The Wisdom of Spots

For June 25 blog (2)

His wisdom reminded me of one of Nature’s gifts we receive; how Nature speaks of instinct in her whispering.   Ginger was following hers, though I momentarily lost that truth in my sight.  My first response was dismay that “momma” and her fawn ran in fright.   True to life’s moments, true to a second that changes everything; my focus on getting us into the jeep took my eyes briefly away.   In a blink, I then witness to her raise her head, her ears, her eyes in an intending gaze.  Then every so quickly she was rushing through the yard at the two trying to sneak away.

Into the tall grass the deer and her babe leaped, ever quickening their pace, their speed.   Ginger immediately returned to my side without further pursuit.  Her intuition knowing before she heard my voice that I had not approved.   Ginger’s authenticity was colliding with my priority.   We do not chase the fawn out of the yard I began communicating.     My desire is that Nature can feel safe, free of harm as they cross our pathways with their gentle grace.    Ginger’s desire is to protect me, to guard her yard from strangers is the only thing she sees.

When sharing the story with my husband, my mind was still focused that I hadn’t been able to prevent the fawn’s fear.   My husband then wisely said it was good for that fawn to learn what it shouldn’t go near.   I, who routinely speak of how we have Divine appointments with every person we meet, and that we honor those Divine appointments when we fully, authentically, be.  I, in that moment of his words, was reminded that the same truth exists in Nature between souls with fur, four-legs, and padded or hooved feet.   Ginger fully being who she was would teach the fawn that someone its size and color was not necessarily its like kind.   The fawn was given the opportunity to learn to trust its intuition when it speaks move fast and hide.

As I reflected further, I began to think about how life is also a pendulum swing.  How life teaches us best when we move in the in-between.   We learn best through opposites, and therefore our best growth comes in discerning.    It is in the contraries and two or more perspectives that we are given the ability to assess what we believe.     Back to this fawn, intuition, and that a dog and a fawn are not friends naturally.   Yet, what if they could be?

To what extent do we, like the fawn’s mom, perpetuate what we have always known in what we teach?  What is coming at you isn’t safe, quickly get away, don’t trust, leave.  Are there things that we, as humans, continue to reinforce in who to trust and from who we should retreat?   In the name of intuition, are we sometimes clouded by our patterns and prior beliefs?   Would a closer look reveal that the internal nudge do this or don’t do that isn’t our “gut” that speaks?   Would we discover that perhaps instead of our instinct it is a spot that attached itself to our heart sometime in the past?   A pain point, a battle scar, a hurtful memory that has managed to linger and last?

Perhaps this fawn’s mom has known fear from animals absence of an intent to play.   Perhaps this mom has witnessed one of her own furiously chased.    This mom, guardian and protector, unconditional in her love for this tiny spotted life.   Her main focus is that she will teach this spotted babe how to wisely survive.   And what this fawn’s mom knows is that animals called dog are not friends, at least traditionally.   Run little one, into these weeds, follow me.

Viewpoints in the pendulum swing.   Follow intuition, reflect if initial instinct is clouded by pain, or let down one’s guard and approach instead of leave.  One wonders what Ginger would have done had the fawn started running towards her equally.  Would Ginger have retreated in fear, her own intuition sensing this is not what is supposed to be happening?    Was Ginger and the fawn honoring their Divine appointments, each being who they are meant to be?   Because we learn through opposites, was the only way for this spotted babe to gain wisdom was to know a rapid retreat?   Or, was fear clouding both of their abilities to see differently?

For us to consider each time we find we are in the in-between.   Are we following our instinct?  Or are we missing out if we feel an urge to leave?

 

 

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