the Language of Birds

When a bird writes a poem they are writing from an individual perspective of the collective eye. 

Birds' words are both vertical, and horizontal in nature. Creator gifted the ballad of the beak. A game of both Hide and Seek, which might look weak to the untrained mind. 

I find that I write best when I am not bound by any rules. School was a cruel punishment for my artistic heart. An altruistic start to a humble beginning. 

What winning feels like to me, is the place inside of me that feels she has a temple to actually place her love. She removes her shoes at the basin of the rug before she enters. 

Center. 

You are you’re own mentor here. 

When a bird forms clear sight there is no going back. Black becomes a harmony where you are not willing to compromise that kind of silence. A peaceful dance in the skies far above the cries of man. 

Birds are one with the Wind.

Ascend. 

I tend to do my best when I am not bending my own rules. Birds are tools for the Seer. the DOer, the MOOver. The Shaker. We are not takers, but givers of Breath… and Sight. Birds carry the codes of Light to the ethers where we are neither concerned with the turn of time, nor this rhyme for that matter. 

The LADDER.

A collective shattering of notions or thoughts. Birds care not what you were taught but what is it that you are learning now? Avians allow for more critical thinking. An inkling… a cue… a hue of what can become when we allow… I listened… that is HOW I BECAME. Not only the name that I carry in this body, but within the nadis of my stars… Haven MorningStar the little girl that could. I would give it all up, but I cannot. I was taught to honor my oath, this gift. I was taught to learn the Language of the Birds and to sit with IT, them, SHEM, as long as I am able. 

When birds write poems it is because they know the table was set long before they came. Birds are but one nayme for a source that is too wide to compare. Birds share, so that you can compare your own notes and write music of your own. Each of our beaks contributes to the tone of her land. Birds demand no things here. HEAR…

CLEAR in the wake in what flight you will take next. My nest if full. 

Whole

SOUL Essence on fire my wings lifting higher with her breath behind my back…

Black takes a seat behind my eyes … SIGH … and RELEASE… PEACE

Sheets of wind as I ascend into the eternal Mother. HOVER here. 

Sheer in her presence as the essence flows through… Loving You.

Knowing you at your core… shores… safe… WHOLE… FULL.

Seagulls squealing in delight and we just might be in LOVE.

Dove. Kitten. Little Hen I am smitten with you. Cockatoo. Big Blue… Chilean Eagle of thy South. Mouth of Crow, she knows some good stories too. Moving through.

A few feathered friends for your flight. 

An Avian's plight is to be heard. Where are your words mingled. Where are you singling yourself out where maybe you could work on putting yourself out there more in a constructive manner. 

Birds are planners. Meaning they know that there is a rhythm to the cycles of nature and they wager their bets THERE. Birds care deeply about flight risks and take careful precautions before washing the bones. 

Tone. 

You are not alone. You have already shown yourself the way. When you come back into body you can play with this nadi and see how she feels. Pillows of feathers where your breath enters her nethers should hold that space. Just in case you need a reminder… Remember to be kinder in your approach to your healing. 

You are dealing in SOUL. 

Fold yourself back in two and now become one. Love you Hun. SO MUCH.

Soft touches and tender kisses as you awaken…

Love, 

Haven

(heART by HMG)