15 Sep White Fox
I have retreated into the shadows. I continue to feel the pressure cooker of Covid 19 times. David Fuller uses Stanislav Grof’s term to describe it as a ‘non specific amplifier’. This increases the intensity of our experiences, whatever they might be.
My busy mind urges me to step forward into action, but there is a stronger force, which is pressing me back into quiet consolidation. Sitting on the overground, I look up from my notebook to see a poem by John O’Donohue in confirmation.
“This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall…”
Yesterday at my desk, working on the infinite steps of a stop frame animation story, I met another pair of eyes. A young white morphed fox, was slinking through the shrubs, scouting around our garden. White fur caught my attention, fox’s cloak of invisibility unmasked. Our gazes locked for a moment. A second later, slithering like a fish, it turned back into the undergrowth, and disappeared.
Away from the eyes of the world, I feel as though I have become a strange creature, in a mythic realm where trees talk and animals bring messages. Fox brings the spirit of patience. Attending to my creative task, white tail gone, I continue to allow lines and patches of colour tell another tale.
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