Wildlife Visitors: the curious case of the snake

Coatlicue Ascending (screenprint on handmade paper with agave fibers)

Throughout the last eleven years living in the Mexican countryside, I have received quite a few visitors from the wild.

To be honest, I never used to be a big fan of creepy crawlies, in fact, for many years, they freaked me out. Spiders, ants, and every kind of bug was strictly forbidden from my home when I lived in Europe. It was a case of: stay out or feel the wrath of my slipper.

Shortly after my arrival in Oaxaca, I remember the horror I felt at watching a cockroach crawl in the sink. I stabbed it with a knife and washed it down the drain with the words: "Greetings to your extended family." Someone observed me in my heinous act and muttered "worse than the mafia" under their breath. I can see their point now.

It was only gradually that my curiosity outgrew my fear with regard to these kinds of creatures, and eventually I learnt many great lessons they so generously share with us. Admittedly, I'm still in favor of population control when it comes to cockroaches and mosquitos entering my home.

Among the other common houseguests are spiders and lizards. Those I welcome, as they pay their rent keeping unwanted critters in check. Some of the spiders even become quite good friends: there's a tiny jumping spider living next to the sink behind my coffee jar, and she comes out of her hiding place to say hello often.

Occasionally, other creatures stop by, such as hummingbirds, a mouse who moved into the back patio, or the occasional scorpion. A few years ago, I found a friend in a young donkey girl, who would try to sneak in the house any chance she got.

Lil Miss Donkey loved to cuddle

I suppose the animals sense that my cockroach-mafia days are over and that I am actually listening to their advice now, so they probably consider me a safe person and show up with greater frequency.

One night a few weeks ago, I watched a small snake sliver in through the open door and make her way past the dogs straight to the bathroom. It seemed determined and on a mission, like it knew where it had to go.

Curiously, the dogs took an interest, but refrained from getting too close. Just to be on the safe side, I closed the bathroom door and took a minute to gauge the situation. I wasn't quite sure what to do. Consult with google to find out if it was poisonous? Ignore it and hope it will see itself out by the morning? Eventually, I got out an old shoe box and decided on a rescue-and-release mission, regardless of whether it was a danger to me or not.

Without further ado, I stepped inside the bathroom followed by Azrael the giant dog, who was determined to protect me in what he deemed a critical situation. We noticed it had curled up in the shower. Azra stepped closer to inspect the young snake, but quickly retreated when it rose its head in defense. I wanted to take a picture so badly, because the marking on its skin were amazing and would have made for great drawing practice, but felt it really wasn't the right moment to ask for a selfie. In short, the snake, the dog and I were equally intrigued, but at the same time jumpy and scared of each other.

After a few failed attempts, I convinced it to sit still in the shoebox for a minute and ferried it into the garden, where it zoomed out never to be seen again.

It was only later that something occurred to me: wildlife doesn't knock on the door or ask for permission to enter, they just do their thing. Sometimes they get themselves into sticky situations, especially when living in such close proximity to humans, but they always act on their intuition and accept life on its terms.

The snake's unexpected visit made me take stock of my own life. Suddenly, I realized that I used to always consult with somebody else, always look for some kind of authority that would support my decisions. Of course, this lulls you into a false sense of safety (if someone else thinks it's a good idea, it's probably going to work out), but in the long run, it's actually a sure-fire way to live somebody else's life instead of your own.

One the one hand, this kind of mindset is probably a cultural thing - growing up in Germany, you are drilled to ask for permission constantly. On the other, it might also be related to my personal history and breaking free from codependent family dynamics ... with all its consequences and bumps along the road.

Although it has always been my wish to be self-employed (as a three year-old, I wanted to be a vet), I started noticing how much I still look for permission or somebody to tell me what to do. It's been a difficult and adventurous process to change my mindset from that of a frustrated employee to an artist who creates from her inner knowing rather than external guidelines, and has to rely on trust that her work sells.

These days, I don't have a structured office schedule or teaching syllabus, but sometimes spend days doodling, dreaming and wondering, until a project that feels worthwhile comes together. As risky as it may seem, it gives me a much greater sense of purpose, and experience has taught me that my work is pertinent and sells, and other people are inspired by the wildlife messages.

Over the years, I've gradually traded in the security of paychecks, but I've also found out that if you take the time to observe, listen to your intuition and produce work that speaks to yourself and others, there is not only the satisfaction of having created something worthwhile to contribute to the world, but also personal growth and eventually economic retribution that doesn't come from sacrificing your energy and time to someone else's business, but rather the fullfilment of your purpose.

Accepting rejection and failure has been a part of the process. You cannot please everybody and sometimes you mess up and fall flat on your face. It's part of the learning curve, and what makes life exciting. Accepting myself unconditionally with all my quirks and shadows has been equally important. From time to time, I still fall into the trap of comparing myself to others (a deadly mistake for anyone, but especially for artists), but have learned to breathe through the fear of nothing being good enough, impostor syndrome and perfectionism. There's always room for development and improvement, but I have learnt that I am good enough. I am enough. There is enough for everybody. We are all here for a reason and have something important to contribute.

Would I like more security and safety in my life? Yes. But ultimately: isn't all of that just an illusion in a world that is ever changing? Isn't the greatest security to trust in yourself and a benevolent universe that corresponds to your energy? Didn't the snake take a giant leap of faith in trusting me to set her free?

Would I like have more money to feel a greater sense of freedom and comfort? You bet. Growing up in a family dominated by fear of scarcity and often stuck in survival mode, the meaning and importance of art had been overlooked and misunderstood. It was seen as a frivolous past time at best, not as a vital ingredient to human life. As such, I am still in the process of transcending the myth of the starving artist and learning to understand the true value of art and storytelling.

Looking back, I was born into a severely traumatized family who dealt with its fears of scarcity and abandonment through control and manipulation. I hadn't even finished school or decided on a career path when my late mother was already urging me to take out a private pension insurance, such was her lack of faith.

One of her favorite sayings was: "Trust is good, control is better." Born in 1940, at the beginning of WW2, her trust in life had been shattered more than once, so her response was to control her environment. Retrospectively, I understand that she just tried to prevent suffering and danger for me, but ironically, those underlying beliefs caused a great deal of suffering and hopelessness.

Listening to nature and wildlife, I am slowly unlearning those patterns and opening up to the infinite possibilities and opportunities life has in store when you stop trying to control or look for permission and approval, and just flow with what feels good and aligned.

I put all my love, time and attention into exploring animal communication, visual art and conveying the wisdom and love that the natural world has for us, and the seeds I have sown are beginning to sprout. There is no guarantee other than that inner knowing, but still, doubt and fear inhabit less and less of my life, and make way for a sense of purpose, trust in my skills, creativity and ability to navigate this thrilling journey called life.

The more I show my work, the more I realize that it is well-received and fulfills a need in people's lives. As the mainstream news turn darker by the day, more and more of us are returning to the wisdom of nature.

As spirit animals, snakes teach us a good deal about transformation, vulnerability and growth. Every time a snake sheds its skin, it takes a great risk, because it is vulnerable and exposed. However, to continue its life cycle, it must trust in the process and its inherent stages of vulnerability. But only through this act of sacrificing who it was before, and consequently exposing its fresh, tender skin, does it grow.

Brave young snake, thank you for your visit and your message. We are honored to have received and released you.