The fox travels in the shadows and is only seen during the between times. When the sunlight is either just appearing or just disappearing, the dim glow is enough to see the environs, and yet there are so many shadows and dark places to hide from view. The fox quickly scurries from one place of interest to the next, mostly undetected, unseen.
And I am the fox. Over the years, it's been hard to avoid seeing the pattern that plays out: how I wait until no one is looking to stuff money in the tip jar, how I speak my deepest truths when my listener has tuned out, how I go completely unnoticed in a place where I spend countless hours. None of this is on purpose or planned, but just like the fox, it seems an uncontrolled part of my nature.
Here in the blogosphere, my fox nature has been at its height. I've switched the name and form of my blog several times, and looking back, the trigger for each transformation seems rather obvious. Anytime heat or attention felt like it was falling upon my writing, my movements began feeling inhibited, and before I knew what was happening, there'd be a quick settling into a new hiding spot.
Such a dramatic dance I've been dancing here in the dark.
Recently, a playful red fox showed herself in my back yard. We've been catching quick glimpses of her throughout the last year and a half, but recently, she emerged from the shadows long enough for us to get to know her a little better.
The fox and our dog, Skippy, met one night after dinner. Skippy's barking and prancing around in delight caught our attention, and we soon noticed through the window that he wasn't alone outside. Skippy was eager to play and interact, but the fox was more cautious, sneaking up to the fence line and then drifting back. Coming in to smell, to get closer, and then running back into the darkness as soon as Skippy approached.
For about a week, night after night, Skippy would be out, calling for her, and she would step out from the nighttime shadows. As she became more acquainted with Skippy, she spent less time in the shadows, more time in the light, more time in the delight of this new friendship. Practically the same size and shape, when the light barely illuminated them, they looked as if they were of the same species.
The fox learned to come out more freely and even initiated a few nights of play on her own by barking at the fence line. I imagine it must have been hard to challenge her instincts to stay hidden and avoid interaction with foreign beings. She must have been scared, unsure, insecure. She must have been completely uncertain would happen if she stayed out of the shadows too long.
But as the poet Charles Simic has said: "He who cannot howl will not find his pack." This little fox kindled a bond because she was willing to challenge her instincts and try something new. She was willing to venture into the unknown and let out a howl.
And as her human cousin, I see there is much I have to learn from her display. Although there is the possibility of danger and of pain by being exposed in the light, that's not all that happens out there.
Delight. Although it can be experienced in the hiding places and the den, there is a certain level of joy that only comes from being in the light, from learning to stay vulnerable a bit longer than comfortable. There's an element of life that can only open when one is willing to move and play freely out of the shadows, even when eager eyes are looking down from the windows above.
Just maybe I could be so audacious in the face of my own conditioned patterns and learn to let out my howl.
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