bear the heaviest burdens, the leaders standing firm despite incomprehensible risk, the warriors who carry on with living when dying might be easier.

I find it by coming back to what I am able to learn from life on earth that isn’t human. Far from positioning myself as any sort of ruler in the biological kingdom, I am better served by settling into the curve of its belly. From that vantage point, I’m at eye level with armies of beings going about the business of being alive without concern for human priorities. From there, my needs become less significant and the fingers of fear relax their grip long enough for me to take in air.

I notice the calls of pileated woodpeckers just outside my door. I understand that they mate for life.

Falling isn’t flying. And, it’s all right.

~Elizabeth

You can’t wait until life isn’t hard anymore before you decide to be happy. 

~Jane Marczwenski/Nightbirde