Feathers floating in the ether of our existence

Daniel Bartels

Kathleen Bartels

André Bartels

Lenore Bartels

Ernfriend Bartels

Enid Bartels

Joey Elliot

JT Elliot

Bertha Bartels

Ludwig Bartels

Klaas

Mamncane

The Navajo understand feathers as the place where the spiritual and the physical kiss. A feather is not merely a thing the bird has shed; it is the visible trace of something that has flown between worlds. It carries prayer upward and brings messages down. It is breath made visible, spirit made tangible.

So when one finds me, drifting over granite rocks, floating on the breeze, or lying unexpectedly on brick paving, I stop breathing for a second. Whoever has passed through my life and is now on the other side, seems to lean in close. My wife’s comforting laugh. My brother’s sheepish grin. My mom with a bouquet of St Joseph’s Lilly’s in her hands. My Gomamma with a plate of Butterkuchen. The old Zulu woman who taught me how to listen to wind. Even those I knew only briefly, the ones whose kindness lodged in me like a splinter of light, they all arrive at that mystic feather.

I pick it up, twirl it between thumb and forefinger, and feel the membrane between here and there grow thin. For a moment the air is crowded with the unseen. Then I tuck the feather into my pocket or my hatband and walk on, carrying them with me, lighter than grief, heavier than air. But content.

And for the living? They will only become feathers if we provide them unconditional love…

Ronald Bartels | LinkedIn | Instagram

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