The Squirrel that inspired it all

I’m driving home from work a couple of nights ago on one of three lanes. On the other side of the island are three other lanes headed in the opposite direction. In the middle, on this island, is a frazzled squirrel. He’s scared and obviously out of his element. On either side of this six lane road are trees and grass. Not necessarily home, but definitely a more suitable environment for the likes of him. He’s tiny compared to the vehicles which, to his hypersensitive ears, must sound like roaring monsters. He leaps off into oncoming traffic but quickly realizes that this it is an unwise decision. Perhaps another time… he hesitates for a split second longer and leaps out into traffic again. A second and then a third close encounter with an SUV and then a pick up truck ensue. I clench my teeth and close my eyes in fear at each failed attempt to and from the island but know he’ll soon change his mind and consider crossing the road on my side of traffic. Surely enough a fraction of a second after that thought has crossed my mind, He dashes in front of my car. I’ve been watching him and dreading the moment when he decides to make his move. Panic has driven him into a suicide mission I think. If he could just sit still. I slow down and hold my breath hoping he’d managed get past my tires but at the same time half anticipating the thud and bump under my wheel. As I see him emerge on the other side I let out a huge sigh of relief only to inhale once again almost instantaneously as the realization that, with two more lanes to conquer, he’s far from danger. The lady on my right manages to slow down in time and once again I see him emerge on the other side of her vehicle. He’s good for two out of three. But unfortunately I know all too well that almost good enough won’t quite cut it. The third lane is occupied by a man in his 40’s who is not in a car but rather a boat. An almost extinct model of a 1980’s Chevrolet caprice to be exact. He seems preoccupied with the thoughts in his head or the traffic ahead and as he approaches the squirrel I can’t help but think, even if he does see him he won’t attempt to break. Both fortunately and unfortunately I am right. The squirrel is hit, but not enough to become road kill. He’s still frantic and is dragging his hind legs along behind him on the pavement. The cars have moved on, the squirrel is on the side walk and the man in this car is turning the corner completely undisturbed by what has just taken place.

Several days later, I am still distraught about these series of events for several reasons.

1) The sight of a supposedly wild animal in the middle of an urban area constructed primarily on this animal’s home is of little meaning to the average Joe. We feel as though it is our right to own the roads and occupy them with automobiles that endanger the likes of this creature on a daily basis. It is an extremely intrusive ideology that allows our needs as humans to be categorized with greater importance than those of animals that can not advocate for their own cause. Is this the role was play in the survival of the fittest game? Are these obvious instant rewards in fact attributable to humans being the fittest or will our short sights now be nature’s way of showing us who is fittest after all?

2) In my mind 2 out of 3 lanes constitutes a 66.66% success rate and for the most part, 66.6%. is good enough. The comfort with just enough to get by instead of the expectation of 100% is indicative of an individual who has succumbed to the status quo. The routine. The don’t rock the boat itis!

3) The option of stopping was not feasible if it meant endangering my life or those of the passengers in vehicles behind me. What right do I have to decide that human life is more valuable than that of a squirrel? Surely I need to recognize that in the grand scheme of things I am just as miniscule as the squirrel? How would I feel if my life (as in the case back in the homeland) just as dispensable as this squirrel’s life was to me?

4) I almost expected the squirrel to die even though I was hoping it wouldn’t. Knowing that I was not the one responsible for his death however, made it sit a little easier on my conscience. Which makes me ask, is this what people do when they think of the famines in Africa or the wars fought in far off lands?

5) Something deep down inside me, call it intuition or call it experience, allowed me to see that the man in the caprice would not stop. I was not distraught by this notion in the least. It is not a dark grim world when we as humans acknowledge accept and deal with our own inhumanity as though it were the way of the world?

6) Though unfortunate that the squirrel survived that experience with an injury, I can’t help but wonder what its like to feel those near death intense emotions. Had he not been injured, would he have lived his life any less recklessly? Would there be any sort of guarantee that two days, weeks, months or years down the line he wouldn’t end up in the same predicament?

