Since I've been back in the South, I believe that the insects have been paying back every sting-free year. Somehow, they've compressed 11 years of freedom into just 4 of pain. My feet and legs have borne the brunt of this insectile attack. Mosquitos, gnats and noseeums I can stand, but the fire ant bites...oh, the fire ant bites.
The first year I was back, I got Chaco sandals. <cue ominous chord here>
As you might expect, it's warm enough for sandals for a good many months each year here. As a pagan, environmental educator and avid backpacker...I'm outside a lot. Wearing sandals.
Somehow, some way, the fire ants find me every time. I may be with a group of people, walking the same trail, or standing around in the same area. No one else is bothered most of the time. Me? Covered with ants.
The most entertaining story comes from last fall. I was leading a meeting of the Artemis Circle, which is an ongoing club spun off from an awesome girls summer camp that I teach. On this particular lovely day, we were planning to look for wildflowers for pressing. We'd cast a circle, everyone was happy, and I thought, hey, here's a hill we haven't climbed! Let's go, girls!
We climbed the hill and were briefly admiring the view. It couldn't have been more than a minute when I started to feel the pain. I looked down and sure enough, I was covered with ants. I brushed off the ones I could see, but the pain didn't stop. I had to get out of there! I started to run and was actually yelping with pain.
Imagine, if you will, a grown woman running and screaming, trailing a string of giggling 12 year olds.
I don't think they knew what was happening. Running and hollering is something we did as a group, being a high-spirited bunch of Artemisians as we were.
I got off the hill, but the pain didn't stop there. For the next hour as I was teaching, I kept feeling new pains. At first, I thought it was just paranoia. But later examination proved that some of the ants had climbed into my clothes and bit me all the way up to my right armpit.
<WAH WAH WAH music here>
Right. Fire ants are an invasive species. They were unwittingly introduced to the USA by a cargo ship in the early 1900's. Humans, even pagans, have a hard time loving pests. Usually our reverence and conservation efforts are reserved for the more appealing animals, like seals, bald eagles, horses, whales, big cats, etc. Who ever heard of someone with a mosquito totem? Or jellyfish totem?
But it is my belief that all beings are animated by the same Divine energy, and all beings have a place in the ecosystem. We call the fire ants invaders, but they are just doing what all species do - expand into new & hospitable environments and carry on their mode of existence.
What's more, from a shamanic perspective, animals have rich lessons to teach us. It occurred to me this morning, as I practiced Yoga, that I was looking at this fire ant plague in entirely the wrong way. They aren't trying to take my blissful sandal-wearing freedom away. They're just being ants. Is it possible, just maybe, that they are trying to teach me something?
I consulted my trusty copy of Animal-Speak by Ted Andrews.
Ant medicine is all about organization. Building infrastructure for our lives. Working tenaciously toward goals. Collaborating with others. Patience. Self-discipline.
You know that feeling when you read or hear something you don't want to hear? Perhaps it's coming from someone you don't like, or it's being presented in a challenging context. Maybe it's something you don't want to believe about yourself. But yet, you KNOW it's true, and no amount of emotional squirming is going to change that fact.
It hit me like a thunderbolt. These are the lessons of this phase of my life. I made a major life change four years ago. I've re-launched my career, becoming a self-employed professional. I've been learning about working with others in an effective way. I've been stepping my self-improvement efforts into high gear, disciplining myself to make healthier choices.
BANGO!
I hear you, little ones. I am listening. I understand. Thank you.
p.s. Can you ease up on the stings now, please? I'll be good, I promise!
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