Creative spark from Naomi Pridjian

Hope (Pieces of the Night)

I have suffered from insomnia for many years. As I’ve grown older, it comes to me as a mystery of God-Presence, and I am its captive, alone with my fears and frailties. There is no doing, making, or bargaining. Nothing but being…alone as the day I was born. That day lives inside. It was the last day my soul remembers the path from total oneness to this difficult human two-ness. Before that is the mystery that only Spirit knows. And by God, that path is so very hard. Only birds can navigate it. It’s about the wings, you know…

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson

I once had a friend whose language was like mine. She called me Bird. I didn’t ask her to, she just did so on her own. Took several years for me to understand how hardy, little, fragile birds can be…and that they are all okay up there perched upon those wires…that their feet know just how to do it. May I…may we all survive these unspeakable days, intact and in fact, back home where we all want to be.

The following images surfaced from these reflections. Thank you for taking this journey with me.

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