Well written!! Blue is my favourite colour and you can connect it with so many different things. Your section on grief spoke to me, very interesting. I recently watched a documentary on Netflix; Cave of Bones where scientists are looking for clues of our distant ancestors and their was one group they found (I forget the name) where it seemed they would bury their dead as we do today. I found it fascinating because no other group had ever done this before yet they knew to do it, take the body somewhere hidden to bury it. Truly remarkable
So glad you enjoyed this piece, Hannah. And that sounds super interesting - I'll add it to my watch list! I find our rituals around the dead so interesting.
Dogs definitely grieve. When I moved to Aotearoa, my beautiful border collie/ lab cross, Boadicea, (brave and strong and free) had to go into a kennel for 6 weeks. Meanwhile, I ran around getting our house sorted and trips back to Australia to sell the car. I dropped in to see her and play once or twice in the midst of the muddle, but that's all. When I went to pick her up in my just-bought Nissan van, she rushed out, was delighted to get on the front bench seat with me, ready to go. Then..... she moved over to my lap, pressed herself against my chest and whimpered. I held her close. Told her it was ok now, so eventually she went and sat down on her side. But before I chould drive off, she did it again, this time howling as well, for about 10 minutes while I loved and stroked her. Eventually she was sure. She saw that this was not a brief visit. I was not going to leave her again. She gave me another good 15 years of her beloved life. I miss her still.
Grief beautifully described. Your vivid dream of the vast blue.
It must have been such a strange letting go, scattering the ashes of three grandparents in such a short space of time. Finding the right moment or opportunity can feels like a responsibility, but also a release in every sense, afterwards.
thank you Wendy, I'm so glad you enjoyed the piece. It was strange to do it all in such a short space of time, but yes also very much like a release - that's the perfect word for it.
Rebecca, I love your writing! This line in particular got to me: "...blue is the colour of distance, of yearning, of possibility, of solitude, of where you are not and where you can never go. Blue is the colour of edges and edgelessness." Such beautiful writing that holds powerful truths.
I totally agree about grief, too. Animals do grieve. And you're right: grief doesn't only apply to loving a being who died. WhenI got breast cancer, the grief pattern came alive in full force. I grieved the health I used to have, I grieved the friends I lost when they rejected me, etc.
Thanks so much Beth, I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my writing! That piece on blue that you quote was largely inspired by Rebecca Solnit's essay on blue (linked in the article) so I highly recommend reading it - I think you'd enjoy that too! It's interesting to hear how you grieved when you received your diagnosis - and I'm sorry to hear about the diagnosis. I think grief crops up so much throughout life, doesn't it? And it's always tangled up with other emotions, too.
Your writing is so lovely and this post perhaps especially so. I explored the phenomenon of blue feathers some time ago in a poem called “Celestial Navigation: Indigo Bunting.” It opens “First, indigo is illusion. For a bird brighter than a sapphire sky, / bunting is the color that calls to mind our catechism: we are dust, /
and to dust we shall return…” I so love the wide expanse of blue here, which, if we hold it in our hands, is clear. 💙🩵🤍
I was subsumed by blue here through your beautiful writing, and about to direct you to something from Caroline Ross whose stack is Uncivil Savant - you might know it? Then imagine my pleasant shock to have you reference my post in your footnotes. Thank you Rebecca.
Thank you Margaret, I'm so glad you enjoyed the piece and thank you for directing me to Uncivil Savant - I've just subscribed! And I'll add the book to my reading list! I was so happy to link your piece on periphery, it was such an interesting piece x
My cat grieved the loss of her friend, my mum's elderly dog, when she was a year old. I've seen horses grieve for their herd mates too. I think grief is universal. In terms of being a human grief os baptism by fire. It's the making of the self and the reforging that makes you stronger as you come out the other side of the process.
I don't dream of the colour blue, but I do dream of water, especially waves. My wave dreams happen when I'm emotionally overwhelmed. I also had persistent dreams about a tsunami on Phuket island a few years before it ever happened, I was just a kid. I'd never been to Thailand, I still haven't. I appreciate science has no explanation for that besides coincidence. What I'm saying is that dreams tell you a lot about yourself in the most abstract ways.
thank you for the kind words Regan, I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece, and it's so fascinating to read about your experience with dreams and thoughts about what they might tell us. I really like the idea that grief is "the making of the self and the reforging" - ooh there's a poem in that!
