A few or a thousand birds outside her window wake her way earlier then is good for her sanity. Marn invites the energy into her home. Okay, she made a scrap fabric sparrow, and she’s been sleeping 8 hours since.
***
Heya,
I tell ya, the room is stuffed, with stuff.
He has no eyes on him because I have none to give. The room is crowded with tropical summer sun, fading away what used to be there. It’s too bright, he can’t open his eyes. Perhaps I’ll go get some new embroidery floss.
I cleaved the chair from the bags of old clothes and packed myself in to the space.
A furoshiki of a tangerine or head and tail of a big fat bird.
It’s so hot I drag myself around like a zombie, the slow, quiet kind that bump into walls, repeatedly.
The tail fans out blunt or as a blade. Blunt gets invited into the house.
They have been non stop about the weather and—even before the roaring engine of first bus, before the sun banishes the dark, before I have gotten half the sleep I need—about those on the other tree. All these chirpy birds on the skinny branch outside my window, veiled by my curtain, a foot from the edge of the bed, where I am head under the pillow, hands cupping my ears.
The belly is the right shape. The tail needs to be shorter. As long as it has sparrow bones, or not, as long as it has sparrow souls.
The head is to round too high, it needs to duck lower like it is bracing for impact of something bigger than himself which is everything.
Holding it in my hand, I squeezed it tight, telling him he is welcomed, you are now one of us, you are free to come and free to go. He became more compact, rounder, a little marble that bounces off the ground into every new moment.
***
Wanna try?
How to make a sparrow aka turn noise into love aka create your own positive energy
On a piece of handkerchief sized fabric, place a tangerine size of something.
Tie a knot over it.
Decide which is the head,
The other becomes the tail.
Hold it with both hands. Firm but soft. While superimposing the image of the bird or any annoying thing.
Want it to live.
Tie some cloth on the head side until it looks enough like a head.
Want it to live.
Want it to be happy.
Cup it with both hands.
Take deep breaths.
Feel it breathe.
Want it to be happy.
Want yourself to be happy.
Can you hear it chirp?
***
If you’re new here,
Thank you universe for creating this opportunity of contact. And you for having scrolled down. I just went through a bad patch that lasted too long and I’m getting back to being myself. I write this letter to celebrate the numerous little things that make up the big things that together we call life. If you like it, how about subscribing?
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If you’re not new here,
Didn’t realise until today this is letter number 100! Didn’t want to exclaim earlier so not to set you up for any expectation that this would be any different—which this is not but another day in my life, the only way I know how to communicate, without fanfare, commotion, or some say emotion. It is special like every day that no other day would be the same again.
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Please share this letter with people whose faces come up when you were reading, if you, like me, believe sharing needs sharing.
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Hi I’m Marn (noisybeak.com). I turn unwanted clothes into soft sculptures animals (aka beakies) and they teach me something about being a person. This letter is a way to share the spirit to survive and thrive, because otherwise why the hell did I go through all that for?