The hawk is back. As I write this, she is perched on my neighbor's fence surveying the glorious land of bird feeders. I think this is the same hawk I watched practicing take-offs and landings two summers ago; the same hawk that came to visit me last Christmas. As winters approaches, she now returns to the hawk equivalent of Eagle Road with all its fast-food restaurants - there are easily 8 bird feeders within her sight.
Over the past several weeks the bird seed consumption dropped off precipitously - a sign that she had returned to her winter hunting ground. But I don't need to read the signs to know that she is here, for there she perches, in all her power and glory. To love her and to love the little spurdies who are even now pressed deep within the blue spruce tree as they hold their collective breaths until she flies away - well, holding both in my heart feels strange. But both belong, and both are beloved.
I can see her (gazing out the window) instead of being busy with tasks (what I usually do) because I've come down with what must be the "virus de jour" - reducing the size of my world to this table, window, chair, tablet, and the necessary "virus de jour" paraphernalia (water, tissue, more tissue, cough drops, inhalers, and fever reducers). And a hawk. Oh my - she is so beautiful...
About a week ago I noticed that I was feeling more tired than usual - heading to "bed and book" earlier (not necessarily a bad thing, as I have piles of books waiting for my attention). As I look back at my daily journal entries, I see the first reference to physically sliding downhill on Tuesday - I knew something wasn't right. Wednesday's journal entry is one sentence - now I knew what wasn't right. But the telling entry was made on the following day: "I am feeling sick today - it is an invitation to take very good care of myself."
If the entry wasn't in my own handwriting, I'd be looking to find the person who wrote that in my journal! This is a complete departure from how I normally approach the annual virus experience - first I deny that it is happening (I am NOT getting sick). Then, I continue my schedule without any modifications (to prove that I am not getting sick). When that is unsuccessful, I use medication as I way to mask symptoms so I can keep going (I will act well and therefore I am not sick). Finally, the virus overwhelms all my coping strategies, and when I am finally so sick that I cannot get out of bed, I accept that I am sick and stop.
Well-practiced (and somewhat silly) pattern! And familiar patterns are hard to break -
- but not impossible. The hard work of learning new ways to "be" has clearly helped me to gain ground in the new pattern department, because as soon as I was aware that I was getting sick, I stopped, and started taking care of myself.
Old dogs - new tricks - thank goodness!
But I confess (with some embarrassment) that today I discovered some magical thinking associated with my self-care strategy - if I take care of myself at the beginning of the virus, it will not progress and I will get better quicker and with fewer complications. I uncovered this little bit of magical thinking when I found myself frustrated that the added rest, healthy food (even a honeydew melon and cucumber smoothie) and judicious use of medication hadn't stopped this in its tracks and kept it from progressing. Clearly (cough cough), the virus marches on. So with the ulterior motive noticed, I am left with the question: "Can I see this as an invitation to take very good care of myself - even if this self-care does not give me the result I want? Can I nurture myself simply because it is a loving thing to do and reflective of God's love?
Yes, I can.
More signs to read - indicators that the work I am doing to learn sustainable self-care skills is taking root. These signs show me that a shift is taking place - I am caring for myself not simply because of what I can get out of it, but because I love myself and want to nurture myself. I bet God is grinning from ear to ear!
Reading the signs is a theme for this time of the year, as the Christian church prepares for the Season of Advent. In Advent we are called to watch and wait and look - to prepare a place in our hearts for Christ's love to be born anew. How I love this time of the year - how I love reading the signs!
Animal Medicine teaches that the hawk is a messenger who reminds us to heighten our awareness and read the signs around us. Of course she has returned - just in time.
Happy reading,
Kim
No comments:
Post a Comment