During a powerful 2007 solar flare which disturbed the earth’s magnetic field, thousands of trained homing pigeons racing in Pretoria, South Africa became disoriented and never were seen again. Homing pigeons navigate using the delicate magnetic filaments that run between the planetary poles and these became disturbed by the solar flare. Unable to find their bearings, the racing birds became confused. Many of them disappeared while those safely caged showed signs of anxiety and upset.
“There is no longer a point of reference,” says Victoria, a thirty-five-year-old woman, speaking to me shortly after the first anniversary of her partner Jenny’s death. “It’s not a year ago we did this and we did that. Now it’s just you and your life without that person. No point of reference. None.”
No point of reference was Victoria’s way of talking about the confusion and lostness that occurs when the magnetic lines go down between human hearts after a death. The sense of physical disorientation is palpable. One of the reoccurring statements I hear from grievers is, ‘I just don’t know where to go anymore .’
A sense of direction is as important to the human heart as to the homing pigeon. Relationships, friendships, and marriages create invisible fields of connection and purpose along which lives are lived and shared, providing our sense of place in the world, of belonging and direction. There is nothing that can damage and disturb this homing instinct like death and grief.
I call this ‘getting lost in the familiar.’ There is a burning restlessness that accompanies loss. We pace, we spin, we hurry between rooms as if there were a goal, but upon arrival we experience the same dizzy disorientation. There is the tremendous urge to move, but nowhere to go to. The anxiety builds. The mind tornadoes. The heart sends emissaries out to the four directions seeking the lost loved-one, or some other temporary stake to which it can attach and find its bearings. Sometimes we’re successful; work tasks, friends or pets can provide us with a limited sense of stability to transition us through the difficult days.
But feeling lost is part of grief, and lostness has its own value. Being lost lets you know you’re not in Kansas anymore. It’s a reminder that the relational landscape of your life has shifted. There has been an uprooting of your home. You’re stepping out the same front door, but not into the same world. Now you’re in Oz. There’s a new road to follow, an unfamiliar road. You can go back into the house, but you can’t get out of Oz.
Lostness also provides us with fresh eyes. We become alert. We start seeing with precision and vigilance. We hear again, we taste new things, we meet new people. Being lost seeds our lives with new opportunities and new possibilities. We may not want them, we may not prefer them, but like the homing pigeon, we need that clear sense of direction to fly free again. So, you’ll need to recalibrate your homing instinct.
If during loss or grief, you feel lost, confused, and don’t know where to go, just be aware that the heart-lines are down. Find a branch somewhere and rest a while. Then, when you’re ready, rise up and begin exploring your new world.