Half way into my morning walk, through my blue 6th chakra sunglasses, I saw a heron out on the water, near the shore. I walked down the steps to the beach. As I did so, the heron caught a fish. I’d never seen a fish in a heron’s mouth before. I took off my glasses to focus in on this sight. And then the heron flew away, fish in mouth.
I felt this was a good sign. A sign that my life is perfect just as it is and to trust that I'm being nourished and will continue to be nourished. No need to make big changes. No need to doubt myself or how well I'm doing or how I'm doing things. No need to try harder to get more; no need to even think that way. And usually I don't think that way, but sometimes I do. Heron medicine's a good reminder though, when going down that slippery slope of comparison, what-if's, and if-only's.
Last year, while living on Guemes Island, was when I first read about Heron medicine. It’s about standing on your own, dabbling and being a bit of a jack of all trades, but also exploring deeply, and not needing to keep up with the Joneses.
Joneses. That’s looks strange. But isn’t that the plural of Jones?
I feel a resonance with the Heron medicine. But sometimes, like when I go to Seattle, I get pulled from my center. That’s what happened yesterday. And so now I just want to hibernate. Like a bear in her cave. Incubate. Like a caterpillar in her cocoon. And so I am.
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