It’s that time of year again: the magical days of September when the sky can’t possibly become bluer and the sweet scent of fall flirts with our senses. It’s also the time when Praying Mantises migrate across our local country roads from field to forest. I don’t know why they choose not to fly. I don’t know why they seem to luxuriate in the warmth of the black macadam of the roadway. But this annual trek from one side of the road to another doesn’t seem to be evolutionarily a wise trajectory.
I’ve written about Praying Mantises each and every September since beginning this 1111 Devotion in November of 2018. They were Sheila’s favorite autumn snack. While I miss her terribly, it’s amusing to think back on how much she relished these creatures. This time of year, which was also her birth month, yielded perfect temperatures and crunchy green snacks.
It’s curious how Spartacus (her son) had no taste for them for years. Or perhaps he didn’t want to get between his mother and her snacks. That’s a possibility… This year, though, he’s been eating them with gusto, channeling his inner Sheila.
Photo: L. Weikel
Don’t Mess With the Live Ones
He has learned through direct experience that the only tasty Praying Mantis is a dead Praying Mantis. He mistakenly approached a live one the other day and clearly encountered an unequivocal, “Hell no!” He must’ve jumped a foot off the ground in surprise and there may even have been a surprised, “Yip!” in the mix. Since then, he has approached all potential green roadkill with a more circumspect attitude.
The photos I’m including tonight are of one that seemed extremely aware of our presence but was not inclined to move off the road. It watched me take its photo, which was a tad eerie.
“You talking to me?” Photo: L. Weikel
Stillness
Today these insects were crossing the road in droves. The lore surrounding them often focuses on their deliberative movements and opportunistic hunting qualities. (They’ve been known to wait patiently on feeders to kill hummingbirds.) They’re renowned for their patience and stillness.
I think I’m going to practice more of that tomorrow. Stillness feels like the message I need to hear.
I’m sitting here in my living room all by myself. Oddly, I’m truly alone. Spartacus is upstairs in bed with Karl, which is not all that anomalous on its own. No, what’s wigging me out just a bit is the absence of all three of our cats. I’ve no idea where any of them are. The night is quiet. In spite of the front door being flung wide open, my ears strain to hear a sound – any sound.
The stillness of this evening is so complete that even the massive, dying, pine trees across the road are failing to utter even a sigh. I squint my closed eyes. Surely a tree frog or a cricket will give a high sign of life.
Most of me revels in the blanket of silence. A smaller part, though, noticing the lack of any sound, wonders what life would be like in a cataclysm. What if everything changed over night?
Sheltered Life
At times like these I’m confronted with the shocking truth of just how sheltered a life I lead. I cannot imagine the circumstances of those living in so many regions of the world – and so many places within our own nation. If I’m honest with myself, I turn away from truly permitting myself to imagine what it’s like to have my apartment building bombed.
I turn away from even the simple act of contemplating what it must be like to have my home imploded by a tornado or devoured by a wildfire.
My thoughts, when I permit them to even skirt around those circumstances, always seem to gravitate to the irreplaceable items. Of course, that doesn’t even count the possibility of losing a loved one (human or other sentient being). I guess it all comes down to our impermanence.
The ‘irreplaceable’ items – meaning the photographs and journals, primarily – provide context to our every day lived experiences. They also provide a window into our history. Without context, we’re free agents. Free to make things up as we go along.
You just never know what’s going to be lurking around outside when the lights are out. It’s no secret I’ve had my share of vicarious encounters (mostly courtesy of Spartacus barreling out the door in milder weather only to bowl over an opossum snacking on sunflower seeds or a skunk snagging a couple peanuts from under the peanut coil). But last night I wouldn’t even have known we had a visitor at all had the snow not been quite so revelatory of darkness’s secrets.
My photo at the top of this post was taken last night at 10:56 p.m. I was preparing to write my post and Spartacus needed to make a quick stop outside before heading upstairs to cuddle with Karl. Spart wastes no time dilly-dallying outside when we’re in the midst of a snowstorm.
The stillness was lovely – the only sound being an eerie one note tone resonating ever so softly from our wind chimes. The pile of snow perched atop our metal fire pit cover was one indication of the 18” or so of snow we got. (I was astonished when it continued snowing throughout this morning.)
