It’s been two hours since the debacle ended. My pulse is only now returning to some semblance of a slow and steady beat. And the only thing I can think to write about is gentleness.
What we witnessed tonight is part of the shit-show I suspected would unfold this week. Oh goody – I can’t wait for the moon to become full on Thursday. What lunacy could possibly unfold? I’m sure we’ll find out.
Trauma
Why do I feel gentleness – the main attribute of Deer, which came calling on me every afternoon the past few days – is the watchword for this evening’s post? Because I defy anyone who watched what was billed as a presidential debate (but was never in actuality anything even remotely resembling a debate) to tell me they did not feel battered and traumatized by the disgustingly rude and disrespectful behavior of DT this evening.
As a nation, as humans watching all over the world, quite frankly, we were brutalized. What we witnessed was the unfiltered and unflinching behavior of someone who has never been held to account for himself in his entire life. We witnessed the quintessential bully. While his words and actions may have titillated a small segment of the world – those who are as damaged as he is – I have enough belief in humanity to know that the vast majority of us reject this. He does not speak for us.
And we must mobilize to ensure his deranged tactics are no longer a threat to either our fellow United States citizens or the billions of people with whom we share this planet. We must shift and transmute the energy – the rage, the trauma, the terror – that his behavior is deliberately calculated to trigger within us all into a resolute determination to leave these old ways of trauma-informed tactics behind.
First Take Care of Ourselves
In order to make strides in shifting and transmuting these energies we much first take care of ourselves. And this is where the lesson of Deer comes in. It is essential that we disengage and remember who we are. Walk away from the clips that perpetuate DT’s brutish derision of our system and his opponent, as well as his outrageous lies.
Take a bath, walk in the woods, take ten minutes and just stand outside and look up into the sky. Get ready to greet a new month arriving with the full moon on Thursday.
Deer in the Medicine Cards* (by Jamie Sams and David Carson) entreats us to treat the insane bully with gentleness and loving kindness. In a sense, it will short-circuit him. Don’t argue. Pity him. Make a point of disengaging when the pressure becomes too intense.
Eat some hostas.
Chill Out – these hostas are delicious – Photo: L. Weikel
I think it’s safe to say we’re entering uncharted territory. The next few days are going to herald unprecedented numbers of horrific circumstances that no one believed could or would happen here in the U.S. (We need to go gently.)
Weeks ago, we heard the stories and read the articles and twitter posts by people in Italy, and even though we comprehended the dire warnings intellectually, I think there was a deeply buried adamant belief that it will not happen here. Indeed, I think we’re still telling ourselves that. (We need to go gently.)
Only now, it’s cities, counties, and states across the nation that are telling themselves, “What’s happening in New York is unique to New York. It won’t happen to us.” (We need to go gently.)
A lot of us are realizing that the warnings and alarms about the depth of this crisis were not and are not overstated. We are right to be honoring our governors’ “stay-at-home” orders, exercising wisdom and compassion by isolating ourselves from anyone and everyone, including those we love the most – especially if we don’t live with them or they are in a high risk group. (We need to go gently.)
What’s the Message?
On Monday, Karl, Sheila, Spartacus, and I were trudging up the steep hill that eventually meanders through a horse farm, when I happened to glance into the woods to my right. Standing right there, looking right into my eyes, was a doe. She stood stock still, her eyes looking right into mine.
She did not move. Quite honestly, she did not give off any semblance of anxiety or stress upon knowing for sure she’d been seen. Mind you – this sanquine attitude was conveyed in spite of the fact that we were walking with two dogs.
“Hey Baby! What’s your message?” I cooed to her as I handed Sheila’s leash to Karl and fished my iPhone out of my pocket. “May I take your photo?”
She quietly obliged, even permitting me to take a couple shots from other angles as we continued to slowly climb up the hill, stopping every couple of steps to gain a different perspective and slant on the sun behind her.
“Go gently,” she said. “Risks are everywhere – for you and for me. In the end, the way you walk through these challenges will be the message you send. Remember: all that’s important is love.”