It's nice to feel you. Our imaginations touching in the color of a feeling. A scattering of distance. All life is movement. We harken and heal in the illusion of stillness. Like what we imagine our lives to be when we glimpse something real in passing. A beautiful person once said, "Grief is the mirror of the quality of a bond." I believe that to be true...
"But then I thought perhaps it is okay that they do not; it is okay to find all these fragmented things beautiful, and for them to stay fragmented, with no thread to weave them neatly into one. Sometimes I try too hard to make the world neat, to weave things together, to make a whole that makes sense. Writers can do this, I think. And scientists. We can try so hard to make the world linear, to create a narrative, that we lose the nuance of the very thing we are trying to capture."
Rebecca, you put words to something that I haven't found the description for. Until now. This. You framed a struggle for me and now, I think I can look at it from a renewed, perhaps even a grateful, perspective. This is an incredibly powerful post, the weaving of blue, of death, of observing and accepting. Keep it all flowing!
You're an incredible writer! It's almost like reading a good novel, the way you spin ideas together to form something cohesive. This one hit me especially close!
This was so beautiful. I cried as I read it. Partly because I was listening to the perfect folk song at the same time. And also because I have been walking varying degrees of grief for two years and I'm exhausted. Beautiful read that wrapped my soul up in a blanket of warmth, probably coloured blue 😉
I hope all your posts will at some point be gathered up and published in a physical book that one can buy and place on one's shelf. These "meditations" for want of a better word resonate with me, and so many others it seems. Blue had always been my favourite colour, the one I can get lost in and live through, and feel free in. Thank you
ah Lisa this is such a lovely thing to read! perhaps one day that might happen - who knows - but it is incredible to know that you would want such a thing! I'm so glad this piece, and my other pieces, have resonated with you x
I’ve been seeing whales and blue lately (and wrote about whales in my most recent post). What a delight to come to your words—which I’m fast coming to eagerly look forward to as I get to know your work—and find those echoes here.
The subject of animal grief, too, is serendipitous to the path of my thoughts these days. (I have a hard time not believing that of course they have a concept of death, whether or not that’s exactly the same as our own, but I’m not a scientist.) Thank you for the links on the subject. ♥️🐋
Sorry for the slow reply to this lovely comment, Holly! I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece and I absolutely loved your piece on whales! 🤍 yes I agree, the concept of death is a really knotty one to test in non-humans, but it seems unlikely to me that we are the only species that has any sort of understanding of mortality.
No apologies needed, ever. As I think you pointed out in a note, that’s one of the lovely things about this space. It offers up the possibility of slow, thoughtful correspondence. And anytime a comment or response is made, as far as I’m concerned, is the perfect time. (I tend to be a bit slow myself.)
Agreed. Glad we share this planet with creatures whose understandings we may not know but, I would venture, surpasses our own on some levels.
Haha, I did indeed write about that, old habits die hard I suppose! And I absolutely love the sentiment that whenever a response is made, that is the right time. I couldn't agree more.
Beautiful, beautiful writing. Thank you.
thank you so much, Judith! I'm so glad you enjoyed it.
Well written!! Blue is my favourite colour and you can connect it with so many different things. Your section on grief spoke to me, very interesting. I recently watched a documentary on Netflix; Cave of Bones where scientists are looking for clues of our distant ancestors and their was one group they found (I forget the name) where it seemed they would bury their dead as we do today. I found it fascinating because no other group had ever done this before yet they knew to do it, take the body somewhere hidden to bury it. Truly remarkable
So glad you enjoyed this piece, Hannah. And that sounds super interesting - I'll add it to my watch list! I find our rituals around the dead so interesting.
Dogs definitely grieve. When I moved to Aotearoa, my beautiful border collie/ lab cross, Boadicea, (brave and strong and free) had to go into a kennel for 6 weeks. Meanwhile, I ran around getting our house sorted and trips back to Australia to sell the car. I dropped in to see her and play once or twice in the midst of the muddle, but that's all. When I went to pick her up in my just-bought Nissan van, she rushed out, was delighted to get on the front bench seat with me, ready to go. Then..... she moved over to my lap, pressed herself against my chest and whimpered. I held her close. Told her it was ok now, so eventually she went and sat down on her side. But before I chould drive off, she did it again, this time howling as well, for about 10 minutes while I loved and stroked her. Eventually she was sure. She saw that this was not a brief visit. I was not going to leave her again. She gave me another good 15 years of her beloved life. I miss her still.
