Thorns

Both pairs of my work gloves have holes - worn down areas in different fingers. Usually this doesn’t cause a problem and I can still haul firewood or pull weeds. Yesterday, however, I was pruning a rosebush that had been neglected for a few years. As well, I needed to transplant blueberry canes and make more space in our garden.

The first thorn that got under my skin came from the rosebush and pierced the middle finger on my right hand. It went deep enough that I had to leave the thorn until I could soak it in water and play surgeon with a sterilized needle. I switched gloves for the blueberry canes. Sure enough, one little thorn found the opening on my left ring finger. It was smaller than the first wound. I couldn’t see it, only feel it. I promised my body to deal with them both when I showered later.

The rest of the afternoon and evening unfolded in ways I couldn’t control. Consequently, I went to bed without the luxury of showering and removing the thorns. This morning, while writing these words in my journal, I am painfully aware of these irritants under my skin. So small yet so annoying.

The morning view of the fields outside of my studio window suggests vastness. The sky seems endless. Even my overall body feels like a spacious home. And yet… sitting amidst spheres of openness, exist two reminders that annoyances and grievances can persist regardless of wellbeing. As symbols, they ask me to ask questions: What are the thorny areas of your life that you are ignoring or not addressing? Who or what is getting under your skin? When you give attention to bigger matters, what smaller matters might fester?

Teachers and guides come in all shapes and sizes - some are even little pricks.