Yesterday was raccoon day.
So is today.
Yesterday a raccoon crossed my path as I was about to open the gate to the farm.
Today there was a dead raccoon in the road.
It wasn’t the same raccoon. It wasn’t big enough.
But that’s two raccoons two days in a row.
I learned today that the butchers son killed himself driving an ATV.
He was a young fella still in his teens.
He had served me numerous times in the butcher shop.
He had a slow but genuine smile.
It was always welcome.
Both he and the raccoon died on the road.
Both under circumstances that were easily avoided.
These fractal bodies of ours are easily lost.
Both of these bodies were young with no children.
Their friends and families know the impact of their lives.
I know little.
I was walking toward my favorite vale.
My jeans were clean.
I spotted a beautiful butterfly on the path.
I stopped and spoke to it at length.
It flew up and landed on my jeans.
I kept speaking to it.
It stayed put.
I started walking slowly.
It settled and opened his wings again and again.
I kept talking to it.
It stayed put.
It seemed to like its position.
I was glad to have the passenger.
And I told it so.
Finally it flew up and flew around me
and then landed on my other leg.
I had kept walking
and I kept talking to it.
It appreciated the conversation.
It spoke back to me.
Not with words of course.
Words are cheap.
I felt claimed by a glorious presence.
I wished it well in all of its endeavors.
It is difficult to express how the small creature had made my day.
I changed from being a simple man,
to the butterfly person.
I’m still grokking that.
It’s a significant change in perspective.
I may never be the same again.
But of course when I got up this morning
I never expected to be the same anyway.
Shall someone who expects consistency and expects sameness from day-to-day from their human consorts expect to ever understand the change that has occurred?
Can I share this with my business associates?
Will my family understand?
Should I attempt consistency with my former consciousness?
Everything I encounter changes me, even dirt and stones.
I used to read a lot,
especially for the changes that humans could incur within me.
But I found I was digging in the shallow pool.
I could have eaten the butterfly, but that would not have been nearly as nutritious.
It flew away as we approached a puddle.
It said goodbye with a few flaps of its wings and got a drink.
I walked on. With gratitude.
I finally reached the vale where I like to sit and think.
A fox approached.
It gave me a look like ‘oh, you’re the butterfly man’.
What could I say?
Yes. I am.
I’d like to encourage you
to stop trying to be the real you.
What would you even suppose that might be?
Someday, notice how you change.
Notice the you that claims to be you when you wake up in the morning,
then notice the you that starts working or doing whatever you intend to do every day,
notice the you that stops for lunch and the you that needed to,
notice the you that watches the clock in order to go back home,
notice the you that greets whatever shares your home that makes it home for you.
Notice the you that eats dinner.
Notice the you that sometimes goes out in the evening to meet with other folks and
Notice how that you differs depending upon which folks you’re meeting.
Notice the you that protects itself from the things you don’t understand.
Notice the you that sheds its height as bedtime approaches.
Notice the you that wakes to pee before you’re done sleeping.
You can detect a different you at these and so many other times each day.
So which one is the real you?
None of them.
I recommend that you give up the idea of even discovering the real you.
It doesn’t exist.
But you can do this…
Write the old you off.
The more you write off all these old yous what’s left is rather precious.
It’s not that you will discover the real you, you will discover that there is no real you.
You’ll discover that our capacity for me-ness is huge and dynamic.
Our identity can continue to grow and grow and grow daily even hourly with the things that we see and discover each day.
I ate some snow today.
No big deal.
But I bet you did not.
The little things that each of us does
can mean so much to us,
and we may not realize how unique they are to us.
The bone is not the stone of you.
The bone is not the living daylights.
What will last past me will live in you.
What will last past you will live in others.
One day soon …
I’ll be gone,
Not to wake up
You may wonder
– Where is he?
I hope you forgo
heaven or hell
or such amusements.
shall be re-wrapped unpredictably.
I don’t recommend
rebirths or such.
Consider, that there may be
only one consciousness – everywhere,
that all beings exist as expressions of.
A buried nut, I found
it was not me
but for you
I would pursue
But some are disconnected
where the roots of flowers
I was sitting on the shortest stool
So I wouldn’t draw attention,
But you glided over like a tool
and began to ply your question.
What’s the use? I wondered, when
Uncertainty is the fashion?
A decent seeker’s going to find
Something now and then.
True and precious friends
Have seen the splendid garden ruined
By the seeds of all pop certitudes.
So then what do you do?
How do you submit your findings
To a jaded child of anarchy?