Lest we forget, the cycle of life continues unabated. Overly evolved monkeys that we are, we confuse our internal bullshit with literal reality. We’re prone to orbit the cult of politics. We roll like dogs in the serial panic it foments. When there is a chance to be stupid; we are a moth to flame.
It happens en masse from time to time. Periodically, societies lose their shit. This is one of those eras. Common sense, logic, stoic adherence to reason; these are in the rear view mirror. Karens shriek about masks as if the black death were ascendant. For some reason, in 2020 they are not told to shut up and tend to their cats as they should. Unserious wingnuts tear at the fabric of civilization and we chose not to give them the dope slap they need. Political cultists have left the shadows and openly search for Jews in the attic. They edge ever closer to kristallnacht, and we (for reasons I can’t quite articulate) simply allow them to drive society into the ditch.
Meanwhile real life continues. It properly ignores our self inflicted inner turmoil. The sun rises as always, the earth rotates, life on its surface continues. All this is as if we are nothing; which is for the most part correct. This truth points to a door in the cage of stupidity which we’ve built around our tantrums of inadequacy.
“There is reality and there is our inner mental space. Recently, many us have been stricken by the inability to separate the two. Until we learn better, this failing will continue to cause pain.”
So how do you unplug from the matrix and marvel at the beauty of all creation? That’s up to you. For me it meant watching a bug in a jar.
A couple years ago I scooped up a monarch caterpillar and stuffed it in a jar. It munched away on milkweed, formed a chrysalis, exploded into a beautiful butterfly, and flew away. It did this during a time when I’d been ill, attending funerals, and watching my dog age.
That little critter had a name, because I named him. Sebastian. (Links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)
This year has not been a time of solace. I’ve lived through a post-Christmas impeachment, the far more important death of my dog, through “flatten the curve”, to… to whatever the hell you’d call right now. (Is this the twentieth week of our six week “flattening of the curve”?) I feel the far off madness of crowds intruding on my peaceful rural redoubt. So I found another caterpillar and watched it become a Monarch butterfly.
Sounds trite doesn’t it? But what better thing are most of us doing? Fretting over political riots, mask shenanigans, Facebook posturing? A virus as a new form of demonic possession? Is that it? Abandonment of reason due to a 99.96% survivable risk in a modern wealthy industrial society of unlimited wealth? Compared to losing one’s shit over an impending election and using glorified bandannas as medical devices, is a caterpillar in a jar somehow less worthy? Which is most connected to the outstretched arms of God?
Regardless of my overwrought poetics, and perhaps just because pretty things are pretty, I invite you to meet Colin. Colin was a caterpillar that had a transformative moment, became an entirely new being, and gained the power of flight. He did it from an old plastic cheeseball container perched on my kitchen table.
I gave him a little coffee stirrer to grasp, hustled him outside to dry in the sun, and then watched as he first perched on a thistle (proof that I’ve been remiss in trimming the lawn), and then my hand.
Then he was gone. It was the most perfect use of my time. All we have is time. If things are getting you down, find your caterpillar.
A.C.
