I have not been writing. I feel incredibly open and vulnerable lately, almost as if have grown new skin. I am thinking of the birds again. How my teacher would show us to be still, with the seed out stretched in our hand, and if you could do this, hold yourself, they would come, their feathers brushing against your palm.

I always thought I was at good at it, even in the moment when they land, when you are filled with so much joy; you need to be quiet and not let that reaction of pulling back over take you.

Somehow I have become a flincher. I have grown from that girl to a woman who is scared at times when she is still, even when she knows what is offered to her is beautiful, expects nothing more than a place to land, in that initial landing I have no room to put my fear.

And maybe if I had always been a flincher this would not hurt so deeply, to be left with the seeds and the open hand. Yet I remember who I am. I know how to be quiet, to let myself be safe for another.

Birds remember, so if they are afraid, they land differently, waiting to escape. I keep telling myself, it is my new skin. A woman holds a bird differently than a child. She has more to loose if they do not want her, prepares for emptiness when they fly away. Fear is a reaction, it is not solid like love which requires no movement.

It is a slow task; I am teaching the woman the art of stillness---please do not fly away.