Cohabit

Cohabit: (v) to live together

Even though, like any “Frosty poet,” I enjoy a good walk in the woods, there is something that interfaces with me as I feel pine needles under my soles: all the creatures of nature are a little bit frightened of me as a human being because I’m a horrible roommate.

I don’t honor my space. Sometimes I’m late on the rent. I cook up things and leave dishes behind.

And I spread my trash everywhere, assuming that it will be taken care of by either other beings, or time and chance.

So there is a look in the eye of the racoon and a squint from the squirrel that tells me they have no intention of relinquishing their right to the ecosystem. They will fight like hell if I attack their nest or if I suggest they should be ousted from their dens.

There is a palpable defiance mingled with a pleading in their glance.

“Come on, you dumb shit. Can’t you just get along? Can’t you co-habitate with us? Do we have to growl, bite, and escape all of your plans to eliminate our species?”

Nature is kind of pissed with human beings. Why?

  • We decide to blame God, even though there’s a natural order which was put in place billions of years before any of us urped up our first mother’s milk.
  • We are so pretentious.
  • We are so easily offended.
  • We are the Mother-Earth-children of all brattiness.

Because the truth is, we aren’t satisfied with scrunching salmon and terrifying tigers. We start doing it to each other–using a color code. Sometimes it’s based upon evaluating genitalia.

But because we can’t cohabit the Earth with the turtle, we suddenly find ourselves very intolerant of those of our own race–who like to take things a little slower.

 

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Byway

j-r-practix-with-border-2

Byway: (n) a road or track not following a main route

Introspection is beneficial as long as we’re not afraid of discovering untended wounds.

They are there.

They annoy us, but unless we track them down and identify the pain, generally speaking, we assume that we are trapped in our destiny.

Somewhere on the highway of life, we all get hurt. The speed limit is just too fast. People are trying to get to their destination and don’t mind being rude. There aren’t enough rest areas, stop-offs or gasoline stations to keep us safe and well-attended.

We become cynical. The road continues without seeming purpose, except for the dissolving of mile markers.

That’s why I tell you that nothing good ever happened in my life on the highway. Everything of quality that has been brought into my soul appeared on the by-way.

Those times when I had the courage to depart the majority opinion or the flock of determined sheep, and exit to find my own thoughts and grazing, I birthed something of quality.

You see, it’s not that small towns are better than large towns. It’s just that there are too many roads that flow into the big city. Traffic control becomes more important than people’s feelings. When there is only one blinking light in town, you stop because you want to look both ways. You’re not trying to avoid delay, but instead, appreciating the chance to test your brakes and peek around.

It was Frost who talked about “the road less taken.”

It was Jesus who warned us of the dangers of the “broad path which leads to destruction.”

If we really do believe that life has a quality to it, then we should be in search of that treasure. If we think the journey on Earth is a perpetual popularity contest, then we’ll probably avoid the byways–and in so doing, find ourselves crammed up in traffic, cursing the nearby competitors.

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