When Women Were Birds

 When Women Were Birds

“Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn and to sing at dusk was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.”    ~ Terry Tempest Williams                                                                                     

Long ago women knew how to fly, soaring freely to the cosmos and back as they chose. 

Winged women of ancient times were always encouraged to express their power, 

And so it was natural for them to sing and dance and laugh every day of their lives. 

Living their own destiny, they perched confidently on upper forest branches 

High above the sentient beings and generous land to which they gave service. 

They stretched out their wings to lengths beyond the limits of imagination

And ascended to great heights, inspired by their aspirations and dreams.

Each woman sang her unique song to welcome the Sun as it rose in the morning

And gratefully offered a melody as the white light of day changed into a dark velvety sky.

Women contributed to the world a fullness of joy that brought coolness and healing

In easing all the fiery growing pains of the people of Earth.

Together, in large numbers, women rode the wind currents, like migrating birds, 

Forming patterns of sacred order as they flew in unison across the deep azure sky.

Women, like the birds, were always looking for something, flittering from tree to tree

While they searched for their own special purpose for living and being.

There was never a thought in any woman’s mind of limiting herself 

As she happily soared about wherever and whenever she desired. 

Each woman made her own nest and gave birth to everything that brought her fulfillment.

And, in turn, all of creation was nurtured as they manifested a plentiful abundance of life.

One day, after lies had replaced truth, a women, daring to fly higher than all of the others,

Was struck with flying stones thrown by those who feared her freedom.

When she fell to the ground, they clipped her wings, severing the Great Circle of Creation.

With a deep tear in the fabric of life, rivers became toxic and stopped flowing,

And massive majestic mountains shook with anger, splitting violently in half.

Women everywhere began to lose their feathers, as their joy was replaced by fear.

Everyone watched while the world became smaller and their vision distorted by hate.

All women gradually became flightless, watching their colorful plumage drop to the ground, 

While the years of not flying continued to hurt the heart of womanhood, 

The memory of their song was forgotten, and women of Earth became silent and still.

The Earth eventually turned cold and gray, and the land appeared frozen and pale.

Meanwhile, a small, glowing ember of truth smoldered within the soul of each woman,

And that faint afterglow of wisdom within, beyond their awareness, refused to be put out.

At that time, birds of the sky began singing to maintain the celebration of sunrise and sunset.

So it was for many millennia, until one day a raven dropped a feather near a very sad woman.

As the Sun peaked out from a dark cloud, a ray of light illumined that iridescent feather,

Causing an intense color to awaken an ancient memory in the heart of that woman. 

A slow burning ember of knowing within ignited her song she now felt compelled to sing.

Upon hearing her own voice at last, she began to chant, and dance and laugh with joy.

Jubilant, the woman gazed upward and raised her arms to the cycling forces of the universe,

Drawing down the energy of reclamation which inspired a flame of remembering in all women.

Plush, colorful feathers began growing back, revealing the true avian nature of females,

And women everywhere were becoming birds again as the world began to heal.

The rivers turned clear and rushing blue waters started to flow freely in the valleys.

And the jagged, torn mountains were magically restored into mystic purple oneness.

Witnessing these miracles, more and more women joined the birds in their daily musical ritual,

And with their songs of love, women and birds became the bridge between heaven and earth.

Now all women were encouraged to seek an alignment with their true archetypal being, 

And they soared upward with a knowing heart into the beckoning tree tops of possibility.

As women saw more clearly their wondrous destiny in the family of things,

Big red flowers bloomed everywhere, nourishing the Earth with a vibration of feminine love.

Like omens of promise, yellow buds emerged dotting the verdant landscape with a golden hue.

A flock of black ravens squawked noisily while they flew across the vast, orange morning sky, 

Signaling to the hearts of all people for a much needed return of harmony and balance.

Deep within the hidden forest in a place of enchantment yet unknown to anyone,

A white colored raven landed peacefully on a branch next to a nesting black raven.

And with that sign, the Great Circle of Creation was made whole once more.

A new period of celebration and song had begun, a time of hope for the family of Earth.  Aho!