Snakes

Snakes

               Shortly after I got back from vision quest, snakes started showing up.  Unlike rattlesnakes, these desired only to run away as quickly as possible.  One was about three feet long, on the flagstones in front of the porch steps.  When it saw me, it whipped away with frantic curves of its body. My husband noticed a very small one in the cindered area in front of the house.  It was only about a foot long, and we watched it flee rapidly towards the South.  Then one of our lodge members came to the sweat in a Diamondback t-shirt, which I thought was yet another snake reminder, just in case I wasn’t getting it. 

               I think I was getting it.  The message they seemed to be conveying – over and over – was, “Pay attention!”  I was getting concerned.  I thought I was paying attention.  I said, “Snakes, spirits, I’m really trying to pay attention.  If there is something I’m not noticing, will you please make it more obvious?” Soon after, at a meeting in a church basement, a friend told me she had just seen a large snake in a window well.  I went over to look, but it was gone.   This ephemeral creature must surely have been telling me to pay attention to Creator, and to reside in holy peace. 

               Not long after, my husband and I came home after dark one evening, and found another snake in the walkway, immobilized by the chill.  We examined it with a flashlight; nope, no rattles.  Its head moved up and down a little bit.  Then, summoning its abilities, it slowly formed itself into a straight line and slid off the walkway directly towards the South.  I guess it would have stayed in the walkway until the sun warmed it up the next day if we hadn’t come along.  I felt a little uneasy about walking around in the dark after that.  I really didn’t want to step on a congealed snake.

               What could this mean?  What was I supposed to be paying attention to?  First, I thanked the spirits and these good animal messengers, whether I could figure this out or not.  Being a hyper-vigilant fear-based type of person, I was mostly looking outside myself.  Maybe I should be looking inside instead.  I had a lot of fear about moving ahead with my life, sticking my neck out or doing anything creative.  The snake in the walkway mirrored frozenness. Encouragingly, it somehow was indeed able to muster enough resources to slowly get into motion.  When it did, it headed straight for the South, the symbolic home of creativity. 

               Compared to this summer, these snake appearances seemed far more benign.  The only rattlesnake was a drawing on a t-shirt.  Maybe this meant I was not so much in need of warnings anymore.  Rather, I should feel encouraged to move ahead as best I can, however slowly or fearfully.  This was very helpful; for all I knew, Creator didn’t care if I did anything ever again.  Apparently I can have confidence that this is not the case, my actions can mean something, and I at least ought to try.