I’ve been asked several times for the symbolic meaning of the finch.
Usually birds speak brightly to my perception. Their feathery gifts of wisdom unfurl on a clean slipstream of communication.
Oddly, Finch chose not speak to me. No amount of stillness, meditation or asking would coax oracular song from the finch.
Hindsight revealed the silence was due to a funk I’ve been in lately.
Finches will not tolerate glum. No way. They don’t go there. They don’t even know where Glum-land is.
It took me falling off the roof to open the channel of communication with the finch.
After landing in a soft heap of shrubbery, I burst into (fringing on insane) laughter (for life-affirming reasons that should be painfully obvious).
And that’s when the finches flew overhead. Early in the season for my region too.
They were like little bright missile rockets of joy…surging with energy, bounding for landings offering the promise of a bright new spring. High-voltage reminders of the continuity of life (including, thankfully, mine!).
It became clear to me, in that moment after the fall (no, my life didn’t flash before me) there is, indeed, a greater-grander picture and it’s totally imperceptible when viewed from the land of Glum.
So, if you’re stuck in Glumdom, I invite you to read my full post on our symbolic finchy friends here. They’re bound to blast you into a better mood!
Other posts for contemplative moseying:
Celtic Ogham Birds (and friends)