I took the photo at 10:56 p.m. because of the utter absence of footprints anywhere. It was too deep for Spartacus to bound into (especially this late at night) for the purpose of relieving himself. Even all the bird prints underneath the feeders had been covered by additional snow falling long after the birds had nested up for the night.
2:33 a.m. – Who Goes There? – Photo: L. Weikel
So…What Was THAT?
So when I turned the lights on one more time before heading up to bed myself last night (at 2:33 a.m.), I was a little surprised to see the obvious footprints before me. But then, when I looked a bit closer, I was even more surprised and not a little bit puzzled.
I tried zooming in on the photo I took, but that doesn’t seem to translate well into a blog post. (I’m including it at the end anyway.) So the best I can do is include the photo as it appears in my iPhone, and if you’re interested, you can zoom in on it yourself.
So Many Questions
I find a few things intriguing about these footprints:
They don’t come all the way up to the feeders. So…no snacking on birdseed (or peanuts, although the peanut coil is not in this frame);
Although they don’t come all the way up to the feeders, there’s also no indication that they were either spooked and fled quickly OR that they turned around. So…how did they make their way back into the woods from which they came?
There is a huge space between ‘strides’ of this animal. Was it huge? Was it hopping? I might think a jack rabbit (but they don’t live around here), so…might it have been a fox? I’ve seen videos of them sort of hopping through snow. But it still flummoxes me how they got themselves turned around so they could return to the woods, though.
There seemed to be at least two, maybe three or even four different animals out there at the same time. There was the ‘big strider’ over toward the right, just beyond the cone of the fire pit snow, but the prints on the left look decidedly smaller and the stride is so much more abbreviated it makes me doubt they were the same species.
And all of this happened under the cloak of darkness in the span of 3.5 hours. While I was sitting inside writing my post and reading my book, living and breathing beings were hanging out in my yard, deciding whether or not to indulge in some birdseed, retreating back into the forest without obviously turning around, making choices based on who knows what information or intuition?
Just another couple of darkness’s secrets, I guess.
I’ve been sitting here contemplating what I might write about this evening and the word ‘stillness’ keeps popping into my head.
I know I could use some stillness in my life. Perhaps even more than simply ‘in my life,’ I could use some stillness in my thoughts and emotions.
The past week has been a blur. And actually, when I think about what I was doing and thinking a week ago, it almost feels as though I’m remembering another year, another season at the very least. Of course, part of that feeling could be attributable to the unseasonably balmy weather we’ve been enjoying here in eastern Pennsylvania over the past four days or so.
When I think back a week ago, it was cold and rainy outside. All the leaves were getting whipped off the trees. Indeed, exactly one week ago, wild winds took out our electricity for several hours and I was forced to write my post on my phone.
Top of the Coaster
It turns out that our evening of lost electricity was just our little car reaching the top of the roller coaster. The slow tick – tick – tick – that comes with climbing to the crest suddenly gave way. Momentum whisked me forward – from seeing Kamala Harris in Bethlehem to working as an election official for just shy of 17 hours, from holding myself in rigid anticipation with the rest of the country and world to attending rallies encouraging all votes be counted – I’m only just now starting to catch my breath.
This past week most definitely felt like a rollercoaster ride. You know, how it seems to take forever to reach that very first, usually highest, peak, but then once you do, everything seems to blow past you in a blur?
And now, tomorrow, we’re going to begin settling back into a new routine. And yes, to me, it feels like our forward momentum is a bit of a paradox. Maybe that’s why I’m craving a chance to snatch some stillness for myself. I yearn to make sense of where we are before we’re dragged into the next whip-around or stomach-dropping plunge.
Need For Care
Part of my yearning for stillness is a sense that we need to take particularly good care of ourselves right now. In the frenzy of the election and its aftermath, unless we were directly dealing with someone sick from Covid-19, the existence of the pandemic may have receded into the background of our minds. Not that we didn’t continue to wear masks and exercise social distancing; I know I, and those around me, did. But we may not have been actively contemplating dealing with the illness up close and personal.
If we’ve managed to be so lucky, hopefully we’ll continue to keep it at bay in our lives. I was shocked to learn today that the rate of infection climbed in the past week to the point where it’s predicted that by the end of next week, we’ll be gaining one million additional positive cases per week. (There’s that roller coaster again.)
That’s mind-boggling. And definitely not great when you realize that deaths are on the rise as well.
