Tuesday, May 25, 2004

Hunter and the hunted This morning when I first went out to gather maple leaves to press, all I saw were leaves that had been nibbled, torn, or otherwise marked. I grieved for the late April days when the leaves were new and pristine. I'd look at a leaf the size and shape I wanted, and wish I'd come to gather it "at the right time." After a while I remembered something I read recently. I can't remember whether it was in a Deepak Chopra book, or another book called Effortless Prosperity. In shamanic cultures, if a hunter complains that he can't find any game, the shaman helps him find out what's going on inside the hunter to keep the game away. Neither the shaman nor the hunter assume that the problem is that the game animals aren't there to be found. So I decided that the perfect leaves I wanted, in the sizes I wanted, were there. What could be keeping them away? Duh. Well, how about my attitude that I'd completely ruined my chances? How about my focus on the leaves that didn't meet my needs? I started to expect to find the leaves I wanted. Needless to say, I began finding perfect leaves, beautiful leaves. Then I began finding larger and larger perfect leaves. I ended up gathering plenty of gorgeous maple leaves. The hunter had changed. 9:36:53 PM    comment []

On not being eaten Out gathering maple leaves this morning, I found myself thinking what a privilege it is not to have to worry about being eaten. Being eaten seems to be the general condition in nature. Almost all the leaves in our woods have now been nibbled by something - someone, I should say. Most other animals, even predators like ourselves, have animals who consider them dinner. We human beings are dinner to almost no one - polar bears being a notable exception, and perhaps grizzly bears too. Of course after death we become dinner . But it's quite a privilege to live day to day without wondering who's trying to catch and eat us. This is one of the privileges usually taken for granted. As a child I didn't take it for granted. I used to imagine what it would be like to be eaten by a bear. The bear always started with my arm. Who knows, maybe it was a fantasy of escaping my obligations to use my arm to do everything perfectly. Makes sense. Still, I think children, with their urge to understand life, are aware of things that adults have learned to forget. I remember how at age three or four, I was mystified to hear adults telling lies. (Of course in my family they were considered "white lies" for politeness.) I didn't see the point of lies, because the truth was so transparent. Later I learned not to know the truth so clearly, so it's not longer evident to me when someone is lying. Is this better? I doubt it. It does feel good not to worry about being someone's dinner. I like this. I'm also glad to realize what a privilege it is. It gives me a lot more time and energy for making art. 12:36:24 PM    comment []