After my session with a client today, I made a quick stop for a couple groceries. As I left the store, I decided to take the slightly more circuitous route home, which is actually my favorite way because it takes me alongside my beloved Tohickon. Almost always, when I take that route, I also give in to the temptation to stop and write for several minutes. Since it was drizzling out, I figured Karl wouldn’t want to walk, so the prospect of writing a page or two in my journal beckoned enticingly.
As I rounded the corner and approached a turnoff close to the creek, I encountered this sight: a man with his van door askew, seeming to herd a small deer into the front seat. I stopped a fair distance away, trying to get a better idea of what, exactly, I was seeing, and not wanting to add to the confusion by pulling up too close.
Photo: L. Weikel
I hadn’t been observing for more than minute when I realized the little one was definitely confused, and didn’t seem to be readily scampering off into the brush as the man was clearly trying to persuade it to do. It was hard to tell whether her sight was impaired, but it was clear she didn’t know which way to turn.
Dazed and Definitely Confused
At first, I rolled down my window and asked if I could help. His vehicle was a little over the center line and it was dangerously close to a corner where I know people often approach at a good, if oblivious, clip. The man welcomed my help, thinking maybe the two of us could herd her with more success. He said he’d just come upon her before I arrived and she’d almost walked right into the side of his van. He believed she’d recently been hit by a car – grazed, perhaps – but was probably going into shock.
Together, and with the rather aggressive and unexpected aid of another man who’d stopped behind my car, jumped out of his vehicle, and insisted upon yelling and waving his hands at her, trying to scare or bully her into getting off the road, we at least managed to steer her to the side of the road that had a deer trail leading off into the brush. She refused to get off the road, though.
Photo: L. Weikel
Rush Hour
When cars started piling up in both directions (remember, this is a country road; the trickier part was that it was right around 5:30 p.m.), the first man impulsively picked the deer up and placed her on the bank of weeds and brush just off the paved portion of the road.
Stunned, she just stood there, not more than two feet from the edge of the road. The drizzle had turned to a more steady rain by this time, and the four or five cars that had stopped in both directions had taken turns and moved along. Three or four stopped to ask if they could help. Most, sadly, barely put their foot near the brakes at all as they rounded the turn and came upon us.
Calling For Backup
As soon as he picked her up and placed her on the side of the road, the first man left. Another had parked his pickup on a triangular patch of land about a hundred feet away and came over to the deer and me. He suggested we call the police. Instead, I tried calling AARK, our local wildlife rehabilitation foundation, but of course they were closed for the day. No matter what we did, we could not get her to budge from where the first man had ‘deposited’ her. And neither one of us trusted that she wouldn’t immediately dart back into the road if we left her where she was.
Photo: L. Weikel
I called 911 and let them know our situation. About 15 minutes later, an officer arrived. In the meantime, the man, who introduced himself as John, and I stuck with her. As you can see from my photos, she let me get very close to her; in fact, I petted her head and neck, cooed and spoke softly to her the entire time, telling her that she needed to get further off the road and bed down. John said he’d heard a young deer had been wandering around the neighborhood the past few days; word was that the mother had been hit and killed and the youngster was lost without her.
When the policeman arrived, he was very sympathetic, but his options were limited. In fact, because she was not in the roadway at the moment, he could not technically do anything. (If she had been in the road…the option was not a pretty one.)
Banged and Confused
Neither John nor I were comfortable leaving her so close to the road, nor did we want her to be ‘put down.’ Being up so close to her, it did look like she’d been hit – grazed or banged her head – because she had some blood coming out of her nostril. Not a lot. And there was a little on her foreleg, but she clearly had no broken bones.
I was reminded of my screech owl, Hootie, who’d flown into my driver side door one snowy January night and nearly knocked himself out. (A story for another day.) That experience had taught me that animals can be extremely resilient if given an opportunity to heal.
Photo: L. Weikel
Into the Thicket
Once I realized we humans were just hemming and hawing, I decided to do something. I climbed up the rain-slicked, slight embankment so I was right beside her (hoping she wouldn’t get scared and dart out toward John and the policeman), picked her up, and started guiding her deeper into the thicket. I was delighted to see the vast amounts of poison ivy all around my sandaled feet. At one point, she balked and suddenly backed up, squeezing between my legs. The weeds and pricker bushes were positioned such that I had to carefully pick my way around them and circle back to get behind her once again and start all over.
