I have a creative practice I don’t tell many people about. It’s a bit odd, and somewhat personal (so of course I’ll write about it on the internet!)
I read signs, omens, auspices.
Here’s an illustration of what I’m talking about:
A few years ago, a magpie flew down our chimney. I heard a knocking and a scratching behind the boards we have over the unused fireplace, took a peek and looked into the terrified red eyes of a magpie.
My husband and I set up a rescue plan, which of course, because a wild animal was trapped inside a house, didn’t go according to plan.
The bird shot up up to the top of the cupboard, squawking and flapping in terror. I sat below, an umbrella at the ready, knowing firsthand how vicious magpies can be on the attack.
The bird was enormous. I see dozens of magpies every day, but I’ve never appreciated how large they are until it was flapping down my hallway. And so loud! It thrashed and screamed, spawning mayhem for itself and for us. Poor thing.
No wonder having a bird in the house is a bad omen for so many cultures – it’s a serious disruption (for both you and the bird). I’ve had snakes in my house before, plenty of lizards, mice, rats, cane toads, spiders the size of your face, but never a bird. The bird was different, frantic, maniacal, and full of chaotic fear.
After the excitement had settled, the magpie returned safely outside; I went online to read about auspices.
A bird in the house at best means a change is coming, at worst it’s a death in the household. This was 2020. In a year beleaguered with global disease, death, and disaster, you can bet I was choosing to accept the bird as a sign of positive change.
“You don’t actually believe this omen stuff, do you?” Husband said.
No, I don’t but I still enjoy thinking about it, and enjoy the excited tingle it gives me and as such, I use it in my creative practice.
This was not the first time I’ve encountered an auspicious animal.
Six years ago, we moved across Australia from Brisbane to Perth. On the day after we landed, we drove out to the suburb we’d chosen to find our house in. As soon as we drove over the suburb boundary, a fox appeared out of the bushes, happily trotting along beside our car before crossing the road and disappearing into the reserve. It’s not unusual to encounter foxes in Perth, or any city with enough green space. It’s just a normal thing that happens. But in that moment, that fox was a symbol of something bigger. I’d never seen a fox in the rural suburb we’d just moved from. I took it to mean I was on the right path, that we were in the right place, that this was where our life would turn for the better. So far, that instinct has been completely correct. We live a few blocks from that fox spot now. I’ve never seen a fox there, or anywhere, since.
When thinking about writing this article while on a walk, not far from where I saw that fox, I found a dead rabbit on the verge. Again, it’s not unusual to see a rabbit in a suburb near a reserve, even an inner city suburb. Plenty of cities have rabbits. Those rabbits get hit by cars and meet other kinds of miserable ends, unfortunate but true. It’s meaningless until I exercised my creativity and gave it a meaning.
What does it mean? Who knows?
What does my creative practice make it mean?
I took it as a sign that writing this article was the right thing to do. I was thinking about animal auspices after all and then encountered an animal in an unusual way. I came home to finish this article, a little creative spark smoldering in every keystroke.
Observing life’s minutia is a critical skill for writers and noticing auspices is a fun way of taking in the fine details of the world around us as part of our creative practice.
I’m sure most people would take notice of a magpie in their living room, or a dead rabbit on the side of the perfectly manicured verge. But would most people notice a trio of ravens sitting silent sentinel along a branch? Would you notice how wind whipped that tree in a specific direction? The pattern of falling leaves or petals? A shape in the clouds? A pattern in the soil? A bee shuffling across your path?
These habitual observations are a part of my creative practice, my creative authenticity.
Noticing auspices also connects us to a bigger experience of being alive.
You might believe in something metaphysical or spiritual to find meaning in these things, as signs that you’re on the right or wrong paths, harbingers of things to come. You might not believe it, and even playing with these ideas can make you uncomfortable or downright resistant.
Omens were a system of belief for people hundred of years ago and still to this day they’re a genuine spiritual belief.
Whether or not we personally follow such a spirituality, by playing in these concepts we connect to a wider component of human experience, outside of what we see in front of us every day, or what current science tells us is real.
The fluttering of creative excitement I got watching that magpie flap around my living room, even though it was alarming, was a very real experience. I can use that experience in a story, or I can use it in an article (like this one). I can use it in a more spiritual sense.
What can you learn about the little details you see out in the world?
What meaning will you create?
If you’re curious to learn more about the idea of looking for signs, either as a mere curiosity or from a more spiritual place, I recommend the book, Signs: The Secret Language of The Universe by Laura Lynne Jackson.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the ideas of auspices and omens as a creative practice. Share your comments in the space below, or email me directly.
