The Skink that Don't Stink: A Lesson in Listening to Spirit

By Leila Briggs

As some of you know, I recently wandered up to Alaska—land of glaciers, moose crossings, and (apparently) profound reptilian insight. I expected adventure and magic from a trip, but I did not expect a skink. And yet, here we are.

Let me set the scene: we’re at a reindeer farm (yes, that’s a thing, and yes, I was living my best North Pole fantasy)! Tucked away next to the coffeehouse—because Alaska knows how to do it right—was a little building labeled The Reptile House. Naturally, I felt the call.

The moment I crossed the threshold of the reptile house, Spirit shouted:“SKINK!”

Glaciers, Moose... and Reptile Wisdom?

Now, listen. I’ve heard Spirit whisper, nudge, and once hum an entire Macklemore chorus, but never full-on yell “SKINK!” in my psychic ear canal.

Curious, I peeked into the first glass case. No skink. Moved on to the second. Still no skink. I was gearing up to give Spirit a little feedback on the whole “clear messages” thing when I heard a physical voice from the back of the room:“This is a skink! You can pet it!”

Out walks a woman holding a literal skink wrapped around her arm like a fashion accessory from the underworld. I froze.“Do you want me to pet the skink?” I asked Spirit. Silence.

I stepped forward, cautiously reached out, and gave the skink a polite little head-pat. In return, it flicked a long, bright blue tongue at me like it was testing my energy... or my patience. I pet it again. More tongue flicks. Still no message. I tried to tune in telepathically: “Do you need anything? Do you have something you want to tell me? Do you need a healing?” Still. Nothing. Complete radio silence.

The handler shared some skink facts (yes, the tongue is always that blue, and no, they don’t bite), but I left confused. Why the dramatic “SKINK!” message? Why the tongue flicks and then...radio silence?

I considered going back in, but each time I approached the building again, my energy had already shifted. Spirit was clearly done. So I let it go.

Later, when we had wifi again, I googled “skink symbolism.” Apparently, they’re associated with transformation and transition. Okay, yes I guess that could fit...maybe. Still confused, I decided to tuck it away and move on.

A Somatic Spirit Message: Becoming the Skink

Days passed. I was back home, thrown into the chaos of emails, unpacking, and pretending jet lag isn’t real. I completely forgot about the skink.

Until I had a dream...

I was walking through grass toward a group of friends when a flash of blue caught my right peripheral. I turned, seeing a flash of blue again. Suddenly I realized what I was looking at and startled myself awake. There was a skink. Sitting. On. My. Shoulder.

Later, during my daily meditation, I set the intention to reconnect with my shoulder-skink (as one does). To my surprise, I attuned with it almost immediately. I asked:“Are you here because I’m going through a transformation?”And y’all—if a skink could give a stink-eye, this one did.

I paused. I took a moment to sit with its' stink eye and darting tongue. Then I recalled a memory: years ago, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t let anyone—or Google—define my relationship with Spirit. My job is to listen, not translate in someone else’s language. Others can support my language and journey with Spirit; but not define it for me. The skink's eyes shifted as if in approval.

So I responded, “Alright - you speak in your way. I’ll listen.”

And then, something shifted. I sank deep within my awareness quickly. I could see the skink sitting on my shoulder just as I did in the dream, but my awareness went deeper. I also became the skink.

I saw the flick of the tongue AND felt the flick of the tongue. The way it darted out and tasted the air. Energy. Direction. Possibility. The blue tongue moved again and my entire system lit up—like a compass catching wind. Each flick was a scan. The tongue was giving a read of the external energy field, in the now, around my body. And I could sense each flick was capable of helping me understand where I am and where to go.

And just like that, I got it.

The skink wasn’t a symbol. It was an experience. It wasn’t telling me I was transforming. It was showing me how to navigate transformation.

I’ll know when it’s time to move. And I will move because I sense the shift. I’ll move when the energy lines up with opportunity, connection, and my authenticity.

That’s the power of skink energy apparently. Not flashy. Not poetic. Just deeply attuned and wildly wise.

So now I walk with an invisible skink on my shoulder. How long will it stay? I do not know. But it's there flicking its tongue, always scanning. Reminding me to sense what’s next for myself.

And honestly? That skink don’t stink.

How to Build Your Personal Language with Spirit

If there’s one thing this skink reminded me, it’s this: your relationship with Spirit is yours. Wild, weird, wordless at times—but real and authentically yours.

Too often, we go searching for what a dream means instead of sitting with how it feels. We want someone else’s dictionary instead of writing our own. But Spirit isn’t always about answers—it’s about awareness. About presence.

So the next time something random shows up—a bird at your window, a phrase in your head, a blue-tongued lizard in your dreams—don’t rush to Google it. Be still. Be curious. Let the energy and Spirit commune in its own way.