Oh dear, IÕm most definitely a deer!
Last
winter was brutal - the twins barely survived. They huddled tightly against me
all January, clinging to the little warmth I could offer, their black noses
twitching from the cold. Gone was their playful spirit - their eyes were
vacant, peering back at their mother from snow-crusted lashes. We trudged
through the cold, day after day, sifting through the white landscape for twigs,
or anything else that would satisfy our hollow stomachs. By February, our ribs
pressed against our gray winter coats as if they too were trying to escape the
suffering that screams from within. Energy was a precious resource, and we kept
movement to a minimum.
It
is finally Spring now, and the winter gloom has subsided. Our home has molted
its white shell and the whole forest hums again, woken up from dreary slumber.
A rabbit bounces by, splashing in the puddles of melted snow, and I can just
hear the bear moving around in the East side of the valley. I drop my head to nuzzle
the earth, picking up small acorns one by one, crunching them quietly and
relishing the bitter taste. I eat my fill, twenty or so, and decide it is time
to return to the young ones. I pick my way back towards the meadow, acutely
aware of everything around me. As I step over rocks and branches, I find every
detail left exactly as it was before the frost. I slink past the usual trees,
stepping only on soft earth as to not make a sound. I was born in these woods,
and have gradually become an expert on my surroundings.
I
hear a high pitched yap, and go instantly still, my heart rate rapidly
dropping. My pricked ears sift through bird calls, and the sound of fighting
raccoons, narrowing down the source. I recognize him from his bark - the
culprit is a neighborhood dog, a fluffy, almost human thing. He is a good two
miles south, and having little to worry about, I resume my path.
When
I reach the outskirts of the dark, nebulous trees, I examine the bright meadow.
It is an unusual part of the forest, open and vulnerable. My two fawns prance
on the other side, chasing a grasshopper, glad to be liberated from the winter
months. They are yearlings now, still displaying faint white spots on their
winter coat. The fawns donÕt know the dangers of humans, of predators, or even
of nature. They are unburdened and carefree, almost not deer at all. I have to
teach them to be cautious and gentle and explain to them the hierarchy of our
tribe. Most importantly though, I must teach my children the art of
disappearing.
Wide
eyed, and perplexed, I regress, once again enclosed in the wriggling body of a
fawn. A mother deer is instructing me on her well-evolved ways, teaching me the
inner qualities of her species. My lessons arenÕt confined to the ways of the
forest – they are transferable,
versatile. I am learning gentleness and sensitivity, traits I have long admired.
In my human form, I have been given
another chance to adopt the fundamental attributes of deer; by engaging with my
spirit guide, I am fully exposed to the multifarious merits of her species.
I
reckoned that to really learn from my spirit guide, I needed to observe her. UT
doesnÕt have an abundance of deer on campus, so I sought out someone with deer
watching experience. I came across Elizabeth Marshall Thomas, who spent years
chronicling her observations of New Hampshire white-tailed deer in her book, The
Hidden Life of Deer[1].
I didnÕt intend on reading the entire book - I was only planning on
locating a few good quotes and calling it quits -- but I couldnÕt tear myself
away. I was fascinated, to say the least. Thomas went to great depths to note
the mannerisms of each deer, and to decode the hierarchy of the whole forest. I
no longer just accepted the qualities associated with deer, I understood and
identified with them. As
I learned more about deer, I realized how much I could learn from
them.
On
of the most notable characteristics of the deer species are their instincts. Deer
are often seen in the wild with their ears pricked up, standing ridged and
alert. They pick up their tails at the murmur of trouble, and all other nearby
deer instantaneously do the same. Deer are instinctual animals, relying on gut
feelings to know when to flee. I have always considered myself to have pretty
good instincts and I might even go so far as to say IÕm a little bit psychic.
The difference though, is that deer are confident with their gut feelings, and
I donÕt pay enough attention to mine. I often find myself lacking the
confidence to follow my gut, because I donÕt have factual evidence to back
myself up. When a deer hears a noise though, she makes a split second reaction
- she doesnÕt painstakingly consider whether she actually heard something, or
whether it is even possible that there was a noise from that direction, or
often what made the noise. I spend too much energy doubting myself, and
worrying about my decisions. In Power Animals, the deerÕs message sums
this up beautifully: ŌWhen you can unconditionally trust your instincts, you
can unconditionally love all of life. As you do, thereÕs no need for worry or
anxiety, since your body will alert you to any real danger, rather to reacting
to false signals that are the result of prior conditioning of your natural
instinctual responses[2].Ķ
I long to reach this final step of unity with my teacher, to be intrepid
– liberated from hesitation.
