waiting, fleeing, squabbling
I wonder: What is it you want with the same ferocity that my cat wants breakfast every morning? Is there anything you wait for every day, outside the bedroom door, pining for a hint of movement from within that might result in provisions? That might be a being who will follow you down two flights of stairs into the basement where you take your meals? That might result in a scoop of nurture doled out by divine hand? Is there anything you are longing for today?
Is there anywhere we're going with so much focus and commitment as the group of folks fleeing mosquitoes in the forest after our hike last night? After ninety minutes of sauntering through the woods, past aged trees and babbling brook, past a pool of alewives gathered for their annual migration from sea to inland lake, with conversation and laughter and our hands windmilling to swat at the bugs proving too thick for us to linger much longer: We turn to the trailhead. The pursuit of shelter. Is there anything we’re moving toward today with similar urgency?
And the seagulls squabbling after a crust of bread downtown in Congress Square: Is there anything in my life today worthy of such effort? Such devotion to a cause? Such confidence in struggle? Knowing that, given my limitations, the only way to tear this problem full of potential into bite-sized morsels of actual goodness, is for me to grab on tight and pull in one direction, trusting that you’ll be there pulling in another.