What a beautiful memory to hold. It sounds like she was a much beloved girl. Thank you for sharing her with us, Jay.
Your welcome.
Grief beautifully described. Your vivid dream of the vast blue.
It must have been such a strange letting go, scattering the ashes of three grandparents in such a short space of time. Finding the right moment or opportunity can feels like a responsibility, but also a release in every sense, afterwards.
thank you Wendy, I'm so glad you enjoyed the piece. It was strange to do it all in such a short space of time, but yes also very much like a release - that's the perfect word for it.
Blue is a color that makes me think and feel so many things. Lovely article. Thank you for sharing.
thank you Mariella, I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece.
Rebecca, I love your writing! This line in particular got to me: "...blue is the colour of distance, of yearning, of possibility, of solitude, of where you are not and where you can never go. Blue is the colour of edges and edgelessness." Such beautiful writing that holds powerful truths.
I totally agree about grief, too. Animals do grieve. And you're right: grief doesn't only apply to loving a being who died. WhenI got breast cancer, the grief pattern came alive in full force. I grieved the health I used to have, I grieved the friends I lost when they rejected me, etc.
Nice article.
Thanks so much Beth, I'm so happy to hear you enjoy my writing! That piece on blue that you quote was largely inspired by Rebecca Solnit's essay on blue (linked in the article) so I highly recommend reading it - I think you'd enjoy that too! It's interesting to hear how you grieved when you received your diagnosis - and I'm sorry to hear about the diagnosis. I think grief crops up so much throughout life, doesn't it? And it's always tangled up with other emotions, too.
Your writing is so lovely and this post perhaps especially so. I explored the phenomenon of blue feathers some time ago in a poem called “Celestial Navigation: Indigo Bunting.” It opens “First, indigo is illusion. For a bird brighter than a sapphire sky, / bunting is the color that calls to mind our catechism: we are dust, /
and to dust we shall return…” I so love the wide expanse of blue here, which, if we hold it in our hands, is clear. 💙🩵🤍
oh thank you so much! And these lines of poetry are gorgeous! Is there a link to the full poem you could send?
Here’s a link to info about the book it’s in:
https://paulajlambert.weebly.com/the-ghost-of-every-feathered-thing.html
Here’s the poem, in full:
Celestial Navigation: Indigo Bunting
A star by itself doesn’t say anything. —Richard Emlen
First, indigo is illusion. For a bird brighter than a sapphire sky,
bunting is the color that calls to mind our catechism: we are dust,
and to dust we shall return. What do we gain, I wonder, believing
that bird is blue? And what have we gained, knowing that bird
finds his way through the dark following the same bright star
that led wise men through the desert, to a woman big with God?
It was a god who taught us that. Or, rather, a man jealous as all gods,
who wanted only to know, who took away the sky and watched
a bird he believed was blue falter, then brought the stars back
and shouted hallelujah, as if the wise had not known all along:
chin up, keep steady. Make no mistake: this is not a story about faith.
It’s about what we ought to be able to intuit. We are made of earth
and that is beauty enough. We know where we’re headed. We can
feast when we get there, knowing this: the same star guides us home.
I was subsumed by blue here through your beautiful writing, and about to direct you to something from Caroline Ross whose stack is Uncivil Savant - you might know it? Then imagine my pleasant shock to have you reference my post in your footnotes. Thank you Rebecca.
Now of course I cannot find the Caroline Ross pice I had in mind - it’s likely in her book ‘Found and Ground’ which I have loaned to an artist friend.
Thank you Margaret, I'm so glad you enjoyed the piece and thank you for directing me to Uncivil Savant - I've just subscribed! And I'll add the book to my reading list! I was so happy to link your piece on periphery, it was such an interesting piece x
My cat grieved the loss of her friend, my mum's elderly dog, when she was a year old. I've seen horses grieve for their herd mates too. I think grief is universal. In terms of being a human grief os baptism by fire. It's the making of the self and the reforging that makes you stronger as you come out the other side of the process.