Deer
are stunning creatures because they possess such grace. Anyone that has seen a
deer bound away, or seemingly vanish into thin air, can attest to this quality.
I have struggled with terrible posture for years, and I would count this
blemish as one of my most frustrating flaws. Not only have I developed constant
back problems but my posture makes me look older and less confident. The poise
of deer is something that I very much envy, and would like to mimic myself.
LuttichauÕs description captures deerÕs elegance: ŌHer slender legs hold her
body high off the ground. Her long neck holds her head with an air of grace.
The maleÕs antlers reach toward the crown of the trees[3].Ķ
This seemingly small detail is of great importance to me. I just counted eight
scrapes/bruises on my legs, so a little poise could certainly go a long way. My
spirit animal figurine serves as a reminder to me to stand up straight and
carry myself with grace.
Despite
my own sensitivity, I feel that I am not always gentle with the emotions of
others. When stressed I have a tendency to snap at people, and when annoyed I
can be brutally honest with those dear (ha!) to me. I think the fundamental
reason a deer came to me as my spirit animal, was so that I could improve this
facet of my personality. Deer tread softly through the forest, careful not to
disrupt the environment for any other animal. They are sweet and thoughtful
creatures, and have even been known to adopt orphaned fawns into their own
families[4].
Moreover, deer are quintessentially balanced, not letting this sensitivity get
them down. The Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory explains this
characteristic: ŌThe white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus), one of
the most common high-rank prey animals from Holocene archaeological sites in
eastern North America, is less gregarious, more r-selected, and exhibits
greater home-range fidelity than other cervids. As a result, whitetails are
less likely to exhibit behavioral depression than other North American
ungulates[5].Ķ
I vow to learn from the kindness of these animals, and practice being more
forgiving. Spirit Animals suggests asking for a deerÕs help to release
resentment and grudges[6],
and I am working on that right now. I hope that with my spirit animalÕs help I
can become more kind, and gain a better hold of my emotions.
Though
I have a lot to learn from my spirit animal, I also believe we have a lot in
common. For one, I frequently pull a deer-caught-in-the-headlights kind of
look. In fact, the other day in class, my business professor called on me and
my head shot up and my eyes got very big (much to the amusement of the class).
I also have a natural aversion to crossing streets, usually refusing to budge
unless the sign is flashing ŌwalkĶ. Coincidently, my boyfriendÕs spirit animal
is a wolf, which actually makes us one of the archetypical spirit animal
match-ups described by Andrews[7].
Meditators are matched with a spirit
animal that they can resonate with and can learn from. Native Americans took
this alignment to heart, using the animal as one of their few educational
resources. ŌIn days when there were no universities or books, when culture was
passed down through generations orally, native people learned from nature,
which was their source of knowledge. Everything they needed to know could be
learned from trees, plants, animals, rivers, the season, the Sun, Moon and
stars[8].Ķ
We ought to remember that all animals have something to teach us, so our
knowledge shouldnÕt be limited to solely our spirit animal. We ought to branch
out, appealing to other animals when dealing with various situations.
Regardless of how many spirit animals one chooses to confer with, we can
undoubtedly learn something from our animal brethren. Having a spiritual mentor
figure is something that everyone could benefit from and I canÕt imagine the
improvement weÕd see in the world if more people took the time to consult our
animal friends. The deer has shone new light on some of my failings, and I am
confident that I can use this knowledge for my own self-improvement. The grace,
alertness and gentleness of deer are something that I will consciously work
toward even after this class is over. I am indefinitely thankful to have found
a mentor so apt.
Illustration List:
Image #1:
A mother deer interacts with her fawn.[9]
Image #2:
Following his instincts, a buck flees after sensing danger.[10]
Image #3:
Various Native American spirit animals are displayed, each known for their own
form of aid. [11]
Total words (body text) - 1,729
Total words (without quotes) - 1,544
