Colette Obrien

Martin Buber in his tiny jewel of a book wrote of the I/Thou Relationship he’d come to understand as a concentration camp survivor.

Somewhere in the divide between opposites is a connector, and the connector is the Self or Soul, the light of which draws all together in harmony and balance.  One finds the Self in the effort to expand consciousness; to go beyond apparent conflict to resolution that does not diminish either side but mediates.

The Self mediating conflict.

I’ve been blessed that my dog and cat are best friends.  They chase one another around the furniture, the cat jumping up to the top of things where my dog pants from below waiting for the moment he knows his friend will jump down, and they’ll wrestle on the floor leaving piles of fur but never a nick in the skin of either. 

They are my model of resolution of difference. Each is programmed to hate the other and yet, being individuals, they choose to relate not as enemies but playmates.  And I, The Self, watch delighted, in hope for the world. 

In a post last week I spoke about the goddess Nemesis who is really a friend in the guise of an enemy.  When we are able to see in such a way, the world will be renewed; mankind will achieve its true potential.

In answer to concern about the demise of planet earth as a result of humanity’s negligence, my wise father once said, “It is hubris to imagine our small ant selves can kill Life Itself.” 

Witness 2010’s celebration of spring:

The grand mistress of creation; Mother Nature honors new life each year.

Her children bask in abundance once more, no matter how hard the winter has been.  All is forgotten/forgiven.

The Hills are alive with the sound of Music

The Great Mother, in the habit of saying “die” each winter, always also says, “live” each spring.  At least on this planet, and it is after all, the only one we experience, life and death are a cyclical process; that cycle being nature’s assurance that death is but a relief to be followed closely by an in-breath of life. 

So breathe in the message of spring, love well, and rest content.  There is no end, only a continual transformation of the all.

The fool is not the only agent of surprise.  Coyote and his side-kick  the trickster are all cousins in the neverending question of what will life bring next?

Like Wells Fargo stagecoaches that, through rain sleet or snow, promise to deliver your mail on time, each morning is a new day, and though you work diligently to control what comes in the mail, many surprises lie in wait on your doorstep.

 Will the gods be kind and deliver marvelous experiences, taking us to beautiful places with loving people, friendly animals, abundant food, beauty?

Or will they traumatize?         

Is there any rhyme or reason to what comes or doesn’t come to you? If there is a God, does He/She love you and give you goodies, or hate you and punish you with thorns?    

Do you draw to you what you believe will come through some version of self-fulfilling prophesy; create your own reality?    And what happens to the idea of a creator in that scenario?

If you are a soul transmigrating through time and have done wrong things, the packages at your door will be of your making; Karmic payback for pastlife mistakes.   

On the other hand, maybe there is simply a trickster element in the universe, like a kind of quark, whose purpose is to keep you on your toes, keep you awake, to the experience of life. 

Each surprise whether delightful or Nemetic (just made up that word, but it seems to work) is a tiny ah ha, gotcha, to remind us that whatever we believe about life and our place in it, we are not in charge!!

Maybe the only control we have is in how we respond to the packages.

And what is a Nemesis anyway? Tomorrow we shall meet her, one of the lost great goddesses maligned in western history since the Greeks fell out of favor giving way to The One God.

Every adventure is begun by the fool, every treasure discovered by risk, there is no reward without consequence–good or bad?

How many fools headed across America, through unmapped territory inhabited by millions of angry displaced original inhabitants, unheard of mammoth predators, limitless mountain ranges, killer weather, barely anything to eat  . . .  in search of what? Opportunity; gold in California, land for farming and raising livestock, freedom from oppression . . .

All at a risk I’m happy to say I did not have to take.                                         

                                                                                                    Ship Of Fools

 Of the hundreds of thousands of fools on that ship who risked everything for the slim chance of finding Gold, what percentage were rewarded positively for their efforts, and how many, by the end of the arduous journey, felt at best foolish, and at worst were ruined?

Those many unfortunate souls would have certainly believed a cruel April Fools trick had been played on them.  Isn’t that why we have an April Fools Day; to celebrate and hopefully laugh at the times when our foolish leap has ended in our having been tricked?

I have 3 younger brothers and this particular holiday was a favorite of ours growing up. None of us ever missed an opportunity to play a trick, and because it was sanctioned on this day, be forgiven. 

However, being tricked by the fool is difficult to forgive when the trick costs us more than a little loss of face.  The fool does not intent to hurt but only to prick the ego’s bubble when it has become inflated.  (Reference yesterdays essay on the importance of the fool in the courts of kings.)  Losing face is an important side effect of the fool, for his purpose is to prevent us from  thinking too highly of ourselves; his tricks are meant to keep us humble.

