Redbird
When birds bring focus.
I recently met with the organizer of a Palestinian Youth Movement in Toronto. We gathered beneath a maple tree, sharing tea and coffee, and delved into our shared experiences of anger, grief, and the profound significance of art and imagination. As a Palestinian, she and her family have endured relentless discrimination since their move to Canada, a story that resonated deeply with my own. I recalled my early days in Toronto when classmates labeled my father a terrorist simply because he was Bosnian and wore a beard—an unjust judgment passed on him for being a war refugee. Despite having the privileges of a white man, he was still branded a terrorist simply for being born in a Muslim country.
As we talked, a beautiful Cardinal circled around. In a symbolic gesture, it landed on the tree beside us, watching intently and chirping sweetly. It was my cue to focus, to soften, to bring myself back to the moment and back to my body.
Ever since I moved back to Canada, Cardinals have been visiting me in both dreams and waking reality, marking the arrival of a new messenger. In my maiden days, it was Hawks and Owls. When I was pregnant with Aki, it was Owls, Hummingbirds, and Eagles. When I gave birth, it was Crows. And now, it's a Cardinal.
In Ojibwe traditions, Cardinals are seen as powerful symbols of spiritual guidance and renewal, often representing the birth of new beginnings and the connection between the physical and spiritual worlds. They are also associated with feminine energy and the art of listening, embodying a deep connection to intuition.
One word has persistently surfaced this year through my healing work, conversations, and spiritual connections: "refocus." When we listen attentively, a single word often emerges with exceptional clarity, commanding our attention and holding a more profound significance. It is as if this word is a beacon, revealing insights that await us if we are still enough to listen and open enough to receive its message.
Part of me knows this is an initiation—though to what, I'm not sure yet.
My listening has sharpened, echoing the way birds attune to every subtle sound in their environment. My vision has clarified, reminiscent of the Eagle's piercing gaze. My perception has grown more attuned, like an Owl's mystical ability to navigate the subtle currents of the wind. This initiation, I am certain, is unfolding from the realm of Birds.
Refocusing has helped me navigate the grief and despair that settle in during moments of watching massacre after massacre unfold around the world. It has guided me through the bleakness of the future and the memories of my childhood marked by terror, fear, and hunger.
Refocusing by grounding myself in my body has become a daily ritual. Instead of reaching for my phone in the morning, I start stretching, lighting a candle, and burning cedar lokta. These small acts remind me that there are many ways to care, honor traditions, and take action.
The candle burns for all the lives taken, for my ancestors, for the birds, and for the future. I read and jot notes in my journal as Aki plays with his toys while the tea brews on the stove. I want to be nothing but his mother. I long for all mothers to be with their children. I cry, my knees start to shake, and my belly aches. I pick up the phone, trying to connect with the world and escape these feelings by scrolling. Refocus. I put the phone in the cupboard above the fridge, convincing myself it's out of reach. I pour the tea, dance with Aki, and reconnect with our bodies. What do they want? They always want to be outdoors.
We go for a walk, hug the trees, laugh, sing, and walk barefoot. Out in nature, part of my grief, pain, and anxiety evaporates. Everything slows down—simplified, present, grounded. It feels meaningful, restorative, and uplifting. The body moves and shakes, feeling the love, and it becomes rooted in it. I remind myself that grief and love are two flowers blooming on the same stem. By honoring what my body needs, I return to my center. Replenished by nature's embrace and the guidance of my intuition, I can now serve with renewed strength. I confront injustice and horror without falling into despair. And when I falter, as I inevitably will, I turn back to nature and listen deeply to what my body has to say.
When I want to center my own stories and pain in conversations to relate, I remind myself that genuine connections can be made through silence, through witnessing, through listening. Refocus. This is a time to center Palestinian stories and voices to avoid harming, invalidating, or dismissing those who are fighting for their lives in real-time.
Refocusing has helped me decolonize my language. When I used three words in conversations this week that felt unsettling to my body—"landlord," "dismembered," and "photobomb"—a Cardinal seemed to fly by as a sign.
The Cardinal brought me back into clarity, reminding me that my language impacts not only me but also the subtle world around me, our kin, and our environments. Using language nonchalantly reinforces power structures. Now, we must take everything seriously, listen to the nuances of the living world, and reshape it with its guidance.
We must attune ourselves to our intuition, the whispers of birds, the rhythms of our hearts, and the echoes of our dreams. Our inner voices help us access unprocessed traumas and unconscious feelings. This attentiveness honors our spirits and is a duty to everyone enduring violence in the world today. We bear the responsibility to draw upon every facet of our being—every tool and every realm—to challenge and dismantle the systems that devastate life.
The refocusing and realigning, being pulled back to the present and the web of life, help me ask myself: Who do I want to be amid the crumbling of empires? What kind of future am I consciously weaving for my son, all children, elders, and all beings?
As I sit on the floor of our backyard, writing this, a Cardinal lands on the fence. I smile, exhale, and trust this wild animal as an extension of my body.
With love,
Vanja
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This was such a beautiful read Vanja 🥹
A wonderful and tender piece of writing, as always. I'd dare saying it's the initiation into becoming a builder of a new, compassionate and mature world.