Day Nine Wild Musings with Renee Magnusson
What do you know?
What is your particular brand of magic and genius?
Trigger warning: mentions of death and after life
In response to my last post Renee wrote: 'I also know that we know what we know even if there is no explanation for it.' Empowering words. Then the prompt for the next day’s musings was ‘What do you know?’ Lol. I didn’t have time that day (or the following ones!) to do more than take phone notes so this is a mishmash of the last few days but in the same way it’s also timeless.
Lately, because of Autumne and the dragonfly, the emphasis has been on visitations (let’s call them that. I never considered that as the word to call them but it does nicely. Thank you, Renee and others who called them that.) They always surprise me. A psychic jolt. Always unexpected and often not people I’d expect to hear from. So that particular brand of magic is front and foremost all the way through these musings. The first one I noticed enough to remember was in 2008 (I just checked a poem I’d written at that time to get the year). One of our clients, Fred, died tragically and accidentally at work. He was mid- to late-twenties. I can’t remember exactly how old he was except far far too young. A bunch of co-workers and myself went to his funeral. But due to a devastating mismanagement of communication and an innate need to blame someone, we were blamed at the funeral if not directly for Fred’s death then for the tardiness in letting his family know. Fred was indigenous and his family lived in a northern fly-in community and they found out about his death from a band member long before our company management reached them. Management’s delay was inexcusable and cast shadows of suspicion but the hurt at the funeral (not from Fred’s immediate family) deflected from the focus on Fred and his life. He had been someone I loved working with, tremendously shy but funny, sensitive and observant. Driving home with another co-worker, in my mind I worried about Fred especially with all the circumstances surrounding his death and family upset. Was he okay? The minute I thought that, a huge crow was buffeted by the wind almost swooping into the windscreen of the car ahead. I gasped and followed the crow’s flight to make sure it was okay. A band of white spanned each wing as it flew up into a birch and nestled there looking down at us. The most amazing sense of calm and peace washed over me. Fred had given me his answer. I shared this with my co-workers, especially the one who had been working when Fred died and who had tried to revive him. Not only did they believe me but it seemed to bring a snippet of healing to everyone. So in a way perhaps that is the magic of my knowing, of reassuring or somehow comforting others as well as myself.
When I was about 7 or 8, a favourite ‘aunt’ died. Aunt Mary. She was my Nanna’s best friend, not a blood relation but I saw her fairly often and liked her. She was very traditionally religious and gave me many biblical books. Mam didn’t always agree with Aunt Mary’s forcefulness and degree of devotion but I was always allowed to investigate any religion or belief that interested me. And because of the push in junior school re Christianity and because I loved hymns and because I knew in my soul of souls that there was something somewhere, I called it God. When Aunt Mary died, I felt sad and I needed to know that she was safe in ‘heaven’ so I demanded her to do certain tricks to prove to me that she was in heaven. “Push this ball down the stairs.” “Make the curtain move.” I was a very bossy child! But nothing happened, ever. My faith was shaken and whereas I knew there was something, I just knew, I no longer believed in God and heaven specifically. Today I call that something Spirit.
It has only been quite recently that I have linked this memory to the visitations.
Sometimes I feel like I only have a baby toehold in this world. For as long as I can remember I’ve been able to sense ghosts/spirits (even though it often terrified me!) and remember when I was 12 or so reading a book at a table in the library about encounters with ghosts. My skin prickled as the sensations listed in the book validated what I had felt and experienced over and over again. In a similar way I can be randomly psychic, knowing for sure when a thing will work out or when I’ll win something.
I know that Scotland lives in my bones, as does the wild of the North Yorkshire moors and oh! heather. I know that I’m nervous about visiting the east coast of Canada in case I never return because it has totally bewitched me even though it so often beckons. (I also know the winter weather there would beat me down…those ice storms!)
I know I can tell stories and have been able to for forever it feels like. Writing, in particular, is my biggest and strongest connection to others. I also can generally recognise connections with people, sometimes even foretelling who will be important in my life, and can maintain that connection, at least in my part, even if I don’t correspond regularly with that person. I don’t need ‘regular’ touchstones to feel close to someone and can pick up a friendship even decades later as if there’d been no break timewise. I don’t have to physically meet someone to establish a deep and meaningful relationship with them. It is simply enough to know that they are there in this world.
I consider writing and mixed media painting as my passions. If something truly interests me, I have to find out as much as I can about it. I remember Dad saying how he envied this trait in Mam and myself. If I’m truly interested in something I can discuss it endlessly (can you tell? Lol) and often catch onto things and understand them quickly but only if I’m interested! When I was pregnant my doctor used to ask me (not sarcastically but in a truly interested way) what I’d learned since our last visit. She was always open to what I’d share. That’s a sweet memory. I loved that doctor.
Irony and nudges from the universe fascinate me and I’m forever seeing and seeking associations between things to form reassuring webs.
I know that I often appear invisible to others, especially if I don’t want to be noticed, yet I hold their stories.
I know I can converse with and usually understand all my pets to a certain degree. Sometimes other animals and others’ pets too.
People have said that I’m kind and responsive, especially when others are struggling or in grief. I’m learning to know and trust that I can rely and act on my impulse/instincts in these situations and they generally bring at least momentary comfort. I used to hold myself back and still prefer to be as anonymous as possible.
I know how to hear the unsaid things.
Day 242 #365daysossybwriting #365daysofhaiku
Full night’s sleep at last!
Joy and love slip into dreams
belly and heart full
Thank you for reading. What do YOU know? Instinctively, deep in your marrow? Celebrate YOU!
Welcome! I'm Sue Blott: a writer of all things, a poet at heart, mom, wife, daughter, step-mom, grandma, tea drinker, tai chi-er, mystic, artist, dreamer...and now a blogger! This is my world.