Known for his headlong leaps into the void,the fool counterbalances worries and concerns.  Why else have the courts of kings and emperors included at least one fool for he lightened the atmosphere giving a much needed breath of fresh air to the anxieties of the ruler. 

If the ruler of a domain is our ego selves, the fool is that archetype that turns things on their head, makes us laugh, and for a moment, forget our fear. 

Life in a physical body is fraught with danger.  Though we may not be aware of it every moment of the day, the struggle for survival is present in the body every moment of the day. Fortunately the creator of this grand experience has granted us several boons.

Like the child who puts his blanket over his head and believes his mother can’t see him, denial is an effective tool.  Another useful one is distraction; I will pay attention to acquiring things– or any number of other goals– and won’t be aware of the danger.

However, it isn’t possible to completely avoid the fact that we’re mortal and vulnerable to so many forms of suffering on the road to our final destination. 

The fool is the friend who, throughout our life, helps us to walk more lightly , knowing it is temporary and, well, he quips, why not? What have you got to lose that you’re not going to lose anyway?

Encouraging us to risk all in order to experience life fully, he represents purity of action. Only looking forward, never back, never strategizing or over thinking a movement, he seeks to discover, always willing to take a chance, come what may. The fool lives to live. He frightens us a little because nothing frightens him. He is a liberated spirit.

But . . but . . . our fearful selves object, one must not be fool-hardy.  Right-O.  And what pray tell is the difference?

If I am offered an opportunity for an adventure, my fool will say go for it no matter what, while my rational self will insist on considering the possible consequences of that adventure.  Between the two of them a decision will be made. 

If I’m in need of new life experience, I will leap.  If I’m tired, or ill-equipped at the moment to take on the challenge of an adventure, I will decline the invitation.  I would feel fool-hardy only if I didn’t consider both sides. 

I would be even more fool-hardy if I didn’t give license to the fool to take an active part in my daily life. . . who wants to be safe all the time is already dead!

 Where I live on a mountain songbirds are unusual, yet as of three days ago, a beautiful singer has wakened me each morning. The sound is delirious and draws me happily from my bed.  Hope does spring eternal, he seems to say, and believing him, I venture once again into the world with a light step, wondering what this day will bring.

 How is this possible after 60 years of days to still be so inspired?

Writing about Snow White in the last post, I suggested that being open and accepting whatever comes -which doesn’t mean we have to like it, by the way–is a way of living that has merit.

 The songbird reminds me of the attitude life has; life as an object like myself which has it’s likes and dislikes; it’s seasons, its moods(the weather), yet in that continual round Life always returns to spring and spring is hope eternal. Not each moment, for there are the other attitudes as well, but it always returns and no matter how sad, or dejected or discouraged or tired I am, it will return eventually and I will hear the song bird and be glad to be here and curious about this day.

Troubadours, those classic purveyors of song, grace the woods with their melodies and call us to venture once again into the unknown; into spring where we may be foolish again, we may be careless, as in Camelot; the Lusty Month of May: when everyone throws self-control away. And everyone makes divine mistakes.

May our mistakes be divine; that is, accepted, as we traipse(spelling?)through the tulips yet again in search of love.

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Stored safely in travelers bodies upon return from exotic destinations are just as exotic bugs –travelbugs.   Catching a ride on high speed vehicles to colonize new planets, the darlings have “traveled” the world and today are more prolific than the w.w.w. humans are so fond of.

Where did  this interesting juxtoposition of terms originate?There are 145 million links on google,and though I didn’t read through all of them, the first few pages didn’t give the original derivation of the term.  How many links do you think there are in the bug world? Quadro-trillions? (If Shakespeare could make up words, so can I, and though today we think “he’s Shakespeare,  he’s brilliant.” When he made up the words he was just a guy and his mother would surely have protested at the proliferation of misspelled words on his pages.

Now, about those bugs, the difference between a home-grown bug and those brought from far away places is that our bodies recognize the difference and tolerate the home bodies with reasonable discomfort (reasonable discomfort being an oxymoron). While, on the other hand, they react violently to strangers, even when the stranger is no more of an actual threat.

Our psyche reacts just as the body; experiencing reasonable discomfort when those we know hurt, abuse, ignore, or violate our persons while fearing a stranger no matter how kind their intentions.  We trust known individuals to do what they usually do and distrust the unknown for we do not know what they may be capable of.