“ I also learnt that I was becoming so used to finding bodies on the beach that this mass death almost didn’t register as a tragedy.”
This makes me think of how numb we are becoming to seeing death and tragedy mixed inbetween celebrity news and whatever else our scrolling bypasses. Instagram is kelp with so much death it barely registers anymore.
I am in awe of the way you use words to transport people into the world you write about; the vulnerability of your approach to witnessing death palpable in every sentence. I am so glad I came across your work!
This is beautiful! Reading, I'm reminded of the story of La Loba in Clarissa Pinkola Estés' book, "Women Who Run With The Wolves". La Loba is the wolf woman who collects the bones of wolves, and when she has collected an entire skeleton, she will sit and sing to it, until the flesh and fur re-appear, and the wolf begins to breathe. A phrase from the book, 'singing over the bones', describes both the experience you've described, but also the way you've woven this into a story-song.
Hello from Cornwall! Really interesting read…I love to forage along the tide lines, but to come across that whale vertebrae must have been quite humbling to think of the magnificent creature it once supported. It almost looks quite at home there amongst the rocks - part of the landscape. X
Hello Tanya! I used to live in Cornwall - a wonderful place to be a beachcomber! Ah yes it was incredible to find this section of spine. It felt a little bit like magic. Thanks so much for reading and saying hi! x
“The sea gifts me death each day”… oh, how I relate to this, having lived myself on a small island in the Atlantic for a year, during a powerful descent of my own. I was contemplating death like never before and in that place where Land, Sea & Sky meet so grandly, Death met me each day too. Loved this piece!
I'm so glad this piece resonated with you, Amanda - "death met me each day" - there's something so grounding about being surrounded by the dead isn't there? Something that helps us understand ourselves a little better. Thank you for stopping by x
There's profound sadness, wonder, and joy to be found in happening upon the bones of something once living. To imagine the life it must have lived!--the life that is now forever gone. It's a big experience, and you described it very well :).
Rebecca, this is glorious. The whale bones! I want to come and walk along the beach with you and your dog very, very much indeed. I'm so glad to have met you.
Are those CARDS in the picture?? Do you make cards?
WOW. This is amazing.
Randomly rereading this today. Still loving as much as when I first read it.
“ I also learnt that I was becoming so used to finding bodies on the beach that this mass death almost didn’t register as a tragedy.”
This makes me think of how numb we are becoming to seeing death and tragedy mixed inbetween celebrity news and whatever else our scrolling bypasses. Instagram is kelp with so much death it barely registers anymore.
How sad this is in any capacity
💜♾️
Lovely reflection!
Thanks Kassi!!
I am in awe of the way you use words to transport people into the world you write about; the vulnerability of your approach to witnessing death palpable in every sentence. I am so glad I came across your work!
thank you for such a lovely comment! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Looking forward to having you along for the journey x
Beautiful. I also am fascinated by nature and I think it inspires the most wonderful poetry. I look forward to reading more about your adventures!
thank you Mariella, I’m so glad you enjoyed this!
This is beautiful! Reading, I'm reminded of the story of La Loba in Clarissa Pinkola Estés' book, "Women Who Run With The Wolves". La Loba is the wolf woman who collects the bones of wolves, and when she has collected an entire skeleton, she will sit and sing to it, until the flesh and fur re-appear, and the wolf begins to breathe. A phrase from the book, 'singing over the bones', describes both the experience you've described, but also the way you've woven this into a story-song.
Oh this sounds like a beautiful story! I will add this to my reading list. Thank you for the kind words, Petra, I'm so glad you enjoyed this post!
Hello from Cornwall! Really interesting read…I love to forage along the tide lines, but to come across that whale vertebrae must have been quite humbling to think of the magnificent creature it once supported. It almost looks quite at home there amongst the rocks - part of the landscape. X
Hello Tanya! I used to live in Cornwall - a wonderful place to be a beachcomber! Ah yes it was incredible to find this section of spine. It felt a little bit like magic. Thanks so much for reading and saying hi! x
“The sea gifts me death each day”… oh, how I relate to this, having lived myself on a small island in the Atlantic for a year, during a powerful descent of my own. I was contemplating death like never before and in that place where Land, Sea & Sky meet so grandly, Death met me each day too. Loved this piece!
I'm so glad this piece resonated with you, Amanda - "death met me each day" - there's something so grounding about being surrounded by the dead isn't there? Something that helps us understand ourselves a little better. Thank you for stopping by x
There's profound sadness, wonder, and joy to be found in happening upon the bones of something once living. To imagine the life it must have lived!--the life that is now forever gone. It's a big experience, and you described it very well :).
Yes it is profound in every sense! Thank you for the kind words. I'm glad you enjoyed the read x
What a stunning introduction to you and your writing.
Thank you so much, Michela!
Rebecca, what beautiful writing. I look forward to reading more.
Thank you Lynne! I hope you enjoy the blog x
Rebecca, this is glorious. The whale bones! I want to come and walk along the beach with you and your dog very, very much indeed. I'm so glad to have met you.
Ah you too, Chloe! I feel I have found a kindred spirit as I read your words 💚
Likewise 💛
Oh my gracious. Beautiful, beautiful.
Thank you!!
Abbiamo un uccello morto tra le mani qui. Que bella.