All this time, John, the policeman, and another person who’d pulled up (I believe John’s daughter-in-law, from their conversation) were chatting and, I assume, watching me act as an erstwhile deerpoke-cum-whisperer. After a few more mutually clumsy thrusts and lunges deeper into the brush, she calmly looked up at me, bent her forelegs and knelt in front of me. She then gently settled herself into a bedding position and assured me she’d stay for the night.
It was raining softly. I was a bit chilled. But she was at least somewhat protected from the harshest of the elements. We all agreed that we’d done what we could, and it was up to her and Mother Nature to see if she would survive.
Yet another deer encounter…hopefully this one has a good ending as well.
No, I don’t have a good deed to report for this day, but I do have a teeny tiny story to tell from a couple weeks ago.
I’d almost forgotten about it, as a matter of fact. But since I’ve been sort of training myself to take photos whenever I see something odd or beautiful or breathtaking or troubling – because I might be inspired to share it with all of you – I was just reminded of the incident when I came upon the photo I took. (Score one for the 1111 Devotion!)
Fawn Meets the 202 Bypass
As you can see from the photo above, earlier this month I encountered this little baby in the middle of a major intersection – Route 202 and something else (I can’t remember offhand the name of it). As luck would have it, I was the first car approaching the intersection to get into the left hand turn lane on the 202 bypass.
I could not believe my eyes, though, as I pulled up to the light. I saw that sweet little fawn out there in the middle of the intersection, its legs splayed in a way that only babies’ legs go, and I immediately felt a whoosh of protective Mommy energy rise up within me.
My eyes swept from left to right, assessing the traffic situation. The cars and that massive cement truck facing both the fawn and me were of particular concern. I couldn’t imagine the terror the fawn would feel if the cement truck started shifting through its 16 or 22 gears, jerkily lumbering toward it.
I was also petrified that someone – somebody not paying attention, or lost in a swirl of thoughts about where they were headed or the phone call they just had (or were having), or simply hell-bent on getting to their next destination as quickly as possible – would just plow through the intersection blindly and not even realize there was a fawn there.
As I say, massive protective instincts kicked in.
A Moment Frozen in Time
In that moment that I first saw the fawn and realized its predicament, it seemed as though everyone was frozen. As I said above, my eyes swept the scene. Convinced that no one was going to ram through imminently, but not sure if everyone was paying attention or saw the little one, I moved my car slowly toward the baby, giving it wide enough birth that it would not assume I was headed toward it, but close enough to sort of corral it toward me and away from the direction of the cement truck.
I’d put my window down and, as I am wont to do whenever I see an animal, I started speaking to it, calling to it and trying to assuage its fear even the tiniest bit by exuding a sense of kindness and care in my voice.
Have You Ever Heard a Fawn Bleat?
Much to my astonishment, it looked at me, wide-eyed, and it bleated. Over and over, this little baby kept vocalizing for its mommy (I guess) as its tiny hooves slipped on the pavement as it tried to run but couldn’t quite get all four of its legs to act in concert. I turned my car more toward the baby, herding it toward the grass and small grove of trees that lay catty-corner to my left.
I cooed to it. It kept bleating. It stopped trying to run and seemed to shake itself calm.
My instinct was to stop my car and physically get out and herd it to safety, defying anyone to hit me with their vehicle. I resisted acting upon that, though. I thought, “Only if I have to.”
In the meantime, I continued talking to it, and at one point I got within four or five feet. I could almost reach out my window and touch it. All the while, it kept bleating and bleating. Its cries were just so…young.
I Felt the Collective (Good) Will of Everyone Watching
I’m glad to say it didn’t mess around. It didn’t fight moving in the direction I was guiding it, and it did manage to stumble up the curb and onto the grass. I immediately returned my attention to where my car had ended up and got myself out from in front of the cars facing me immediately to my left, and proceeded on my way.
I was so grateful that not one horn was beeped at me (this all took place in the midst of that busy intersection) throughout this process. No cars even crept forward or acted impatiently (that I noticed, anyway). In fact, I swear I felt the collective will of all of us who were aware of this little fawn’s plight working together to get it to safety.
