the growling.

at two-thirty in the morning on a semi-dark night, walking slowly down the gravel street as i often do, i heard a growl. 

the focussed beam of my torch was unable to shine any light on what manner of creature was there. i stood still for a few moments, wary, careful, and continued only after listening for a good long while to the more familiar and comforting silence. 

it wasn’t a starlit night: largely cloudy. but there was a moon somewhere lighting it up around the edges. it wasn’t a chilly night: mostly warm. but there was a cool breeze that wasn’t after-all strong enough to affect the trees. they stood at least as still as i had. i’m attracted by the peace of that time of night, often seduced by the complete anonymity of it. if i’m sleepless i’m drawn to it and i’ll maybe see my neighbour’s feral cat, not much else really. so the growl was disconcerting, worrying. it put me on my guard, threw me off my game. 

and as i walked, there it was again: the low soft growl, menacing and close. the focussed beam of my torch was again unable to uncover whatever it was. and whatever it was, while not overtly dangerous, also didn’t sound particularly friendly. so of course i stood still again, wary, careful. and then, encouraged again by the pervasive silence, i carried on.  

however, that time i turned for home, and my pace quickened somewhat. i knew what panic felt like and that wasn’t it. but i saw no reason to hang around, uncertain, uneasy. i felt the warm breeze, the stones under my shoes. only, my attention was elsewhere, a hightened state of alertness, readiness, as i rounded the last bend. i walked quickly across my lawn and in the front door, which for whatever reason i locked behind me. i lay down on the bed still fully-clothed and let my torch fall to the ground.

and there it was again, that low soft growl. right there, in my house, in my room, in my bed... in my body. and i thought to myself: ‘ok, you really gotta cut out those evening coffees,’ as i rolled over onto my side. 

creatures large and small.

 “Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it” Ralph Waldo Emerson

assuming i’d spot wild-life only off in the distance, my eyes were peeled before practically tripping over a large buck that absently wandered out of the woods in front of me. 

a couple of years ago, that autumn when for some reason the area was crawling with bear, everybody was posting pics on facebook: cute bears in backyard pools, up in fruit trees or crossing roads. but by late october i still hadn’t seen even one cub and my buddy said i was probably the last. i was wandering, looking. desperately searching. 

hardly a week later, driving slowly up chemin des erables and peering off into the fields, right and left, i very nearly crashed my truck right into a fine bunionesque specimen. and i actually got out to apologize. he accepted the apology rather dismissively even though i probably woulda gotten the worst of it. 

sometimes i feel as though i’m trying to consume the natural world. it’s not as if i’d have any more chance of taking any with me than my truck or mom’s silver tea set. be that as it may, i walk out in the middle of many a clear night to drink in the stars. i gaze absently beside rivers and lakes, wander through woods looking for creatures large and small. and yes i go into towns to see the people. 

i’ve gone to the omega game park three times, alone, to look at all the animals. i like that. i buy a large sack of unwashed carrots each time and feed the elk and deer. i offered one to a guy fixing fences and he shot me a withering look as if to say: ‘really?’ 

i’d been driving along the cabot trail on cape breton island for two days looking for moose. i was told to drive slowly in the early morning or i’d crash into one for sure. but it wasn’t happening for me. on the second early misty morning, in the distance i saw the clear and obvious shape of a moose. and i was excited. i approached excitedly, only to realize it was a plywood cut-out advertising ‘the moose motel’.   

i’ve seen moose in my life, bears, whales. heck, i shared a path with a snow-leopard. i discussed the meaning of life with a mountain lion. i’ve hung out with elephants, camels, even lived with a scorpion once for a few months. i may have always been like this, only i believe my fascination, with life really, has taken on more of an immediacy of late. and i don’t seem to have had enough, not even nearly enough.

"I like it when a flower or a little tuft of grass grows through a crack in the concrete. It's so fuckin' heroic.” Georg Carlin.

anywhere.

