Tuesday, October 23, 2007
project 365 #295: near Mills River
Yesterday, I went to my zen guru therapist and as usual, he had many good points to make. It seems that he actually knows me very well, which unnerved me a bit: my instinctive response to being known well is to flee and when I say flee, I mean fleeing of the dye your hair, have plastic surgery and move to Idaho variety. He told me I had to stop putting things into one of two boxes since I seem to fit everything into either the I Can’t Have That Because Good Things Don’t Happen To Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me Box of Suffering or the If It Isn’t A Completely Magical Perfect Thing That Passes All Understanding Than I Don’t Want It Anyway Box. There is some horrifying truth to this and it alarmed me a bit. Then, however, my therapist started telling some story about how crows give warnings and how there are warnings within us that must be heeded only you have to know the difference between a crow freaking out since there’s a hawk around or a crow freaking out just because crows like to occasionally freak out and my mind started wandering and I thought, well, for my generation, this crow metaphor is just too pastoral. Personally, whenever I think there may be danger ahead, like a speed date says he loves Bush or I meet a guy I really really like who would be perfect if he had, like, a place to live, I don’t hear crows at all. What I hear is the robot from Lost in Space, yelling “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” and then, since my name isn’t Will Robinson, I get to choose whether to ignore it or not. That comes in a lot handier than having to get all Wilderness Family Meets Don Juan (Daddy! Mr. Grizzlys says try the blue mushrooms!) and trying to figure out if a crow is just a crow or if it is, in fact, my highly exasperated spirit guide.