times have been tough. relfection is helpful, necessary.
re-reading and re-writing words put to paper
in moments of intensity has a calming feeling.
putting them into the ether will give, i hope, a sense of release...
***
May 28, 2014
I just found out that my Eddie & Cacto were killed. I tried my best to make sure they would be well taken care of and it isn't ever enough. I wanted to see her again--I wanted to nap and cuddle with her and laugh at her funny face. I wanted her to live a full, long ani life. Fuck this so much.
***
No matter how much it hurts, I never want to stop my heart from loving, from caring. I don't understand why this is happening but I never want to break, I never want to cut myself off from feeling, from caring - no matter how much it hurts - because if I do that, there will be nothing to keep me here. I don't want to lose my humanity, empathy, my links to the world. I will love and care until it kills me instead of others, but at the same time, I do want to numb this pain and dull these hopeless thoughts.
***
The worst nightmares I know are those in which my mother tries to hurt me, to kill me, or laughs vehemently at me. When I bleed it is for all the sorrow in the earth. My body staggers under the weight of sickness in the world. I dream of a grizzly mother and her cubs surrounding me, sniffing nonchalantly at my body as though it were a worthless corpse. I watch the hawks soaring in the wind until I am meaningless and comforted in my diminution.
***
May 30, 2014
When the sadness comes, it is that terrible and fearsome thing. A huge black dog bearing down on me. Old grizzled paws pushing against my chest until I can only gasp and choke in shaky breaths, crippled with the weight of sorrow. Timid, half-formed hopes shatter under the pressure of gnashing teeth and hard, cold, glinting eyes that reflect uncontrollable truths. In crushing agony I stumble out upon the world as viewed from behind a blurred veil of my emotion, flooding like a river over steep cliffs of despair.
The old black dog curls up, sleeps upon my stomach - not to be lifted or removed but of its own volition. All beauty, all joy, all wonder in the world (these things I cherish) staggers, shifts, becomes weak and unrecognizable under this weight. I see, I act, I function as though one set apart from myself. I am hollow. I have sunk deep within myself, locked in dark grey places where thick rolling fogs may begin to numb the pain.
The sharp chin of that dog presses like a weight, like a dull inevitable ache that will remain a part of me forever, as it rests its head against my heart.
When the sadness comes it is as though I had just dragged myself, clawing and tearing, out of a deep wet pit, thick with misery and hopeless struggle. I fight against the harsh reality as it descends, carrying me plummeting back down into the pit. In despair, I wonder how I will ever find the strength to climb again. Surely, this must be the time that I break in the fall and must lie helpless, forever in the darkness, a twisted broken wreck of feeling - until the old black dog should consume me in her deep and miserable hunger.
***
June 28, 2014
Sometimes, when pain is too raw, intense, too much - I cannot write or even allow myself to think about it. The losses of the past two years have changed me forever, have cut so deeply the scars will be with me forever. Like old wounds, there will always be times where they welt, pulsing and painful as though still raw and fresh.
To experience the trust and love of such beautiful, awe inspiring beings is a gift, not to be taken lightly. I feel ill-equipped to honour them and learn from them, but I will try my best to find ways to do this, to gain the understanding necessary to do so. As much as it hurts, I will keep loving, keep caring, and keep trying.
***
September 26, 2014
This is my last day on the refuge. Dawn has not yet broken the horizon. I hear the Pitirre and Troupials, the roosters, warbler and mockingbird chips, the insects stridulating in the grass and the high whine of mosquitoes all around me.
The first roost vocalizations of my ani group have already pierced the air - soft calls, long whines and strange, half-formed sounding versions of other call types, and the rustle of shifting bodies in the still-dark of their roost.
We have set a mist net nearby and the others are with it, waiting. I have set another assistant on an additional roost watch, giving instructions, guidance and techniques for following and watching the birds, outlining the goals of the observations, for perhaps the last time.
An American Kestrel's shrill call cuts the air, and a moment later I hear the soft, insistent and repetitive whining of the male nearby. I see his silhouette as he flies quickly in the direction of the female, likely he is now pestering her at her perch in the dead, burned mesquite. The sky is lightening quickly and the scolding of mockingbirds and the rasping chatter of grassquits begins to replace the calls of the Pitirre. I hear the thrum of a hummingbird in flight...a Puerto Rican Flycatcher in the distance sings 'birds of a feather', or so it sounds to me.Two Cattle Egrets are flying northeast, inland from the salinas.
As the hour approaches six a.m., I hear the first chorus of Dead Tree Hill group from within their tamarind roost. The duet of a Troupial pair brings hopeful thoughts that we might catch three birds on my last day of field work in Puerto Rico.
The low coo of a dove complements this reflection on my work in this project - its ending. Leaving my work, worries, cares, and frustrations in the hands of another. So it goes.
The rapid whoosh of dove wings in flight, the flatulent hums, whistles, trills and chips of the Antillean Grackles leaving their roosts, and the soft rush of egrets overhead, glowing white in the shaded morning, reminds me that there is much more in my life to come.
My birds are chorusing, getting ready to leave the roost, and I must watch, because I can not help but feel the excitement of the chase. The game is afoot!
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