Songbird

Maybe Sarah is being dramatic, but the birds in her backyard are uncovering some deep truth about using your voice. 

IG: @sarahonpurpose

Transcript

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If you are in any way trying to find your voice, your spark, or yourself, well, here's a tip. You can learn a lot in your own backyard if you're paying attention. So today I would like to share what happened in mine. Let me clear my throat. If you're a regular listener on this Glad Bitch Tiny Cast, then you know last week was an off week. I had a camping trip planned specifically designed to coincide with the blue moon. And not just any blue moon, okay? A blue moon in Sagittarius. Whatever that means, I don't really know. I just know that I'm a Libra sun and a Sagittarius moon. So the Sagittarius moon was kind of for me, I decided. And Sagittarius likes adventures. It's funny, my mom tells me that I've always been into the moon. When I was little, I used to think the moon was following me. And in a way, I guess it is. I guess it still is. The moon and I are keeping track of each other. She is still one of my favorite teachers. Do you know about blue moons? They're not sad moons or blue in color, but a blue moon is the rare occasion when you get a second full moon in one month. So it's not just your standard full moon insights and illumination. It's like a full moon on roids. Anyway, let's just say there's an intensity to a blue moon. And the fact that it was in Sag, I'm told, is important because that is the zodiac sign that happens to be the seeker and also the speaker of truth. So we're talking about shining the big light on radical authenticity. This is a cosmic reset designed for us to tell the truth, whether we like it or not. And you get this energy for up to a week if you're open to it. So what does this have to do with my backyard? Well, I thought you'd never ask. Prior to the trip, while we were packing up, I noticed this itty-bitty little songbird that was flying in and out of the lavender I planted just outside my back door. And every time we walked past it, it'd shoot out. At first I was like, what the hell are you doing in there? But upon closer inspection, the world's teeniest little nest was tucked in back with three perfect little blue eggs the size of peanut MMs. It was very discreet and very well hidden. I'm sure she was exhausted by how much we were walking past the nest. And I thought, wow, how nice it will be for her to be able to relax for a few days once we're finally gone. So we left for the trip. And I didn't really think much about it until we got back, and I was delighted to find that the eggs were still there and this little bird was keeping the nest warm. I couldn't wait to see these little suckers hatch. Several trips to and from the car were made because JFC, why do you need so much stuff just to stay in the woods? But I digress. So we're on the last pass to bring everything in, and here's where it takes a turn. Apparently, in our absence, a big fat crow had been casing the joint. And just when we were about to make the final run into the house, it swooped down and swallowed every egg out of that nest in a matter of seconds. Gone. Destroyed. Right in front of our eyes. So what did I do? What could I do? I just wept. I felt so sad. Now before you say shit happens, I know. I might even put that on my tombstone. And before you say I'm too sensitive, well, relax. I know that too. My dad's been pointing that out since the 80s. I could easily make this a run-of-the-mill circle of life moment, but I would be remiss not to make meaning where I can, or try to understand what lesson might be in store for me. That's what humans do, right? We tell stories to make our lives matter. At least I needed some symbolism to stop being sad about this mother bird that's standing over her empty, massacred nest. What the hell kind of cosmic reset is this? Bullshit. So here's the deal. Let's leave the land of science, like a crow's gotta eat, and move on into metaphor, because this is how the moon decided to reveal the message that I needed to hear. It's important, okay, to note that we're talking about songbirds. I dare you to find me a better symbol in nature that stands for joy, for the voice, and for pure self-expression. I'm feeling hard lesson vibes coming in. These little creatures, they've got a song in their hearts, and they know they're small, they know they're vulnerable, and yet it's worth the risk to simply express themselves. So it's kind of weird we call people a bird brain when we think they're dumb. Not all that complex, just simple-minded. Maybe it's songbirds that have it all figured out. So what the actual fuck crow, you opportunistic stone cold killer. No wonder why it's called a murder when you and your friends get together. I used to think you were cool, and maybe I shouldn't have been feeding you peanuts after all. Wait, did I kill the songbirds? Did I lure this crow into my backyard with peanuts? I can't remember if I mentioned this to you yet, but I do pull a card every year on New Year's Eve from the Kim Kranz Wild Unknown Archetype deck. I pull one card that will represent something to work with all year long. Now, hand to God, this year I was like, I'll take any card in this motherfucking deck out of 78 cards. Just don't let me pick the shadow. Well, what do you think the odds are that I picked it? Because I did. Well, after some research this week on crows in the land of symbols, they represent our shadow. Ugh, universe, why are you like this? So crows are messengers between worlds. Consider them to be like the little assistants for our transformation. They're here to help us face hidden and uncomfortable parts of ourselves. The alternative title for this episode was You Can't Handle the Truth, but I decided I might actually want to try and handle it. And the truth is this I have also been hiding in the lavender. Metaphorically, of course, but still hiding. Sure, I've been making the podcast again, and I've made some other offerings here and there. I've dipped my toe in, I've peeked around the corner, I've expressed myself where I feel like I can. But that's just it. I've never quite put myself all the way out there. It's inherently vulnerable and risky. It's scary to expose yourself fully. Not expose yourself, but you know what I mean. Come on. Because if you put yourself out there, you don't get to pick and choose who sees you. And that's where I really had to look at myself. Because I don't promote myself or draw too much attention to what I'm doing because I don't want to be rejected. I want to be safe. I don't want to be swallowed whole. I just want to put my stuff out there for the people that are gonna like it. Even my grandma wanted to know how to listen to my podcast, and I didn't tell her because I thought she wouldn't like it or wouldn't get it, and then maybe she wouldn't like me. I don't know. It's stupid, okay? I get it. But here's the message: the big backyard lesson. Hiding isn't safer. Hiding isn't safer. That shadow can still swoop in and eat your words, whether you reveal yourself or not, before you ever get a chance to use them. The lavender is lovely, but I know I have to stop convincing myself that that's enough. So a few more days went by in the backyard and it was quiet. No songbird, no crow, who knew I was pissed. And then, guess what happened? I saw who I have to believe is the exact same little songbird appear with a mouthful of twigs, making a new nest. And I think I get it. The songbirds would be extinct if they didn't keep trying. No matter how vulnerable they are. In that way, they're kind of like storytellers. Because the songs need to be sung and stories, our stories, my stories, need to be told. And that's how the truth of the moon revealed itself right on my home turf. Because those eggs represented something in me that's been hidden and quiet. And maybe making sure I stay palatable is what's working against me. If you listen to any songbird, they'll tell you about that. They know the risks, but life is worth singing about. And you can't sing if you never make it out of your shell.