The Sad Fate of Sally or Petey Possum

These days, I have so many tears lying just beneath the surface. So many. And there are not enough opportunities to allow these tears to flow. As much as I want or need to cry, I just can't.

One morning I was sitting on my front porch and a very large crow landed in the dogwood tree in our front yard. He was raising a ruckus about something. He faced the street in front of our house and ceaselessly cawed.  I talk to crows because they are so smart, I believe they understand me. At the very least, I think they can tell by the tone of my voice that I love them and I mean them no harm. So I asked the crow, "Do you have something to tell me?" He remained on the branch of the dogwood tree for a few more seconds yelling at the street and then he flew away.

I sat there, taking in the crisp morning air when I noticed something on the street. I put on my glasses and discovered it was a dead possum.

I went inside, put on some gloves and got a plastic bag in order to collect the possum's body. As I went outside, I noticed the person across the street in their car getting ready to back out of their driveway. This would almost certainly have caused further ruination to the poor possum's body. I rushed over to the possum's side, holding up my hand for the person to stop. Which they did. I gathered the body in the plastic bag. It was not completely taken by the process of rigor mortis. The blood was bright red. It seemed to me that this possum had been hit fairly recently.

I carried her lifeless body to the backyard and began digging a grave underneath a giant pine tree. I kept hitting roots and decided to dig around them. In this way, I sculpted an earthen cradle with a canopy of roots. I burned some sage and smoked the newly dug environs. I burned a candle and dropped some tobacco into the hole as a blessing. I removed the possum from the plastic, wrapped her in soft red cloth and tucked her into her resting place. She seemed comfortable there. As I covered her body with dirt, I began to cry. I apologized for the harsh end to which her life had come. I thanked her for her life. I told her I love her. And the tears flowed.

Once her body was covered, I heaped a pile of pine needles on top of her grave and placed some pine cones across the top. I put a piece of a cinder block at the foot of the grave. A fence stands at her head. So it is as if she has a headboard and a footboard to her bed underneath the tall pine tree in our backyard.

~~~

Towards the end of winter this year, I was awakened by a very rambunctious crow right outside my bedroom window. I dressed to go outside and see what the commotion was about. I discovered the crow was yelling at a possum in a tree. This went on for a long time, long enough for me to grab my phone and make a video of it. It seemed to me that the crow did not like the possum very much and was telling it to go away. The possum seemed nonplussed. Eventually the crow flew away and the possum ambled down out of the tree and on her way.

In the Spring, a baby possum found her way into our house. There was evidence that she had been making nightly stops to feast on dog food left in a bowl on the kitchen floor. My ally captured her and put her in a cardboard box with a little towel and some bits of food. We pondered what to do with her. Ultimately, we simply set her free in our backyard, which, even though we live by a street that is frequented by automobiles, provides a nice habitat for possums and rabbits and the like.

The next night, she returned. We captured her again, and again we set her free in the morning. I named this baby possum Sweet Sally Possum. I loved her. My ally and I continued this catch and release ritual with Sally until my ally decided it was time to set her free in a park. He captured her in a Have-a-Heart trap and drove her to a nice park with lots of trees and a stream running through it. I was a little bit sad about this move. At least if she remained in our backyard she would be safe, I thought. There was no harm in having her come in for dog food treats, I thought. I tried leaving dog food treats for her in the backyard. But if I failed at my task, she would return to the dog food bowl in the kitchen.

After Sally was taken away, another possum began to come in. He liked to show his teeth more than Sally, so I named him Petey. We played catch and release with Petey a few times before my ally drove him to the park as well.

I relate the story of the crow and possum and of Sally and Petey to you because I find it meaningful that this year has been bookmarked by episodes including them. A crow yelling at a possum in a tree, a crow yelling at a possum in the street, baby possums hanging out in our backyard, making nightly visits, and an adult possum buried in our backyard under a tall pine tree. There is no way to know if the possum I buried was Petey or Sally. But I honor them daily as I visit the possum's grave. The possums and the crows ushered in delight and tears. Both are necessary for my survival. I am grateful for this passage of time demarked by these beings and the quiet moments shared with Possum and Crow.

Ponderance

A morbidly obese man comes into Planet Care from time to time. There are periods in which he comes regularly.  Then there are stretches of time in which I never see him.  For a while, he came in nearly every day.  He would be wearing workout-type clothing and look flushed and sweaty as if he'd been exercising.  He would carefully select food from the salad bar, purchase it and sit in the cafe to eat.

Over time, I could tell that he was losing weight.  I knew it was an immense challenge for him.  But he seemed to be on the right track. I felt compelled to tell him that I noticed the results of his efforts.  But I never found the courage to do so.

He came into the store the other day.  He looked as if he'd gained some weight since the last time I saw him. He seemed to be having trouble walking.  He leaned onto the shopping cart in front of him, walking slowly through the store.  He came up to the juice bar and I was overly nice to him.  He would not look at me.  He pondered the selections and asked for a sixteen ounce vegetable juice containing carrots, kale, beet, cucumber, garlic and ginger.  I promptly made this juice for him and handed it to him with all the love I could muster. He never looked at me. 

I watched as he walked to the nearest cashier.  He wore shorts which revealed the dark red of his calves from above his socks nearly to his knees. I know this to be a bad sign.  One of the many complications occurring when one's body cannot handle the excess weight.  I know that obesity could kill this man.  I know it is making his life extremely challenging.  I know that this man has a beautiful starry-eyed daughter who seems to love her father. I know he has everything to gain by working very hard to improve his health.

I know this: I am rooting for him. 