After reaching my destination, I decided to return home the same way I’d come. Obviously, I hoped against hope I wouldn’t find its little body lifeless at the side of the road, having made a bad choice to turn back into the intersection.
I’m happy to report – there was no sign of the baby anywhere.
I have been puzzling over something for about a week. I’ve been bringing in the birdfeeders at night, hoping to thwart whatever critter or critters have been raiding them in the dead of night. I have a strong suspicion it’s been a cabal of deer who’ve adapted wily tongues that can suck seeds out of feeders like they’re Pez dispensers and an unholy alliance between raccoons and opossums raiding the peanuts I’ve put out for the blue jays, crows, and woodpeckers (among others).
When I’ve gone outside to retrieve the feeders, it’s usually been after I’ve ‘done and dusted’ my post for the evening – so it’s around 1:00 a.m.
Post-Midnight Serenade
For the past several nights – at least three – I’ve been amazed to hear a bird singing quite distinctly in the darkness. I’ve been intrigued! I’ve even attempted to record it with my phone, with only a slight degree of success. Enough for me to at least be able to hear it and – yes – when replaying it for Karl today, I realized I recognized its voice.
But I must admit, until today, I never knew catbirds sing at night. Until, that is, I confirmed it via Mr. Google.
This is the first year we’ve had a number of catbirds hanging around our feeders. And the reason they are is because they are attracted to the fancy feeder my sister-in-law gave us from Wild Birds Unlimited. It’s also the feeder that I think the raccoons and opossums are particularly infatuated with! (Although they do seem to like the peanut coil, too…)
Fancy feeder – As birds whittle away at it, it becomes a work of art! Photo: L. Weikel
I love learning something new about the birds that share our land with us! And I hope that guy woos his girlfriend; he has a lovely voice.
Peanut feeder after a raccoon has climbed on it – Photo: L. Weikel
Fawns from another year (in our back yard) – Photo: L. Weikel
Photo That Got Away
As soon as I walked in the door this evening, Karl was ready to take a walk. I was relieved, because I knew I needed a walk, wanted a walk, and could easily have been persuaded out of a walk.
We were just rounding the first corner of our walk-around (the shorter, 2.2 mile trek), when we heard a skittering clatter of hooves on pavement. Just ahead, as the road we were on goes straight and the road we were headed for bears right and up a hill, we saw three fawns slipping and sliding on the gravel where these two roads meet. They looked like they were on a patch of ice, their legs akimbo and their inner panic palpable.
Not Fast Enough on the Draw
I couldn’t get my phone out fast enough to get a photo, but I can assure you: they were soooooo cute. Oh my goodness.
They did manage to get themselves off the roadway and into the tangled, prickly brush at the edge of our neighbor’s property. They were hiding. Try as they might, I could see them. I knew they were there. But they were obedient to their mother’s lessons: Stay still.
There was one little one in particular that I could see peering out at me through the criss-crossed arms and legs of pricker bushes. Walking to the edge of the road to get as close as I physically could with my phone, I then zoomed in to the greatest magnification. Nevertheless, the camouflage was perfect.
I just looked at the photo moments ago. I deleted it, not realizing I would actually end up writing about the fawns. But there you have it. I honestly think you wouldn’t have been able to see the fawn, but it occurs to me right now how ridiculous it is that I didn’t give you the opportunity to try.
I gave you Cloud Goblin. I gave you a Sunset Dakini. Realistically, I should have had greater confidence in all of you and given you the chance to play “Where’s Waldo” with the fawn.
I’m pleased to report that the golden dragonfly that appeared yesterday on my walk, and which I featured in yesterday’s post, did indeed bring some welcome magic to my dear friends’ loved one. There’s a light in someone’s eyes and a smile on someone’s face today that are most welcome indeed. (And yes, for those of you who are grammar hounds, I did in fact correctly use the plural possessive, above, because I consider many members of the family of my friend to whom I listened last night to also be my friends.)
In less dramatic news, I’ve had Deer showing up for that past couple of days in my Medicine Card®picks. A major trait of Deer is gentleness.
