As I reached home there it was on the letterbox, the largest stick insect I had ever seen: a very impressive 6 inches / 15 cm. So I stopped and stood to one side, not wanting to block the sun, drawn to its size and stillness.
I was enjoying the thought that, like many of us that morning, it was seeking warmth and had come out of hiding into broad daylight to find a sun-baked spot. But then, as so often happens with my mind, I found my thoughts flicking over into 'rescue mode'and the interior struggle began.
Should I move it?
What if I dropped it or hurt it?
Should I leave it alone?
What if the cat got it?
And so on ...
Some of you may recognise this pattern:
the compulsive concern for the well-being of others; the hand-wringing wondering about our responsibility to 'help' or 'save' or 'solve'; and the at times painful anxiety about consequences if we don't act.
It's a childhood pattern of course, set up in my case by my attempts to maintain the well-being and equanimity of my emotionally needy and unpredictable mother. I know now that where 'rescuing' people is concerned, good intentions can easily morph into 'controlling' the other and 'smother love' can take over.When I'm at risk of falling into that unhealthy pattern - whether it's about a stick insect or a person struggling with a major issue, I know now that I need to find a pathway through to a healthier conclusion both for the object of my concern and for myself.
And I knew I would find that pathway in silence, giving space for inner wisdom to emerge as I listened to the Spirit.
So I focused on the stick insect, and slipped into a companionable stillness.
It wasn't long before my soul quietened and I knew what was mine to do.
A moment's prayer for this creature with whom I share the planet.
I left it where I found it, thankful.
