lions, and tigers, and bears!

I have seen three snakes these past 30 days, easy.

The first: dead and flattened on the road in front of my house (right by my mailbox). (sad).

The second: alive and slithering, in my front yard. I was sitting on a blanket, reading, and it popped up from a hole right in front of me.

The third: a big long scary black one in the middle of the bike path, sunbathing on the concrete. I nearly crashed into Avery, going around it.

I've also been attacked by beetles in my sleep.

And was bitten by a spider in my sleep last night (have the battle wound to prove it).

Fished a (giant! 3 inch long! .5 inch thick! zebra striped!) slug off my kitchen floor the night before (the second one!)

And some dark, indistinguishable creature (either a big cat or a raccoon) has scared the dickens out of me twice, scampering past on my front porch, while I've been scrambling for keys.

(Nattada and I are strong, and not too squeamish. It's our home, and we can share it with the critters/elements; it's a lesson, I think, in recognizing that we are big and small in a world that is at once big and small).

On the plus side, there is a family of deer living in my back yard. They keep nuzzling outside my window. I see them often.

And I found a four leaf clover by the same mailbox where the snake was smushed.

Also on a moderate tangent, I've been floored/humbled lately by the number of people (including strangers) who have looked after me lately. There is certainly a lot of sadness in this world, but there is also a lot of kindness. Yeah, a lotta kind kind, baby.

veiling.

Jordan laughed at me over bubble tea; my depiction of the plateau was pretty bleak. And he had a point: jumping off is futile, unless you have a damned good pogo stick, and even then, you're still going down. Better to propel up, he said. Now I've gotta go invest in an ice pick. Or I could just grow some intense cat claws. Kidding.
(I've gotta stop with the cat jokes/references; people are gonna start thinking I'm serious).

Old-school Southeast Engine's on repeat and everything's still. Nattada and I feasted on steamed, local spaghetti squash tonight. I don't think I've ever made a better marinara sauce--chocked full of amaranth. We had peas, too. I love peas.

Food is funny. When shared communally, or consumed with gratitude, there is almost something sacred to it. And there is nothing more rewarding--nothing that requires more patience--than growing your own. Sometimes I get lost in looking at my own hands, in imagining my skin--the creases at the knuckles--shaping and shedding and replacing with each new amino acid I swallow.

I should make a self-rule to focus on my hands more--to take time to consciously imagine my food converting to energy--my breath to spirit--within the confines of my own body. Because sometimes I get caught up reading old words and staring at old photographs until I can't recognize my own voice--my own face--in them. And I think it's a loss but it's a pseudo-loss; I'm rendered a fool by my own veiling.

I won't know the difference until I begin to honor stillness. Sometimes contentment is a euphemism for apathy, but not always. Sometimes contentment is just as imperative as the discontentment sparking revolutions--both internal and external. Yes, contentment, too, can be revolutionary. Stillness can be revolutionary.

And in recognizing this, I can stop worrying altogether about how to get off the damned plateau: by laying on my back and being flat--watching the scenery around me shuffle, as I stay motionless.

veiling. by Leslie Albanese is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.