A Personal Request . . . And a Message From a Bat

A few days ago, I was visited by a young, injured bat. I didn’t see the showdown, but I’m pretty sure this small, still-breathing bat lying quietly on my kitchen floor was the handiwork of my cat, Tino.   No doubt, this bat had been struck and had downward spiralled to the floor.

Tino has brought me plenty of tail-less geckos, innocent lizards with little hope of survival from their primitive amputation. The bushes behind my back porch have become a graveyard of birds she’s gifted me over the past couple of years.

But this black beastie, I didn’t feel, was destined for the grave.  Not yet.  The mouse-sized bat was injured and bleeding a little, but not bleeding out. His beady eyes seemed more scared than anything. Every minute or so, his leather wings chaotically flapped with fear rather than flight.

I could rescue him.

Tino reclined, sphinx link, nearby, her green eyes assessing the scene as I inspected this tiny creature of the night.

Scooping up the distraught young bat, I placed him in a clear container and carried him outside.

The last time I rescued a bat (because that’s a common kind of animal rescue we have in Nicaragua), the bat seemed more worse for wear than the bat I held now. The last bat had been attacked by bluejays in the day, and was struggling to army crawl across the hot, dusty road to the safety of the shaded trees.

I blocked the road with my bicycle to help him, and shooed away the bluejays while he, using his wings and claws as we would our arms and hands, made his way to a tree. Climbing straight up, the scared bat sought a gnarled deep nook about 5 or 6 feet off the ground, and cozied himself into safety and darkness.

Taking my cue from that experience, I carried Tino’s bat to a nearby tree whose trunk was twisted, offering plenty of nooks for shelter.

There are three types of tree trunks surrounding my house here in Nicaragua.  Tree trunks that are smooth and solid, rising straight up without a nook or low outstretched branches. There are other tree trunks covered with thorns, thorns as sharp and large as a shark’s tooth, covering every inch of the trunk; it would be impossible to climb. Or at least painful.

The third tree is where I took the bat.  One whose trunk and bark folded over itself, creating nooks and crannies, and plenty of hideaways just perfect for a small, injured bat to find comfort.

As it was raining, I didn’t stay to watch him attempt the climb. Even though the ground was muddy, I placed him at the base of the tree where the mud wouldn’t hold him down, and he could choose his path up.

The next morning, he was gone, so I can only assume the beaten-down bat had calmed, recognized he was no longer under threat, and let his batty survival instincts carry him home.

A few days ago, I received some disappointing news.

Recently, a job came into my line of sight so intriguing that I began to review the direction I’ve been going for so many years.  It was a job I believed would have been life-changing. Challenging and purposeful, both in alignment with my own experiences and providing the kind of learning curve I tend to thrive in.  A full-time, long-term opportunity that would be meaningful and one I could commit the remainder of my working years. It was a big deal.

It was the kind of opportunity where you see your life opening up.

For 15 years I have run my own business, with a focus on curating leadership retreats, writing, and life or business coaching. Any entrepreneur will agree, creating, building, marketing, delivering your own product, and managing your own business is not for the faint of heart.

I went for the job. I sought advice from all sources.  For 6 weeks, I researched the organization even more thoroughly, and began to train myself in the areas where I might have scored lower. I lit candles and manifested. I mentally walked through changes and adjustments I would make in my own life and business. I gave it everything I had.

In the end, I didn’t get it.  So many more candidates applied, those with stronger experience in the areas I lacked.  I don’t blame the decision makers for choosing them over me. The victor will be better suited for the role, I understand. Or perhaps in the universe’s eyes, the job offer would go to someone who needed this job more than I did.  I harbor no hard feelings, and I’m at peace with the disappointment now.

But man, it hurt to get that news.  It just felt so defeating.  Not just failing to land the job, but it triggered a downward spiral that left me feeling lost and unclear about what I was even doing with my life.

But then a friend, giving me a kind ear in my low moment, corrected me.  She said we don’t downward spiral, we sideways spiral.

If we twist that tornado of grief and despair on its side, the spiral shoots us sideways. We can then choose to recognize the forward movement of it all.

Our lives circle us up to the highest point, and then circles down to a low. And then up… and then down again.  But the circle is not drilling us down into the muddy earth.  It’s spiralling us sideways.  It’s spiralling us forward, if we choose to look at it this way.  We are making progress, no matter how many times we land in the mud.

This perspective made sense to me. It cheered me up.

It may feel like we are sitting in the mud, heads on our knees. An injured bat flapping nearby, maybe. But if we take a bird’s eye view (a bat’s eye view?), it’s not the same mud as the last time we felt this way.

Then I remembered my bat story, and the soft, toothy thing I had so recently saved from the floor and from my toothy cat.

This same friend next asked me if I had explored the spiritual meaning of bats.  In my sadness over the loss of the job opportunity, my uncertain future, lack of direction, and fear of instability, (all the spiralling) I had not. I had not Googled bats.

When animals cross our path, especially animals we don’t come across often, it’s their spiritual meaning that serves as a message. Their appearance reminds us to pay attention, connect, and learn.

This same friend did the investigating for me.  She said, “Bats aren’t afraid of the darkness.  They thrive in it.  They do not need to see what’s coming; they can feel and sense what’s around them. They trust their feelings over their inability to see.  They are comfortable in the darkness and trust what they feel.”

I know bats rely on sonar to navigate, but what she said was the truth.  Bats trust their senses, even if their first sense isn’t sight.   They learn to trust what they can’t see.

This job opportunity wasn’t mine to land after all. But perhaps the experience – the pursuit and the spiral – gave me the jolt I needed to propel me towards something more aligned with what I know I can do, and with those who need me to do it.

So I’ll heed the bat’s message (and while a part of me so badly wants to be scooped up and carried to safety – I know there’s more to this learning than that). The bat’s message was a strong one.

You will thrive in the dark. Trust your instincts. You will still fly.

~ Christy

PS.  I am actively pursuing projects and/or roles that require writing and creativity with efficiency. A role requiring someone who is excellent at processing complex projects and spinning out organized results that land with impact.

Here is my LinkedIn handle, CV, and Writing Portfolio.  I’m asking my readers (who are also endeared clients, friends, and former colleagues), if you know of any individual or business that could use someone like me on their team, please feel free to connect us.

You never know where one conversation will lead, and what good things may come.  Many, many thanks. – CN

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