~~~

A woman comes into Planet Care from time to time.  She carries with her a dark cloud.  She speaks as if she is constantly exasperated.  She rolls her eyes in disdain without even realizing she does this.  She orders me to make her a smoothie drink.  She watches as I put the ingredients into the blender and corrects me when I put in too much of one ingredient or too little of another. I feel her exasperation permeating my atmosphere and I sigh rather loudly.  In my imagination, she feels victorious by having made me exasperated like her.  In my mind, she feels vindicated by my exasperation.  And I remember a meme I ran across recently on fecesbook: 

I delivered the smoothie drink to the unpleasant woman and smiled, graciously thanking her and saying, "I hope you enjoy that." 

~~~

An elderly man, very smartly dressed, was walking towards the doors of Planet Care.  On his way out of the store, he paused to pick up one of several free publications on display.  As he paused, I heard him sing, "Que sera, sera.  Whatever will be, will be.  The future's not ours to see.  Que sera, sera." 

For some reason, this struck me as a bit menacing.  I imagined Nick Cave doing a version of this sweet little ditty.  And I thought how very true to life this juxtaposition is.  

The sweetness and the menacing are all but a razor's edge apart.  Darkness in all its myriad forms threatens to envelop us.  But the fundamental sweetness and delicacy of Life permeates even the most menacing darkness.  

Allow the darkness.  Allow the light.  Do not deny yourself the experience of either.  There is no use pretending that darkness does not exist and there is no use pretending that the darkness never ends.  We can deprive ourselves of joy just as we can deprive ourselves of sorrow.  Both will nourish us.  But only if we can allow them to be what they are: temporary states.  And no more. 

The Rainbow Inside

During my stint in what felt like a third world country but is better known as West Virginia, I encountered a remarkable woman.  She came to the site of an "intentional community" to which I belonged to conduct a weekend-long seminar called "Opening to the Creative."

At barely five feet tall, Dr. Edith Wallace was a force of nature.  Her brilliant white hair was accented by the rich shades of purple she wore.  She was elegant and filled with a divine Grace.  Yet her eyes spoke of mischief - past and present.

Edith created a form of art therapy involving tissue paper collage. This was a focal point in her seminars.  She supplied every color imaginable, all cut to her size specifications.  These were laid out in an order dictated by Edith on long tables.  We were instructed to select the colors that appealed to us in the moment.  We took the tissue paper to a work station where there were pieces of poster board, paintbrushes and a watery glue mixture.  We were instructed to tear the tissue paper into pieces, assemble them on the poster board, and immediately brush the glue mixture over them to secure them into place.  We were told to work in silence, not to belabor this process and not to attempt to create recognizable forms or something of beauty.  After we completed one collage, we were to sign it on the back and draw an arrow indicating which way is up.  We could make as many as we wanted during the allotted amount of time.

At the end of the collage-making process, Edith would ask each participant, one at a time, to set their collages up on an easel in front of everyone.  She would make comments based on any impressions she received from the assemblages.

The first set of collages I made were of muted colors: gray, brown, pale pink.  On one, I pasted bright red, yellow and green and then covered these up with black.  When I displayed my collages, Edith asked me if I had children.  I was startled by this question.  "Yes," I said, rather timidly.

