Dear Friends ~ Is it strange to envy a turtle? Not just turtles in general—I'm referring to the specific Terrapene carolina Carolina (box turtle) who took up residence in the tall grasses behind the woodshed this summer. She and I often crossed paths, especially in the morning hours while she bathed and sipped from the puddles in the gravel road. I liked to crouch, peer into her wary amber eyes, and make small talk about the weather. My dog proved similarly excited about the turtle, though he tended to make more noise about it, barking and prodding her shell like you or I might knock on a neighbor's front door.
I'm self-aware enough to know that if a giant ever perched over my swimming hole or a furry beast's teeth chomped and clattered millimeters away from my face, my fearful response would not be what anyone deemed dignified. This turtle, on the other hand, was just plain cool. The left side of her carapace was warped and scarred, evidence that she had once survived a predator's attack. Yet she never fled from us; she merely ambled. And when my dog was too persistent, she'd gradually gather her limbs into her shell and pull up the hinged plastron that protects her head.
And that is precisely what I envy about this turtle: She understands when it's time to stop. She follows her instinct to turn inward.
Autumn has now arrived in the northern hemisphere, along with the seasonal invitation to a slower pace and introspection. For us humans, it can feel wrong to lean into solitude, especially in a fraught moment when our need for advocacy and community is glaringly clear. It can also feel abrupt, like powering off a radio that's blasting rock music at full volume. The initial silence rings and thumps with questions that seem impossible to answer: How can people see the world so very differently? How can I love someone when we disagree about moral issues? When I see harm? Can we ever find common ground? Dream up new possibilities to meet all of our needs?
This month's newsletter hums with the voices of wise ones who've demonstrated the courage of a box turtle, to pause and turn inward. Out of that silence, they offer us fresh reminders about what it means to move from resentment to freedom, from enmity to...love. ~ Joy
Carl Hammerschlag relates a healing interaction he had with a very ill old Pueblo priest and clan chief, whom he was treating in the hospital:
Suddenly, there was this beautiful smile, and he asked me, "Where did you learn to heal?"
Although I assumed my academic credentials would mean little to the old man, I responded almost by rote, rattling off my medical education, internship and certification.
Again the beatific smile and another question: "Do you know how to dance?"
... I answered that, sure, I liked to dance; and I shuffled a little at his bedside. Santiago chuckled, got out of bed, and short of breath, began to show me his dance.
"You must be able to dance if you are to heal people," he said.
"And will you teach me your steps?" I asked, indulging the aging priest.
Santiago nodded. "Yes, I can teach you my steps, but you will have to hear your own music.”