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| Photo copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. |
Acquaintance.
Intensity.
Time.
Markers arise, organically, in a sense, from life itself. For some, they are immediate and all-consuming, for a time, at least. For some, these markers are intensely present, while the rest of us are connected only by the thinnest of tendrils.
For those of us on the periphery, they carry much less force, yet they make themselves known.
I learned this morning of a great loss.
I did not know her well; indeed, I only knew her very slightly. I know her partner, though, and that is all I need to know to understand the kind of person she was, the spirit she is.
And I know that the journey she began nine days ago, when her spirit departed her body, leaves a great void.
She built things. Not simply things, in the usual sense of that word, but great things: shelter for humans and other beings; safety for those with four legs and wings, cast off or cast out by those with less humanity; security in the form of a great and abiding love with the person who shared her life. Even as metastasis insinuated itself into her life and her being, spreading, overtaking, consuming, she never seemed to lose her essential self, at least to the extent it was visible to those of us at a distance, our vision attenuated by miles and degrees of separation.
While she was building things, building a life, she was also building a legacy. And for those of us not privileged to know her well, whose understanding of her is likewise attenuated, that legacy nevertheless is visible in what she built in spaces tangible and virtual in the time allotted.
Nine days ago, the red-tail returned. She's here more often than not these days, but some visitations are very different from others. Usually, she goes about her business, perhaps aware of our glances, perhaps not . . . but on rare days, she demands that we recognize her presence. She will sit atop one of the trees and stare insistently until acknowledged, until we comprehend that she is there not as neighbor but as harbinger, even if of what we are not yet given to understand.
And so it was on that day, a day whose significance was lost on us at the time. She persisted, looking me in the eye even through the lens itself, forcing acknowledgment.
In some traditions, she is an escort, a guide to help spirits navigate the path to the next world.
I like to think that when she flew westward that day, it was to lend her wings to the flight of a beautiful spirit on her journey home.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
Markers arise, organically, in a sense, from life itself. For some, they are immediate and all-consuming, for a time, at least. For some, these markers are intensely present, while the rest of us are connected only by the thinnest of tendrils.
For those of us on the periphery, they carry much less force, yet they make themselves known.
I learned this morning of a great loss.
I did not know her well; indeed, I only knew her very slightly. I know her partner, though, and that is all I need to know to understand the kind of person she was, the spirit she is.
And I know that the journey she began nine days ago, when her spirit departed her body, leaves a great void.
She built things. Not simply things, in the usual sense of that word, but great things: shelter for humans and other beings; safety for those with four legs and wings, cast off or cast out by those with less humanity; security in the form of a great and abiding love with the person who shared her life. Even as metastasis insinuated itself into her life and her being, spreading, overtaking, consuming, she never seemed to lose her essential self, at least to the extent it was visible to those of us at a distance, our vision attenuated by miles and degrees of separation.
While she was building things, building a life, she was also building a legacy. And for those of us not privileged to know her well, whose understanding of her is likewise attenuated, that legacy nevertheless is visible in what she built in spaces tangible and virtual in the time allotted.
Nine days ago, the red-tail returned. She's here more often than not these days, but some visitations are very different from others. Usually, she goes about her business, perhaps aware of our glances, perhaps not . . . but on rare days, she demands that we recognize her presence. She will sit atop one of the trees and stare insistently until acknowledged, until we comprehend that she is there not as neighbor but as harbinger, even if of what we are not yet given to understand.
And so it was on that day, a day whose significance was lost on us at the time. She persisted, looking me in the eye even through the lens itself, forcing acknowledgment.
In some traditions, she is an escort, a guide to help spirits navigate the path to the next world.
I like to think that when she flew westward that day, it was to lend her wings to the flight of a beautiful spirit on her journey home.
All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2015; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.
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