"Do you ever play with them?"

"I used to."  I broke down and cried, blubbering out all manner of excuses for why I was no longer able to play with my children as I once did.  Edith listened patiently.  And all she said was, "You must find you inner jester.  You must allow yourself to play."   

At that point in my life, Edith's words were monumental.  They shook me to my core.

I had been severely depressed.  Ex-husband guy had violently attacked me.  My world was collapsing in around me.  I had no hope.  And in Edith's simple question, "Do you play with them?" I realized how far removed I had become from my core, from my delight.

After lunch one day, I went to the room I was sharing with other participants and stretched out on the twin-sized bed.  The surroundings were lush for me but rustic for others, I'm sure.  The seminar was housed in a  200 year-old mansion built by George Washington for his nephew Bushrod Corbin Washington.  My room had a lovely upstairs view of the apple orchard out back.

I lay on my bed looking up at the high ceiling, aware of the afternoon colors, and trying very hard to feel some warmth.  I thought of my murky collages.  And I thought about my daughter, who was at this time, six.  My daughter, who radiates warmth, was going through a phase of drawing rainbows.  Self portraits, tracings of her hand, landscapes.  No matter what the subject was, each drawing had a rainbow. 

I wondered about this.  How did she become that way?  How did she become so bright, so warm, so full of color?  I had nothing to do with it!  She just is that way.

But then I thought, wait a minute. I did have something to do with it.  I housed her in my body for 40 weeks.  I gave birth to her.  Whatever is inside of her that creates rainbows has to be in me as well.  It has to be.  Right?

It was time to reconvene in the main room downstairs for more collage-making.  As I selected my colors, I was drawn to the colors that had danced around in the room upstairs when I was having my revelation.  And then, I selected the bold colors of the rainbow.  I made two collages and felt satisfied - as if there was nothing more to express.

When Edith looked at my two collages, she remarked that she saw birds in flight in both of them.  She was glad, she said.  I seemed to have connected with precisely what I needed in order to heal: play.  Indeed, I felt worlds lighter.  Almost giddy in fact. 

We chose a collage to "dance," to bring to life with music and movement.  We selected a piece of music, and we performed our dance for each other.  I do not remember the piece of music that I selected.  But I remember moving my body as if every limb, every gesture was an expression of a rainbow.  Full of a vibrant radiance, a warmth and most of all hope. 

It is incredibly easy to become absorbed in the act of day-to-day living, so much so that we fail to notice the beauty inside us and around us. If we allow the daily grind and the unkind people around us to continually drag us down into despair, anxiety, or hopelessness, our experience of life becomes dim and colorless. But we all have a rainbow inside that is ready to radiate out. We all have a vibrant joy that is uniquely ours. It may seem very far away. But I guarantee you, if you look for that inner jester who loves to laugh and play, who is filled with wonder and a tiny bit of mischief, your rainbow will appear. And you will be so glad. 

So I invite you, dear friend, to go outside and play today. Jump in a mud puddle, or a pile of leaves. Tumble down a hill, or climb a tree. Assemble a crown of clover. Then wear it. Because you now occupy your royal station. You have found your inner jester. 

~For Brooke Edwards~