Singing in the dead of night

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

-Paul McCartney & John Lennon

I struggle greatly with the writing process. I like to write. I have words that constantly swirl in my head waiting to force themselves out onto paper or my computer screen. But I second guess myself so frequently that the words become stuck between my ears and lost in my brain’s junk file.

As I mentioned in my last blog, the past two years have been gut-wrenching hard. I’ve had words that have wanted to spill out constantly, but knew that my word vomit would be inappropriate. Much of what I’d like to say hasn’t been my story to tell. I’ve just been a secondary player in a drama that has engulfed me.

So I’ve been quiet. I’ve read. I’ve meditated. I’ve mulled. I’ve stewed. I’ve done pretty much anything but write.

One day I was driving in my car and the song, “Blackbird” came on my satellite radio. It wasn’t the Beatles version, but Sarah McLachlan’s version. The words resonated with me. The song was me and expressed my recent life in just 100 or so words. I could not get the words out of my head. Blackbird(s)

I enjoy walking outside and love the spring wildflowers that grow along my city trail. Seriously, the trail is not much to look at when you take a casual glance. Finding the beauty along a greenbelt that really is a utility easement (read: many electrical wires and towers) requires an eye for detail and a bit of imagination and often a camera with a macro lens. And Wildflowers.

I’ve been ready to start fresh with a new blog. I started blogging when my boys were middle school and elementary school age. My old blog address was named for what the kids at church used to call me “Schweers’ Mom”. The title was a nod to my mom and her answer many times to “what’s for dinner?” which was often, “A little of this, that and the other” (meaning, whatever is in the fridge that needs to be gone).  My boys are now adults and I’m not Schweers’ Mom any more. Instead, I find myself looking for beauty in the dead of night from an empty nest. I have been waiting for them to fly away from the nest, but have found the transition filled with the grief of re-discovering who I am as “Lori” and not “Mom.”

Wildflowers remind me to look for joy and beauty in small things that are often miraculous and many times missed at first glance. The song “Blackbird”…well, it sings to me and reminds me that I can fly. I can fly with a broken wing. With a grieving heart. When it’s dark. I can fly.

I’ve been waiting for this moment to arise. 

And as a side note, the daisies at the top? Still a nod to my mom. They are her favorite flower. But that might be a topic for another day.

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3 thoughts on “Singing in the dead of night

  1. God is in the details. 🙂 Welcome back to blogging, Lori! Great post. And as for word vomitting, you know me well enough by now to know I will hold your hair, and hand you a napkin, and get you a glass of water after. Life is messy. We shouldn’t have to pretend it isn’t with everybody. Love you.

    Like

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