7) I was reminded of the time I actually did hit a squirrel on the way home from the US. I was traveling at a ridiculous speed and swerving to avoid him/her meant I’d definitely end up dead in the ditch. It was a two way street and there was an 18 wheel truck on the other side of traffic. Regardless, Images of baby squirrels anticipating the return of their mother filled my mind and creeping thoughts labeling me as a killer quickly over whelmed me and eventually brought me to tears. It was coincidentally then that a friend of mine called me. After relaying the story back to him, he casually responded by saying “it was the squirrel’s time to go… if it wasn’t you it was going to be someone or something else. Don’t beat yourself about it.” And just like that… I let go of my reality and accepted his and with it a calmness about the situation. Upon further introspection today, I’m left thinking…my reality is different from the next person’s reality, and if my reality is so different from the next persons’ reality where and how do we draw common grounds between each of our own individual realities?

Ze Confession

"Je n'ai pas peur de dire que tu me fais peur.
Avec ton espoir et ton grand sens de l'honneur.
Tu me donnes envie de tout détruire et de t'arracher le beau sourire.
Et même ça... n'est pas pourquoi... je me sens coupable.
C'est ça le pire!
Je me sens coupable parce que j'ai l'habitude.
C'est la seule chose que je peux faire avec une certaine certitude.
C'est rassurant de penser que je suis sûre, Ce ne pas me tromper quand il s'agit de la question de ma grande culpabilité.
Je n'ai pas peur de dire que j'ai triché.
J'ai mis les plus pures de mes pensées sur le marché.
J'ai envie de laisser tomber toute cette idée de "vérité"
Je garderais pour me guider plaisir et culpabilité ."
~ Lahsa de Sela

Won't you come again?

what do i say
on this april day
when my thoughts have gone astray
but i'm thinking about you
and what do i do
when i'm black and i'm blue...
and i'm still loving you
but i know it was meant to end
i'm missing you
or maybe i'm just missing who i was when i was with you

oh love...won't you come again
take me in your arms
and hold me
make me feel new again

and how do i convey
all the words that i could never say
to you when you were around

i'm missing you
or maybe i'm just missing how i felt when i was with you

oh love... wont you come again
take me in your arms and dance with me
make me feel alive again.
oh love...won't you come again take me in your arms and hold me... make me want to laugh and sing
make me want to love again.

My unwritten letter

Before you I was wide eyed and a believer. Unjaded. A proud advocater of that ever illusive Utopian state of love. Much like the painters perfect hue, I too could see beauty. A third eye of sorts, looking at the world through glasses that allowed me to sense and recognize feel and indulge in that cliched but infinite emotion. I paraded around with my shining yet awkward armor of naivete that seemed to irk most. It was my sense of pride and only form of self actualization. love and be loved. My heaven on earth consisted of nothing more than you me and a requiem for us to engage. I gave you my heart at the expense of my sanity. Continually denied of stability and assurance i never once questioned your intentions or moral character. your Houdini acts of appearance and disappearance only added to the fury with which i craved you. I treated each encounter as though it were our last and hung on to your ability to inspire me despite the facts. Convinced that true love was unconditional I dismissed your ill actions.

I do not know why the heart loves the way it does nor why you of all people were able to move mountains within me.
My only solace I suppose, is that I am a lover of words and you are a most skillful poet, euphoric in their delivery.

I want to be angry at you for not telling me your truths but I know I did not pry enough for them.
I want to be angry at you for making me feel like prying would make you run but I know I did not have the courage to face your absence.
I want to be angry at you for not being more careful with the emotions that seemed to overwhelm me day in day out but know that they were only so severe because they were mine and entirely subjective.
I want to be angry at you because you stripped me of a soul mate but can not deny that you have taught me a life lesson.