Settle Back – Be Still
So in the midst of settling back into a new routine, I urge us all to prioritize our health. It’s essential that we care for ourselves and each other. A lot of people came into more contact with others than usual this past week, from interaction at our polling places, to participation in rallies, to attending gatherings of solace or celebration.
It’s time now to engage in stillness. Stop. Take stock. Step back. Breathe deep. Maybe make an extra effort to keep ourselves as separate from each other as we can. We need to to make sure we’re not infected – so we don’t hurt the ones we love.
What in the world is brewing in our country? If we’re honest, I think we all have a good idea – and it is ugly. Ugly and craven and, if we’re not careful, a recipe for injecting a poison into our country that could kill who we are and what we stand for.
I received an earnest reaction to my post last night, my post that encouraged us all to embrace stillness. That reaction was simultaneously one of embracing the power of stillness as well as urging the continued resistance to tyranny. And truth be told, I couldn’t agree more.
While there is wisdom in retreating to the stillness until a dissipation of the current fog of distraction and disinformation occurs, it would behoove us to take one crucial action before our retreat.
One Crucial Action
There is nothing as seminal to the identity of Americans as the concepts of freedom of speech and freedom of assembly. The deployment of what is essentially a secret army of unidentified armed forces against American citizens under the guise of keeping the peace, which is actually inciting the exact opposite effect, is the antithesis of our country’s ideals and values.
The behavior we’re seeing in Portland at this very moment, brutalization, tear gassing, rendition (complete with hooding suspects without advising them of their rights or where they are being taken), and the threat of a ‘surge’ of these secret police and their illegal and unconstitutional tactics being inflicted upon Chicago, Albuquerque, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and elsewhere (all cities run by Democrats, naturally) within the coming days, should bring terror to the hearts of all of us.
We are at a crossroads.
So before you retreat into stillness, call or write to your senators. Tell them in no uncertain terms that they must not condone or enable the outrageous behavior being conducted by the DHS at the behest of our rogue president and his enabling Attorney General.
Which could explain the card that just happened to be underneath (meaning on the bottom of the deck) when I chose Fog/Stillness yesterday. The foundational card, the card at the bottom of the deck, was Sandpiper/Persistence.
Make a call. Send an email. Express your outrage.
Then retreat into the STILLNESS.
I feel the sky this afternoon reflects the volatility of our world right now. Huge thunderheads that threaten potential destruction pierced by rays of light and clarity.
We are capable of being persistent in our resistance yet true to our soul’s need to withdraw into a cloak of stillness that rejuvenates our spirit. We are capable of living this paradox. And now is the time when we must.
I don’t know about you, but between the relentless heat and mugginess that’s blanketing us (if you live on the East Coast of the U.S.) and the relentless and increasingly horrifying events unfolding in our country on a daily basis, I feel like I’ve reached my saturation point. So when I asked the Ocean Oracle (by Susan Marte) for a fresh message we could all hold as a new Point of Focus, I chose what feels like another perfect pick (PP).
As can be seen from the photo above, I chose Fog – Stillness.
Why do I feel this is a PP? Because I am finding it increasingly difficult to continue ‘going with the Flow.’ Don’t get me wrong. There’s no doubt that keeping Flow as a Point of Focus in my daily life has served me well. And it’s not even as though I intend to just throw Flow out the window.
No. If I sense Flow is an appropriate response to a particular situation or stimulus, I will continue to embrace its wisdom. (And I have to mention, Karl and I were amazed at how often, since I chose that card for our collective contemplation, the word flow has shown up in the Medicine Cards* I’ve been selecting on my day, as well as tarot cards I’ve been consistently choosing in our early evening walks.
I’ve been receiving, “Flow, flow, flow” over and over again. So yes, this message has been received and reinforced.
Recent Escalations
And if you’ve been joining me each day or at least mostly keeping up, you know that the guidance we’ve been receiving from other oracles (The Crone Tarot, by Ellen Lorenzi-Prince for instance) has also been pretty consistently advising to come together to recall wholeness, goodness and caring.
While I can only speak for myself, and I probably need to bear in mind that I’m still a bit sleep-deprived, I feel it’s important to acknowledge that making the conscious choice to remain in the flow, and do our best to heed the call to encourage wholeness and goodness while in the midst of a pandemic – is no small feat. While it sounds relaxing and easy, it’s actually a lot of work.