 

when i meditate it doesn’t matter where i am. i could be in india or canada, the himalayas or the gatineaus. it doesn’t matter and i often don’t even know. it’s the space, a world, life. 

before writing those two lines i was somewhere, didn’t exactly know where, near quebec city. having driven all day i sat in the back of my van and very soon i could’ve been anywhere. but, eventually, i opened my eyes, jotted down those lines before eating a veggie sub and then feeling kinda sick. a year earlier i’d made the same drive and i‘d fallen ill after eating a veggie panini in trois riviere. 

anyway, i knew exactly where i was by then. i was in my body and not happy about it, or my body was not happy to have me. darkness robbed me of the last glimmer of light, hope and i was clearly in trouble. my stomach ached, carcass vibrated with fever. was this covid? how? covid’s supposed to be really quite horrible and this was all of that. was this carbon monoxide? c.o. poisoning seemed reasonable. It musta been that sandwich.

i wandered and wondered, not certain what to do, had to endure it on my own, not that i had much choice. i wondered and wandered, around a strange town’s empty night-time streets, not really able to stand, sit and lying down was outta the question. it wasn’t my worst night, but up there. an old lady appeared from out of a mist as i was circling a small parking lot like a caged creature. she chattered on as i continuously motioned for her to stay away and soon, no doubt thinking me rude, she disappeared as easily, just before dawn.

so i turned the van around, drove home with windows wide, feeling a bit, well, not quite human, maybe reptilian. but i stopped often, drove slowly and by nighttime i was at the wakefield hospital on a stretcher. it was a nice stretcher with flannel sheets and good people scurrying around. and apparently i had food poisoning.

by early morning i coulda been anywhere, in that space, a world, life. it may not matter, but i knew i was home and happy. dawn came in eventually, folded up the dark, pulled back the blinds so i could check out the beauty all around: the birch-trees lining the front, cedar all along the side. dawn pointed out the mist, seemed strangely friendlier this time. nice to be home. 

equanimity.

 dear kalyani; lovely name.

     thanks for your question. i like questions, makes me feel useful 😋. the fact is we share the same issue, perhaps many or even all folks do. to one extent or another. the other day all i wanted to do was install a new toilet seat. those are the simplest things to change and yet i couldn’t do it properly, had to kind of jerry-rig the new seat into place. and i was swearing like a sailor (do sailors actually swear more than other people?) maybe because i live alone i tend to talk to myself, and i often say: “you can’t even do that simple thing, you f-ing jerk,” even days after. 

     your problem is more relevant than the ridiculous example i just mentioned. but nobody likes to fail, at anything, whether an important business presentation or installing a new toilet seat. and i will honestly tell you what has helped me most of all in my life: age. i’m 69 and now i know pretty much for certain that none of it really matters, none of it ever mattered. i still beat myself up, a little, but i also kind of laugh at myself at the same time. really. and i kind of laugh at others, although not in a mean-spirited way, seeing how seriously they take themselves. it just doesn’t really matter. and for me, what has helped best has been a combination of age and meditation.

     the combination has been wonderful because the question begs asking: how can one become a little wiser earlier? how can one learn to relax now? what practice will help me relax and accept myself now? i know that if i had not meditated all these years i would not have the perspective that i do have. it has been my greatest treasure. lord knows where i’d be or who i’d be otherwise. and it did help me immediately. but i must add at the same time that it’s not a quick fix. it’s a long-term commitment to change. the practice helps initially with all our issues, depending on their severity. sometimes folks need more assistance otherwise: a trained professional, a doctor, maybe even medications. but, i am quite confident in saying that meditation smooths out those rough edges right away and more and more. 

     now a big part of the practice is the training of equanimity: being the watcher, being the uninvolved observer. when sitting, the more one practices simply watching the negative thoughts, painful memories, failures, without owning it all, the more profound an effect that training has in ones daily life. i would recommend that while being the watcher you even say: ‘it’s pain, not my pain, just pain.’ remember one thing: the mind will make us unhappy and then make us unhappy about being unhappy. the practice of equanimity can break that cycle. be the watcher more and the pain less. eventually, when you make a mistake during a presentation, you will have an innate ability to notice and act creatively, sometimes even in the moment. and you will shrug your shoulder if it’s afterward. it will just be who you have become. 

     this message is long enough kalyani dear. i could go on, but i’ll stop now. i’m always around, so far, and invite you to contact me anytime. best wishes going forward. 

     sincerely; nathan.