I don't dream of the colour blue, but I do dream of water, especially waves. My wave dreams happen when I'm emotionally overwhelmed. I also had persistent dreams about a tsunami on Phuket island a few years before it ever happened, I was just a kid. I'd never been to Thailand, I still haven't. I appreciate science has no explanation for that besides coincidence. What I'm saying is that dreams tell you a lot about yourself in the most abstract ways.
This essay was a beautiful read. 😊
thank you for the kind words Regan, I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece, and it's so fascinating to read about your experience with dreams and thoughts about what they might tell us. I really like the idea that grief is "the making of the self and the reforging" - ooh there's a poem in that!
It's nice to feel you. Our imaginations touching in the color of a feeling. A scattering of distance. All life is movement. We harken and heal in the illusion of stillness. Like what we imagine our lives to be when we glimpse something real in passing. A beautiful person once said, "Grief is the mirror of the quality of a bond." I believe that to be true...
thank you for the lovely comment, Michael, I'm glad you enjoyed the piece!
loved it.
and yes
the blue is
and in theirs
we rejoice
💙
thank you Javier, I'm so glad you enjoyed it.
"But then I thought perhaps it is okay that they do not; it is okay to find all these fragmented things beautiful, and for them to stay fragmented, with no thread to weave them neatly into one. Sometimes I try too hard to make the world neat, to weave things together, to make a whole that makes sense. Writers can do this, I think. And scientists. We can try so hard to make the world linear, to create a narrative, that we lose the nuance of the very thing we are trying to capture."
Rebecca, you put words to something that I haven't found the description for. Until now. This. You framed a struggle for me and now, I think I can look at it from a renewed, perhaps even a grateful, perspective. This is an incredibly powerful post, the weaving of blue, of death, of observing and accepting. Keep it all flowing!
oh thank you Krissy, what a wonderful thing to read! I'm so so happy this piece resonated with you so deeply.
You're an incredible writer! It's almost like reading a good novel, the way you spin ideas together to form something cohesive. This one hit me especially close!
This was so beautiful. I cried as I read it. Partly because I was listening to the perfect folk song at the same time. And also because I have been walking varying degrees of grief for two years and I'm exhausted. Beautiful read that wrapped my soul up in a blanket of warmth, probably coloured blue 😉
Rachael, I'm so happy to hear that this piece wrapped you up and warmed you, what a wonderful thing to know!! Thank you for reading x
I hope all your posts will at some point be gathered up and published in a physical book that one can buy and place on one's shelf. These "meditations" for want of a better word resonate with me, and so many others it seems. Blue had always been my favourite colour, the one I can get lost in and live through, and feel free in. Thank you
ah Lisa this is such a lovely thing to read! perhaps one day that might happen - who knows - but it is incredible to know that you would want such a thing! I'm so glad this piece, and my other pieces, have resonated with you x
A wonderful essay which I loved reading, your words flow effortlessly, I could see the blue too. Thank you so much.
thank you so much for your lovely comment, Rosalind!
The color of scattering. Gorgeous.
I’ve been seeing whales and blue lately (and wrote about whales in my most recent post). What a delight to come to your words—which I’m fast coming to eagerly look forward to as I get to know your work—and find those echoes here.
The subject of animal grief, too, is serendipitous to the path of my thoughts these days. (I have a hard time not believing that of course they have a concept of death, whether or not that’s exactly the same as our own, but I’m not a scientist.) Thank you for the links on the subject. ♥️🐋
Sorry for the slow reply to this lovely comment, Holly! I'm so glad you enjoyed this piece and I absolutely loved your piece on whales! 🤍 yes I agree, the concept of death is a really knotty one to test in non-humans, but it seems unlikely to me that we are the only species that has any sort of understanding of mortality.
No apologies needed, ever. As I think you pointed out in a note, that’s one of the lovely things about this space. It offers up the possibility of slow, thoughtful correspondence. And anytime a comment or response is made, as far as I’m concerned, is the perfect time. (I tend to be a bit slow myself.)
Agreed. Glad we share this planet with creatures whose understandings we may not know but, I would venture, surpasses our own on some levels.
Haha, I did indeed write about that, old habits die hard I suppose! And I absolutely love the sentiment that whenever a response is made, that is the right time. I couldn't agree more.