14 November 2008

Drink The Messenger

That's it. From now on, I am taking the advice of my tea.

What? Is she crazy? Desperate? Or simply open to whatever clues and signs the Universe sends, no matter the messenger?

"When we practice listening, we become intuitive"


I'd like to think the last, that I am taking this tea-bag slogan to heart and practicing my listening. There's a lot to know and a lot to learn, and you just can't always predict whence the information may come.

I remember, in the way-back when I was teaching pre-school, one day I used a famous book to show the kids how to draw. It was a very structured, easy and effective method of helping young ones create recognizable objects on paper, instead of what looks to us adults like scribbles.

We went through several of the examples: a teddy bear, a chair, some fruit. Then I gave the kids a choice of items from the pictures in front of me. A high-pitched, excited voice was raised: "Can we draw a sphinx?" Uh...(panic—that wasn't in the book!) After a moment of silence I admitted, "I don't know how to draw a sphinx, Nathaniel." "It's ok, " he comforted me, "I'll show you." And he did.

Not every message the Universe sends has that same wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee-it's-spilling-in-your-lap kind of action. Sometimes it is just utilitarian stuff. The other day, for instance, I went out in the rather chilly afternoon to hang up some laundry. To my shock and dismay I found my way barred by an animal. A very still, possibly dead, animal. A skunk animal. Oh, no. How did a skunk end up in the middle of my lawn in broad daylight, probably dead? (And where is Miss Marple when I need her? Or better yet, Kinky Friedman!)

And how incredibly fortunate that Brujo hadn't noticed it when he went out earlier. (Believe me, this is tremendous luck. Brujo loves to play with skunks—he bites at the spray as it hits him in the face— and he adores almost nothing more than a good, fresh, sloppy carcass to roll in. Who'd've thought our cute, playful, lap-lovin', bath-hatin' Boston Terrier puppy would turn out to be such a Mighty Hunter that he needs to be masked in the scent of his prey at all times?)

I took the laundry back inside (Why? I dunno. Shock? To keep the skunk smell off of it?) and made the announcement. Chris went out and returned with the news that "...she's not only merely dead, she's really most sincerely dead." Poor skunk, but, whew. My great worry had been that the skunk was sick or injured and I would have to figure out how to care for it. (You may have guessed, and rightly, that that sort of thing has happened to me before—though never with an animal who possesses quite such a persuasive defense mechanism—and that I really wasn't feeling up to the task.)

So out we went for the burial. We decided that over the fence was the safest spot, as Brujo would be unable to retrieve, and possibly attempt to resuscitate ("C'mon, let's play!"), the body from there. Bringing the skunk and a shovel, we trudged down the hill, through the bit of woods to the far left fence corner. When the deed was done, and we had wished the skunk spirit safe journey, we turned to go back inside. There in front of us was the crushed remains of the far right fence corner, the large dead tree that had deformed it, and a perfect escape-route for our adventure-lovin', runs-at-moving-vehicles, doesn't-necessarily-come-when-you-call-him, dog.

Well, you can imagine how we spent the rest of the afternoon, and, yes, I did finally get that laundry hung out. Back inside later on, our brains beginning to warm up, Chris and I had the same thought at almost the same moment: if it hadn't been for the dead skunk in the middle of the lawn, we'd have never known about the fence.

So, far be it from me to ignore a message, however it arrives.




As a public service, in case you haven't had time to read your tea bags lately or you don't get this kind of tea, I'll share some more of the wisdom, 'cause you never know when it might come in handy:

Empty yourself and let the universe fill you.

Your heartbeat is the rhythm of your soul.

Delight the world with kindness, grace, and compassion.

Appreciate yourself and honor your soul.

Every heartbeat creates a miracle.

1 comment:

Darx said...

Wow, a dead skunk, that's definitely a message you can't ignore. Glad to hear the fence was mended.