Bone Rattle

Dear Land, what would you have me know about letting go, of death?

It is not what you thought is it my love? Death is something you didn’t want to contemplate for this particular thing, letting go felt far too final. And even when you've found the courage to let go, you still have to watch it as it falls away.

It’s ok, sweet one, we’re here. You’re not alone. We heard those voices, we saw them behind the wheel there, making you behave nice. You could never be enough. You would never be enough for what they asked of you. And it was destroying you dearest, how your soulskin was peeled away as you learned to dance just as they needed you to. Like a tree attempting to hold onto its leaves, you’d have doubled over, franticly grasping at the air until you were a shape you didn't know how to be, and still they would fall. You have become out of your shape, dearest, making it comfortable for everyone else. It was time to let go, to stand tall, and to watch it fall away. It was time.

And so, it began. Your tightly gripped hand was wrenched open that day, and it felt like you were going to die, it was the beginning of you letting go. And we rejoiced at your inkling that this was a reclamation begun.

And we provided, didn’t we Sweetling, the bones you sought? Your feet followed our call and your fingers dug, tenderly picked up the remains, brushed them off, acknowledged their journey, wrapped and brought them home with you to rest, those gifts of bone. And as you searched, dug, cleaned and sorted you found the hand of your 3 year old self, uncovered your 6 year old you, pulled out your 11 year old, your teenager, those other hurt souls, and brought them all home too. And as you gathered them round, held them tight, sat with them, when they were all wrapped and felt loved, then it was time. You found someone to help you, and you made it manifest. Bone Rattle.

Only when this beautiful artefact was in your hand, strangely potent, compelling in its manner, did you feel it, did you really get it. Death is not a singular event, you don’t get to just let go and walk away. It begins with that final breath, a final word, a final decision to let that be the last time, that enough is enough. But that is just the beginning of a long process. You were not holding  bloody bones with sinew and gristle and fur, no, their bodies were first returned to earth, to us, for us to do our work.  We cleaned, we took, we dispersed those creatures’ lives and changed them leaving only a trace that you have now in your hands. It’s the same precious, the same goes. You’ve let go that heavy weight, and you’ve felt the relief. That relief of walking away well. You didn’t cast it aside quickly at the side of the road, making your stomach turn each time you passed it by, you took time, found a place, and laid it down to rest, and you are did it with love. But sweetness, there will be a time to cover it over, with care, and leave it to us. It’s our work now. You’re tired. Let go. Your work is done. Leave this now for us to do ours.

But, Sweet, this is our timeline now. Think of the age of a tall oak. You are yet just a young bloodling. This will take longer than you think. You have permission to let it go completely. In time, with all else fallen away, the rotting flesh, the toxins that were too much for you to manage, the illusion, the hurt, the hope, they’ll have gone. And you’ll see the bones of it. Only the truth will remain. But for now let the spirals turn. Keep a respectful distance. Keep a disrespectful distance. Whatever you want. You’re free.

And until then Bloodling, these bones in your hand, made into this beautiful instrument, they bring an unmissable strength. Life has gone from those creatures, changed and shape-shifted to soil, to grass, to new life. What is left is yours. You’ve earned it. Sing over those bones and bring your truth to life. Use it. Bring in the discomfort. Shake it up, poke around at what you think is real, feel those bones rattle through your flesh and disturb your lulling beating heart.  Bring things to the scrutiny of your mad eye. Sit at the edge, sing your truth and see what jumps. Overturn the stones and upend the bath. Dance with your rattle til your spirit bleeds. This is your time now.