I want you to know that these events shook my core, my essence my being in ways i never thought possible.
I want you to know that I was the one who allowed you to have such a strong hold on me and that i have decided to release myself of it all.
I want you to know that I am glad that this was the extent of your damage because i don't think i would have been able to stand if I were in her shoes. I want you to know that I will not allow you the privilege of making me regret loving you.
I pray a day will come when a man can do what you have undone and undo what you have done.

Barcelona never fails to inspire.

She had reluctantly accepted suffering as an inevitable component of deep passion, and was resigned to putting her feelings at risk. If you asked her what it was she was gambling her emotions on to win, she would not have been able to say. She knew what she didn't want, however, and that was exactly what Vicky valued above all else.

A city of lovers

A post card at a magazine stand captures a young couple kissing in a window that reads Buenos Aires café. A city of lovers. They are everywhere in this enchanting place. On street corners, outside movie theatres in bookstores in parks and in public squares. This one particular couple specifically captivates me with the innocent sensuality with which they touch each other. The hustle and bustle of the market around them and these two entirely in their own world as though to defy time and space and claim them both theirs and exclusively theirs. The girl no older than 20 and the subject of her affection a man or a boy approximately the same age. She is dressed in what seems to be typical argentine clothing. Comfortable simple plain but classy. And he wears a back pack and holds onto the straps attempting to retain a cool calm and collected aura. They sit on different levels of the steps of the market. Her legs create a sort of throne with arm rests for him. So he sits…. Snug as a bug shrouded by her body as she casually drapes her arms around his neck and teases his ear with her breath and mouth. She whispers sweet nothings into his ear and throws back her head with thrilled laughter every once in a while. He stretches his neck in a slow motion much like a cat stretches after a nap. The girl seizes the opportunity and kisses his neck whispering something then pauses in anticipation of his reaction to her words. She looks at him and her eyes speak to him “ reach me if you can! I dare you to catch me with your lips!” He grins with acknowledgment and acceptance of the challenge brought forth. As I am watching all this transpire I am reminded that this city is flooded with the influence of the tango. So I watched this couple dance with movements of attraction and repulsion slow and quick gestures of desire and tenderness with every touch caress and glance. Suddenly, a cell phone rings, the music stops with a screech of a record, the dance no longer set in motion to the melody of their charm and reality barges in very uninvited. She watches him speak into the phone with such love in her yes, unengaged in the words but rather how his lips and tongue move to create the correct air pressure for the consonants and vowels. She watches how his eyes fill expression as he attempts to process and respond to what he is hearing. He hangs up the phone but she is still lost in all that is him. She is still caught in the whirlwind of visual and mental notes that allow her to glorify him. He tells her what has happened but she doesn’t register any of it and seems to waive it off like it never happened returning to her captivated trance like state before he interrupted her. They standing and facing each other at this point. He is on a step above hers and she, on the one below. The arch of her right foot hugs his left foot and her calf and knee cradle his. Her left arm is raised in the air poised like a dancer and her right gently grazes his cheek and ear. It is bent at the elbow allowing her palm to hang gracefully at the nape of her neck. He puts his phone back in his pocket and returns his hands to the small of her back as though it were a nook carved uniquely for his hands. He draws her near and kisses her cheek as she looks at him with her head tilted to the side. She is attempting to read his thoughts. He lingers and after he’s done lingering he decides that a kiss on the cheek was not enough so he begins another with more passionate conviction this time. He leaves her be as though to throw her to the wind, knowing that being within such close proximity would likely make it impossible for him to leave. He walks away but keeps his eyes fixed on her and smiles radiantly. Ciao Ciao he yells as he waives good bye and blows her a kiss. She laughs at his dramatic cinematic exit and jumps in the air pretending to catch the kiss from far above her head and places it on her heart. She turns around, straightens her shirt and takes a quick second to soak it all in, sighs and off she goes.