Yes, we can do our best avoid getting caught up in (or snagged) by the rocks and branches we encounter every day, the fact remains that it takes a lot of energy to keep our heads above water. And over the past couple of days, I started to question just how much more ‘flow’ I’d be able to manage.
Photo: L. Weikel
Dearly Needed Respite
And so it was with a huge sense of relief that I chose the Fog card this evening. Stillness. It feels like the perfect message for me in this moment, and I trust it will offer you some welcome permission to be still too.
I want to share what the guidebook offers:
“The Story
She sat in the hollow, surrounded by fog. She didn’t know which way she had come, or which way to go. The vapour was tangible, but her direction was not. She wasn’t scared – the veil of fog felt safe. She had never realized the stillness of fog, the cloak of silence it offered. She was in her own little world, fully present to herself, yet removed from that which was ‘out there.’ It was a chance to just be – to be in that stillness. She didn’t feel the desire to venture forth without direction. She was happy to have this time to be by herself, hidden from view. She felt this fog was the earth’s way of surrounding her by the nurturing embrace of water, without drowning her. She knew she was strong enough to rely on herself and her intuition, away from the watchful gaze of others. She had faith that when the fog lifted, she would be in the perfect place – in the place she was meant to be.
The Messages
What are you hiding from? What is hidden from view? What is visible? What is invisible? Trust that what you need to see is either right in front of you, or will soon present itself. Focus fully on your self. In the busy-ness of the world, take time to be still, to recharge yourself and recalibrate your bearings. Allow stillness to envelop you and be present to the gifts it offers. Use the cloak of protection stillness provides, to stretch into who you are. Walk the path of your instinct – it will lead you in the right direction. Even when feeling alone or isolated, know that you are completely supported by the universe. She is keeping you safe in your sacred place.”
My Take
The bottom line of guidance I receive from this new Point of Focus is that it is ok for us to step out of the flow and take cover. Wrap ourselves in the cloak of invisibility that Fog provides us and rest in the Stillness.
Before we take a stand or make any decisions about how to react to anything that may be happening in the outside world, the perfect response in this moment is to step back. Recharge. Recalibrate.
Indeed, when we remember that, in addition to witnessing armed troops being deployed by a fanatic to manhandle and essentially kidnap fellow citizens in specifically targeted Democratic cities (nakedly politically motivated by our own president) we are in the midst of a pandemic that is exploding in our country – seems to me the most comforting thing we can do in this moment is cloak ourselves and rest up.
Definitely another ‘Perfect Pick.’
We need to gather our strength for the coming storm. But for now: We must practice Stillness, my friends. Wrap ourselves in a Fog that holds and hides us and permitting us to safely gather our strength and wits for what’s to come.
I know. With everything going on in the world, how could I possibly be at a loss for words?
It’s true though. Sometimes no words are appropriate.
I feel as though the weather outside is mirroring both my feelings and my outlook. Having just taken Sheila out for her evening ablutions, I know it’s murky. Rain poured out of the sky earlier, but now the air just seems to be still and thick. Oppressive.
Gray Day
I took a good long walk today, veering a bit off my beaten path to make it by foot all the way down to my beloved Tohickon Creek. This was before the rains came, so she seemed to be running a bit low. Her bones were showing.
No fish jumped out of the water to snag a bug just above the surface. Come to think of it, I don’t know that I saw any insects. Not a bird could be heard in the treetops, or the fields, and the only ones I actually spied in my nearly six mile walk were two red-tailed hawks sitting in a dead tree two fields away from me and four turkey vultures coasting lazily aloft.
Today felt distinctly different than yesterday, or really any of the other days this week. I’m trying to put my finger on it, and it may just have been the malaise of the weather. Could be.
Summer’s Here
Maybe it wasn’t our country realizing that summer’s unofficial start kicks off this weekend – and absolutely nothing about it is normal.
No matter how angry anyone gets, we cannot tantrum ourselves back to life the way it was six months ago. As every day ticks forward, chances grow – exponentially – that we will know someone who gets sick with Covid-19. Hopefully, they’ll recover.
I needed to be by myself today. I needed to walk. I needed to just be alone in the stillness.
If the forecast for tomorrow is to be believed, I may have to dance between raindrops if I’m to get even the shortest of walks in tomorrow. At this point, I guess, all I can do is keep my eyes open and hope.
