Yep, you read that right. After a very happy and peaceful first couple of months in the beautiful state of Vermont, the ever curious Sterling encountered his very first porcupine. It did not go well, for any of us really. I watched my dog repeatedly nuzzle at the poor thing before intervening, and let me tell you, those things are sharp!
Long story short, he’s fine, the vets were terrific, but all this got me thinking a lot about well, I suppose just general existence and the paradoxical nature of things. Not sure how familiar folks are with the structure of porcupine quills, but they are actually a series of consecutive hollow tubes, so when they get lodged in, and in the case of my guy continuously pawed at, there is only so much the vets can do, the rest the body needs time to push out on it’s own. So we have had to wait and monitor, and then carefully and painstakingly pull them out, which, gross, but also an interesting metaphor.
Full disclosure, this was probably one of my least favorite experiences ever, which might inform my desire to erase all traces of this event from my life as soon as possible, but I am in a bit of a rush. Not that I enjoy this procedure, I don’t have a phobia of needles per se, but definitely a strong aversion that makes the notion of no longer having to do this very appealing. The sooner all the suckers are out the better, and I have been tracing over his body with an almost meticulous anxiety.
Sterling is really, really tough. With the exception of nosing the porcupine in the first place, also usually very wise and available to teach the lessons I need to learn in a way so perfect i have long stopped questioning it. While he would never bite me, he has snarled when I rush the process, When I rush to find the fix without giving nature it’s due respect, he does his due diligence and puts me back in line with the universe I belong to. He licks at the wound to push it out slowly, then comes to me when it is time and we work together to relieve the pressure. Not when I want to or when he does, but when it’s time.
Some of my favorite clients do this, and my very best friends, and I am learning to do it for myself as well. I have a tendency to be capable but a bit rushed, to charge ahead not blindly, but perhaps in a bit of a blur. Most of the time it works surprisingly well, sometimes it really doesn’t. Sometimes it’s my body seizing up to let me know I have failed to listen when it’s spoken softly. This used to upset me, throw me resentful against the boundaries of my own humanity. Now I try to trust the process, to listen carefully and divert if needed instead of just stubbornly pushing to an arbitrary finish line. To balance my need to fix the now with my very real desire, need even to live to fight another day. Both literally and metaphorically.
Sometimes a client tells me I have missed the mark on an interpretation or intervention, sometimes dramatically. Oftentimes this is a human in desperate need of practice in self advocacy, in finding and creating room for their own truth and I am immensely grateful that my chaotic flaws create a safe place for them to do it. Never has this been more true than in a pandemic, when everything is so very urgent and also so very wrong. When the very fabric of what it means to be healthy or successful of even kind has been torn apart and we are all struggling back to what it means for us as individuals and communities.
So I suppose I end this like I end many things, reminding myself and others to listen to the wisdom of nature, of the human spirit, and when that fails, of my dog. Maybe with a little more caution to begin with, but as we all know things go wrong even in the best planned scenarios. All that needs mending will mend in good time, breath, lick wounds as needed, and when you are good and ready, full steam ahead.