Signs of life

Butterfly illustration

#tinytruth I see signs. (I wanted to type I see dead people, if only to see the kind of reaction I'd get 😉) But signs are safer, so let's stick with that! ⁣

We don't really 'celebrate' in a big way most of our societies usual traditions... instead I think we focus more on the tiny things we think are worth celebrating... daily mini-wins and moments. But Easter, and Earth Day did give me a prompt to pause and reflect... on springtime, and birth, and death.⁣

I find when I'm out walking I'm always more aware of the signs that Dad's energy is still with me. I find these signs come to me in so many different ways, and the other day, when I felt him really strongly an orange tip butterfly passed by me and I smiled... and as I was calling my sister to say what I'd seen, a second one appeared. Like magic. I truly believe. Then, another sign of things I needed to hear, was I came across this passage in the book called 'Fear' by Thich Nhat Hanh...
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“When you lose a loved one, you suffer. But if you know how to look deeply, you have a chance to realize that his or her nature is truly the nature of no birth, no death. There is manifestation and there is the cessation of manifestation in order to have another manifestation. You have to be very keen and very alert in order to recognize the new manifestations of just one person. But with practice and effort, you can do it. Pay attention to the world around you, to the leaves and the flowers, to the birds and the rain. If you can stop and look deeply, you will recognise your beloved manifesting again and again in many forms. You will release your fear and pain and again embrace the joy of life.⁣⁣”⁣

Nature is like a melting pot of magic signs for me, and these signs bring me comfort, and hope... and definitely make me think more about life and death, and this crazy world that we live in. It also gives me a space to think about the things I believe are worth saving and fighting for, and the things I can release, and let fly. ⁣

Does nature do that for you... send you tiny signs of life? Of hope? ⁣

Feels like love

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Our senses are like little doorways that can take us back in time.⁣

I think I'm going to keep coming back to our senses for a little while, as there are so many iterations of this concept that keep rolling around my head. Being an HSP (highly sensitive person - google it if you’re interested, I think it’s pretty fascinating) my acute sense of smell is a blessing and a curse. I literally gag at the smell of anything unpleasant (I'm not going to go into details). On the flip side, however, certain scents bring about really positive connections within me. I'm not always great with remembering people, or names, but scents seem to settle inside. (sidenote - essential oils get a huge thumbs up from me for helping these positive brain connections too!). ⁣

Today would have been Dad's birthday. I'll keep talking of him in here, as his death helps me process his life, and keeps me connected with him. My dad lived on the other side of the world from when I was 10. That was hard. But when I did get to see him, he gave me the safest, strongest, gentlest giant hugs that a man can give. His gift. And within this gift, was the gift of his scent. ⁣

Dad was always immaculately clean and smelled of aftershave, with a gentle whisper of whisky in the evenings. So the only thing I asked for after his death was the name of his aftershave. And the thing about this gift of his scent that I now have, is that I wear it every day on the inside of my left arm. Hugging doesn't come easily to me, but it's helping me learn to hug myself, and it helps me feel safe. For me, I get to feel love in a bottle of XS from Paco Rabanne. This may sound strange to you, but for me it's the most incredible gift.⁣

I received some gorgeous messages on Sunday's post, and Brenda shared with me that she 'feels' her mum through baking her recipes (smell and taste) and the music she used to listen to with her (hearing), and through holding sacred objects she used to touch. Isn't that incredible. I love that we can tune into this incredible feeling of love, and home, through our various senses. ⁣

So, here's a big one... what does love, or home, smell like to you?

Magic

Dragonfly

I believe in magic.
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The day before dad died I was visited by a huge blue dragonfly. It flew around our sunroom and I gently cupped it in my hands before releasing it into the garden... A few days after he passed, a similarly large, blue dragonfly was flying around my sister’s bedroom in London. Neither of us live near water or have ever had them in our homes.
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Have you heard about psychopomps before? They’re spiritual guides of a person’s soul. Amongst many cultures dragonflies symbolise transformation, renewal and resurrection. The dragonfly now carries so much meaning and magic for me. Another #tinygiant for sure.
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There’s also something about the strength of the body, and the grace in the wings that just gets me. Dad had four kids, I like to think of him as the strength, and each of us as a wing. Together we fly...
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This evening I’ve spent happily doodling potential tattoos whilst listening to music. Music is magic for my mind sometimes. When I choose to listen.
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“Our dreams will break the boundaries of our fear.” Brandon Flowers, ‘Crossfire’. Fitting I think 🖤

Sunrise

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I see him in the sunrise.
I feel him in my soul.
Yet I still wish with all my heart,
He didn’t have to go
— Betsy

Grief is a powerful force that I have no wish to fight. Walking at sunrise today and thoughts of my dad sweep through me. He is with me at sunrise a lot these days. We didn’t get to go on our walk together this summer like we’d planned… and yet my Giant is with me forever now.

Hiraeth

Hiraeth

Hiraeth is a Welsh concept of longing for home, which can be loosely translated as 'nostalgia', or, more commonly, 'homesickness'. Many Welsh people claim 'hiraeth' is a word which cannot be translated, meaning more than solely "missing something" or "missing home." To some, it implies the meaning of missing a time, an era, or a person. It is associated with the bittersweet memory of missing something or someone, while being grateful of that/ their existence.