A poem about soaring and Crash landing
I wrote this poem after returning from a deeply powerful retreat on the Welsh holy island of Bardsey (Ynis Enlli ‘island of the tides’ in Welsh). While there I felt my heart soar. I imagined how it might feel to soar like some of the magnificent sea birds there: I found some goose flight feathers, stood on a pillar and felt the wind tug strongly at my arms. But the re-entry from island life into the craziness of ‘normality’ was hard. I felt stuck at times. I tried to remember the soaring and imagine what might need to change for my heart, my soul, to soar again.
Taking Flight
Once you soar, there’s no going back.
Heart open, eyes wide,
wing tips feeling the tug of the wind.
But how do I soar when there is no wind?
The crash landing is hard and bumpy.
Kicking and screaming,
a bundle of bristling feathers,
I try to pick myself up.
“Where am I going again?”
“Ah yes, up.”
But the pull of the ground is heavy and sticky.
Flapping with all my might,
my attempts to rise exhaust me.
Until I realise flapping isn’t going to get me there.
I must wait patiently for the wind to blow again,
or maybe,
with courage,
manoeuvre myself gently to a place
where a different wind
can unlock my flight.