Now Playing: Bugs On The Front Porch
by Cata Low
The other night I decided to lie on the front porch and watch bugs. I hadn’t done it for a long, long time, and I got to thinking that I might be missing something. It turned out that I have been, because the drama I witnessed could compare with some of the finest episodes of Star Wars.
I saw a mammoth banana slug roll over a tiny pillbug. The little pillbug was upside down with his head underneath the slug, little legs flailing, getting thoroughly slimed!
The slug finally rolled completely over the bug, slowly turned himself around, extended his eyes on the end of those long stalks and examined the little foreigner with whom he had just had such a intimate encounter. When he had satisfied his curiosity, he shifted into slug warp speed and disappeared back into the garden. The pillbug limped along for a few paces until he no longer left an oilslick, then ambled off. It was a magnificent drama, and I realized that I had been completely enthralled for a good 20 minutes.
A few days later, I told this story at a dinner party. My friends all laughed, but then the hostess turned to me, head cocked, eyes penetrating, and asked, “You don’t have a TV, do you?”
The truth is, I do have a TV, but it’s a treat, not the main course. Otherwise, I may catch the news, but I miss the mystery.
The scope of our awesome and rich life goes well beyond PBS and cable. It goes out into the garden, out into the world and out into the galaxy. It far exceeds the “Blue Plate Special” served up in the satellite dish. It is an endless buffet, and it’s brought to you by your own appreciation.
Deep appreciation of life and its mystery has been slowly eroded in our culture. We have analyzed, dissected, examined, explained, labeled, and hurried until the magic has become the mundane.
And with the mystery neatly labeled and organized, we seem to exist on a line of time with each hour boxed and designated. Everything is in order. Everything is on time. Everything is under control.
Maybe we decide to relax by going to a movie, watching TV, reading a book, or listening to the radio. But look what is on the hit list! Death Wish 20 is at the cinema. Umpteen live cop shows are on prime time. And rap music pumps out the feelings of aggression.
This is the fast-food of our national psychology. This is the daily special of the American public. This is the sauce that suffocates the mystery.
Then we spice it up with the acid of the following phrases that are as toxic to our sense of appreciation as anything that pollutes the air or water.
We tell ourselves:
“There’s not enough time.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“I might look stupid.”
“I can’t do that.”
“It’s too late to...”
“I’m different from other people.”
“I’m a victim of (my marriage, my job, my parents, my illness.)”
“It’s always going to be like this.”
“I’m guilty.”
“The world is a scary place.”
Can you feel the heaviness, the density of that list? The ingestion of these “heavy metals” solidifies us. Quiet desperation looms, with all the headaches, neckaches, backaches and heartaches that follow.
So is it possible to change the channel from tunnel vision to panavision?
Is it possible to return from a life of dutiful numbness to one of awe and appreciation?
It is not only possible, it is effortless.
It is as effortless as choice. It is as effortless as thought.
What thoughts do we choose to play and replay in the theater of our mind? Thoughts of the front page news? Echoes of our parents’ thoughts? Fearful thoughts? Thoughts of the future? Of the past? Or thoughts of appreciation? Thoughts of gratitude?
There’s an old verse that goes:
Sow a thought; reap an action.
Sow an action; reap a habit.
Sow a habit; reap a character.
Sow a character; reap a destiny.
To reweave the experience of deep appreciation and fulfillment, we need only do it with a single thought in a single moment. That thought works into a web of thoughts, in a web of moments, in a web of people, creating a character and destiny luminous with joy-filled appreciation. We can do it anywhere. We can do it now!
We do it ourselves, and in so doing our appreciation joyfully spills into the world.
The tools in The Avatar Course have become my remote control. Just like with the television, I have clicked off “Channel Misery” and have clicked into the awe and wonder of the eternal mystery. What a life!Cata Low, Austin, TX
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