The Subtle Lesson From "Blackbird"

When I got back from Australia on March 12th, 2012 — I came back to a totally different world. My parents were in the middle of their divorce. My older sister was engaged. I was about to go to college for my first quarter, which was every one else's last quarter of their first year of enrollment. 

To say that I was on a different sense of time, on a different pace entirely, is no small statement. But that’s just the thing about trauma, especially trauma that your brain suppressed for you in the moment of the event. You will always be “looking” for what happened because your body is remembering it for you. Your mind is trying to lock the event on your timeline, so that you can finally stand on the truth of your experience, and move on. Inevitably, this will impact your level of engagement in your present moment, in your work, in your relationship dynamics, etc… in every aspect of your life... until you can fully resolve the trauma. 

Until you are healed, you may always feel that you are "running behind", or that you aren’t good enough. When I turned 19, I was in the spirit of traveling, and in a state of "what will be will be" — I think I knew intuitively I had a lot to work through still, even after my 6-month transformation abroad. So I decided I wanted a tattoo to represent a concept of, “no matter where you go, God is with you, you are protected.” This, because, I knew I was going to be leaving organized religion at some point. I knew I was going to have to separate, so that I could heal. You cannot heal in the space where you were abused, the physical separation from my family and home congregation was somewhat of a “warmup” for the real deal of healing. So when I got back, I got a tattoo on my right shoulder: a dove with an olive branch. A concept from the story in the Christian bible that talks about the ark of Noah. I chose this for my tattoo because it resembles the dove that was sent off, in hopes that it would return with proof of land; proof of life. 

While this was a huge risk, it was one that Noah made twice. He first sent out a raven — and as far as we know, the raven never came back to the ark. Did it drown? Or did it find land and stay put? We don't know. What we do know is that Noah tried again, after an initial failure, with a different species of bird. That second time, he tweaked his approach and said, "That didn't work; let's try...". While we allude the entire story of the ark to God's promise and the re-building of humanity and society on earth, the story of the ark is really one of transformation. While God has the vision, where He makes the big moves of blotting out the earth with a flood; on the small-scale, He has a collaborator mirroring His moves. Aside from first building the ark, a huge assignment in itself, Noah's next task was finding life, to establish a foundation on ground. To "come back down to earth" in a sense, Noah had to try again. He had to accept failure, acknowledging and accepting what didn't work — where this was following God's lead. If God Himself can admit failure, why do so many struggle to? Something to consider. 

I've lived most of my life feeling split in two, and going back to my tattoo — I really wanted to drive the point across of what I was embodying, with its bold lines. Much to my regret — I don't love the look of it and want it to be transformed into a piece of art. I feel a smidge like a branded cow (but hey, cows are cute). But at the time, I was focused on conveying the message, "No matter where I go, even if that means leaving organized religion, God is with me. I am protected. There is a higher power with me." If you’ve read my blog post, “Are You Listening To The Metaphysics in Your Life?” — you’ll see what I mean about protection.

The common misconception and perceived judgments though is that when one leaves organized religion, it means they are abandoning faith, their spirituality and God. And this is where the gap in our world ruminates: "if I don't see you in church, that means...x y z assumptions about your character, your faith, what level of respect you deserve." And that last one, yes — that's an illness that has spread like wildfire not just in churches, but in our world. When Jesus healed the blind man, he didn't gate-keep His gift of healing. When Jesus had children come to Him, He didn't discriminate one against the other based off of their current state of cleanliness or status from their parents in society. He didn't gaslight the woman who lived with a disabling spirit for nearly 2 decades — He also didn't blame her for it. He helped. Point-blank, period. If God made the world, why wouldn't He be everywhere? That includes His work and His plans, so long as He can find the right collaborators to join Him... Like Noah. And that's just it: this world? We got a lot of problems to solve, where the biggest ones receive the least amount of attention. While it's our human nature to not want to deal with it, Jesus was sent to seek and save — not condemn or judge. 

When you finally stop trying to force the things that don't work in your life, your life will improve. 4 years after getting this tattoo, I stepped down from my position in worship directing, because I kept having insomnia on Saturday nights. I showed up to service like a zombie. After so many months of doing this, I decided it wasn't worth fighting through, and while I loved leading, it was not something that fit in my life, at least at the time. Life doesn't come from force. And when it comes to triggers, listen. 

But the thing is, all this time since getting this tattoo at 19, I’ve had a blackbird on my right shoulder. It’s a dove, but when looking at the tattoo itself, it’s a blackbird. Without even knowing it, having forgotten about them altogether by this point in time (I write about this in my post, “I Purchased a Bouquet of Unicorn Baby’s Breath”), I had brought an aspect of my love for The Beatles up from the dead with this tattoo. In a sense, my wings had been broken, and I wanted to fly — that meant leaving a place of brokenness so that I could go find life. It meant accepting what didn't work the first time, and trying again after failure, with a new method. It meant I had to keep showing up, for the life I wanted. 

So in a way, I got the song tattooed on my body. 

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night.

Take these broken wings and learn to fly. 

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night. 

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. 

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.

Blackbird, fly, into the light of the dark black night.”

While the metaphors of broken wings help us understand the reality of what it means to be disabled — handicapped in living true to your good nature — it’s really the last line of the song that speaks truth to overcoming trauma and pain (it's how you overcome and reverse the handicap). This is also where the subtle lesson from the song is found. 

“Blackbird, fly, into the light of the dark black night.”

Something dark happened, invaded your life and robbed you of something: your freedom; your identity; your dignity — but who was there, in it? 

YOU. 

You were the light, in the dark black night. The adversity, the abuse, the trauma, the pain.

So, your charge? 

Embrace them — embrace you. 

And broken wings or not, why would a bird fly? (I'm not talking about owls) What even motivates them to look toward the light? The secret sauce? 

Gratitude. 

Thinking back to Noah on the ark then, when the raven didn't come back. He and His family's life were in God's hands — literally. So why try again? There was certainty, there was the truth of the experience they found themselves in that God not only spared their lives from the flood, but chose them to re-ignite life on the earth. Day-in and day-out on that ark, they watched the sunrise, and the sunset while floating above the heights of mountains, sitting in, what I think, gratefulness. Because why try again, if you're not grateful that you get to be apart of something greater than yourself? Why fly toward the light, if you're not grateful that it's in you and you get to share and amplify it with others? 

Like Noah, we get to choose. 

Can we accept failure? 

Can we be grateful for the light in us? 

Can we adjust to something new that will actually heal our broken wings to fly? 

There's your light in the dark black night. If you don't choose that, do you realize what you are choosing? 

It's simple, really. 

-B