Moving Slowly

Turtles have always fascinated me. When we go to see my mom in the Low Country, there is a certain place near Bamberg where the Edisto backs up into a swamp along the side of the highway. There is always an abundant menagerie of turtles sunning themselves on fallen limbs in this area, and I have to slow down to count them and say hello. Turtles live a long time, so it's very possible I've been greeting the same ones for years now of traveling to and from the black water region of South Carolina to the foothills near the North Carolina border where we now live. Turtles are a great model from the animal world on living the contemplative way—a way which by it's very nature calls us to slow down and take more of our surroundings in.

There are many ways in which we can move slowly. We can choose to be in a contemplative, meditative place in our lives, and metaphorically slow down in our moving in order to pay attention to what is going on around us. We can move slowly from the increasing joint pain that inflicts us as our wisdom hopefully increases. We can also move slowly from fear, inhibitions, indecisiveness, or practicalities. Whatever the reason, the turtle is an apt symbol for slowing down, basking in the sunshine, and sharing life in community.

According to Ted Andrews in Animal Speak the turtle is "associated with longevity. Long life and groundedness within life is part of what is associated with the turtle. It does not move fast. It is as if, on some level, turtle knows it has all the time in the world. Turtle medicine can teach new perceptions about time and our relationship with it."

In a single day last autumn, I saw three different turtles. These sightings were unusual not just for the sheer force of the number three, but also because of the circumstances in which I saw the turtles. I saw the first one crossing Highway 101 near our house. I was amazed as I pulled my car up behind a stopped truck whose driver got out at the same time a driver of another truck coming from the opposite direction stopped and got out (holding up traffic) to rescue the turtle and move her to the side of the road. Later that same day, I was with my husband and we were traveling along Locust Hill Road where I saw another turtle just trotting along the side of the highway, safely off in the grass, but nonetheless very noticeable with her high-held head. Finally, that evening, I had the sad sighting of a dead turtle that was apparently crushed under the wheel of a careless driver, it's shell cracked and splayed open.

These turtles all had a message for me. The first turtle reminded me that sometimes I get myself into tight spots—especially in my hurry to live life to the fullest. At times like that I need to return to myself, to withdraw into my shell so that I can return to a balanced life. Turtles remind us to think circumstances through carefully before acting on them. The second turtle who seemed happy to me reminded me of Mother Earth—and, in fact, in Native American mythology the turtle's shell was used by the gods to form the foundation for the Earth. There is definitely a connection between groundedness (being close to the earth) that is protective, nurturing and sustaining. The final turtle reminded me of sacrifice and missed opportunities. It also reminded me of how we need to take better care of our home, the Earth, and how we should try to be cognizant of all creatures even when we are driving our automobiles. We all share "this island home" for good or ill.