And They Kept Showing Up
I’ll admit it: I sort of blew off that I chose Deer twice in a row. (Technically, yesterday I actually chose it reversed, but today it was upright.) I guess I wasn’t seeing any situations in which gentleness might be appropriate. It’s not as if I’m some wildly aggressive person anyway. At least I don’t perceive myself to be such.
And then I started reflecting on just how many deer I saw on my walk yesterday. I believe there were five or six, with two of them actually standing beside the road watching me approach them. Another appeared to be a fawn hunkered down in the middle of a field. If you look closely, you can see its little brown head:
Fawn hiding – Photo: L. Weikel
Mind you, all of these encounters took place while I was walking two Boston Terriers. And yes, we all know that Sheila is blind in one eye and can’t see out of the other, and has hearing issues to boot, but the deer don’t know that! (Or do they?) And even if they do, Spartacus is always a wild card. Well, OK, after celebrating his 11thbirthday on Monday, I think he officially shelved even the most remote thoughts of chasing deer about six years ago!
Again, though, do the deer know that?
Gentleness? Really?
So when I chose Deer again today, and reflected on all the deer I saw yesterday, I realized that perhaps I need to extend a little bit of gentleness to myself.
Ugh. I hate even writing that. I don’t need gentleness. I need to get more accomplished! I need to work harder! See more people; write more; schedule more retreats!
Yeah, you get the idea. So maybe that’s why I saw at least 15 deer today. Most of them were peeking up at me from places they were nestled in the fields. This surprised me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many deer obviously in repose, poking their heads up above the waving grasses just to look at me. Even as I walked beside a forest, I gazed inside and saw this one laying down too!
Deer hunkered down in the forest – Photo: L. Weikel
Not sure how I’m supposed to take this and apply it to my life. But perhaps I’ll close now and hunker down in my own bed. I do know I am incredibly lucky to be able to take walks where I am surrounded by beauty such as this. Deer for the win, too!
My last two posts have been sort of on the intense side, and may have actually ruffled a few feathers. That’s especially true given what I might characterize as Pollyanna-ish lenses through which many people look upon prayers and ‘good intentions.’
But lucky for you, I chose Hawk with Deer underneath, so this message carrier is going to take a more gentle approach today. (I hope.)
Indeed, I wasn’t sure what message Hawk was bringing me when I chose and read it this morning. One interesting possibility that presented itself was when one of my readers sent me a message letting me know that she chose Hawk reversed today, and didn’t that contrary description of Hawk contain the very word I’d focused on in yesterday’s post? Tampering. Yes it did. So being astute, and having that somewhat odd word show up in her experience two days in a row, she definitely felt like she needed to pay attention. Well-spotted!
The word was used in the context of Hawk being the message carrier and therefore needing to focus upon and remain dedicated to its job: delivering the message. Its charge is not to ‘interpret’ the message for the recipient, because obviously, everyone perceives life through the filters of their own thoughts, feelings, and experiences. So when the messenger puts their unique spin on that message, they are tampering. For it is entirely possible that they could be way off base and sending the recipient into a spiral of confusion.
I’d forgotten that that particular word is used in Hawk reversed – and I probably wouldn’t have remembered it this morning had Janice not called it to my attention, since I chose, and thus only read aloud to Karl, Hawk upright.
As my day unfolded, I found myself feeling overwhelmed by end-of-year responsibilities. In beginning the process of reflecting upon my accomplishments during this year, I found myself wanting. It seemed as if everywhere I looked, I was coming up short, and I even started questioning just what I was doing with this blog and this 1111 Devotion.
All of this took me somewhat by surprise.
Deer to the Rescue
And then I realized that I needed to apply a little Deer to myself. I take the responsibility of being a messenger (Hawk) very seriously. I talk a good game, saying that I ‘know’ there will be days that my posts won’t deliver a compelling or even entertaining message. But I hate the thought.
Deer underneath, though, had perhaps foreseen that I might take the downward path of self-criticism today – and was telling me to go easy. Don’t be such a harsh critic. Be a little kind to myself.
Photo: Brian E. Small/VIREO
