“OK. Everybody, now it’s time for a change of pace” Mickey Mouse
I am just sitting down and feeling like I am in some kind of hurry. The days are getting shorter and now I can look up at the sky and think, I need to take care of this or that before dark. I walked in the door and saw it was around 6:30. I have no idea why I suddenly felt pressured to get into my story.
First of all, nobody ever tells me what to do. That died decades ago. I never feel the need to pull the age card. I don’t have to turn over my cards to take the pot. I just show my hand. I think the idea is to somehow stay in the fucken saddle and avoid falling on your ass. Having bounced on the ground innumerable times, the trick is to never lose faith and always believe the perfect ride is one away from the prior collision.
I just read the last paragraph and have no inclination to make one of my snide remarks. If what I just said is not clear from the tone of all my stories, I will have failed miserably. I have grown to love every moment of my life, even the incredibly shitty parts. Whether I feel rushed or have plenty of time, my intention is unchanged.
I am much more relaxed now and feel it’s time to get into my story. After I punch out my story on most every Sunday morning, I remind myself through out the rest of the day to just enjoy my ride with my biker family, which is one of the joys of my life. You gotta seriously ride to know that two-wheeled truth.
Monday comes along and it has always felt like a full day off from this writer business. A few stories ago, I mentioned my landlord-friend cleaned up one of those cheap-ass, plastic chairs and an exquisite, matching mini-table. In the evening, it has become a favorite place to sit for a few, mind-blowing earbud, brain busting tunes. It is a calm, easy way to be for a while, the perfect seat for a concert that no one else can hear or feel. I love it.
The most consistent outdoor pattern starts at the beginning of each day. God knows, I am a maximum sucker for routine, something I’ve not been shy about. After my sit, I make a cup of black coffee and take it outside, often to see the sunrise. It feels so wonderfully clean.
I was very relaxed last Monday morning. Wearing the world’s most dangerous robe, feet up on the shitty, little table, sipping a fine cup of coffee, the only thing I can cook, I noticed a snail off to my right. Initially, I thought nothing of it. After all, who gives a shit about a snail?
Honestly, I don’t know how it happened, but I kept looking over and I couldn’t detect any fucken movement. I got really close, which was stupid easy and I took a picture. I didn’t realize I captured the shell’s landlord until I looked at it. This is really where the story begins, at least for me.
I came back in the house and got kind of lost in thought. I looked outside, where the snail had been frozen and it was gone. Fuck, I tell you, it got me thinking about time, along with a bunch of other stuff. Time can creep along for each of us and before you know it, it’s gone. Can you imagine the patience of a snail? They are always on time and we are always late, even though we hurry.
Keep in mind, it is early on Monday morning and all I have ingested is a glass of water, while gingerly sipping a hot cup of black coffee. It is important for you to know I was morning sober on the occasion of the Snail Encounter.
Out of nowhere, I get hit with, “Why are we more important than the snail? Whose fucken idea was this? How did this happen, where we gave ourselves the right to determine the fate of every other sentient being?”
It sounded kind of lame to me, but I kept with it for this whole week. I was careful not to spend too much time with it, because that gets me scribbling crypto-notes, which I really don’t like. I love percolating over an idea just like this, leaving no tracks until the Friday sit down.
OK, I cheated just a little bit, at least I thought so at the time. I don’t know exactly when I punched in snails and the Buddha, at some point during the week. I was looking for a quote and have no idea why I thought of him with snails. I’ll be a son of a bitch, there is a whole snail deal with the Big Guy. I couldn’t believe it.
It seems, one day, the Buddha was sitting under the Bodhi Tree, but the sun was broiling his brow. A snail noticed this and climbed up on his skull crown. Well, wouldn’t you know it? 107 other shell dwellers climbed up on his noggin and excreted sufficient fluids to cool him down.
In some ways, my story of the snail and that of the 108 are not the same. When I saw that snail last Monday, numbers were the last thing on my fucken mind. I think the idea of evolution has given all life a bad name, with the thought that there is an order of importance. Regarding snails, we are better than they are, better than any other life form, for that matter.
It is interesting that in the Buddha story, the snails were deemed to be very important, as 108 of them gave their lives to protect him from the sun. Obviously, speed didn’t get in the way of their heroic and compassionate gesture.
I don’t want to get us falling down the rabbit hole, when it comes to explaining 108. In the Eastern religions, it’s all over the place. Plus, I am the last person you’d want to ask about all the trappings that come with these disciplines. Just let’s say it’s a big deal, but kind of peripheral to my story.
I wonder why, for us, it is always about being “better than”, as opposed to being “responsible for”. Honestly, I don’t know why the snail got me going. I can tell you they have a way more fascinating sex life than we do, as they are hermaphrodites. I didn’t know that until just now, so it doesn’t count anyway.
For that brief time on Monday morning, I really cared about the snail. I kept looking at the photograph. I wish more of us believed we are part of something so much bigger than ourselves, which was what I’ve been carrying around since my Snail Encounter.
All Hail The Snail!