The Unexpected Expanse of Alignment

When I pick someone apart with calculated criticisms I'm announcing what I dismiss in myself. Except sometimes, when I'm just picking someone apart.  When I do that, I'm just an Asshole.

I spent the morning in Moss Landing, and some of that time was spent reading on the rocks by the Sea Harvest where I watched the seals, and otters.  Even with the flotilla of kayaks today, sea mammals outnumbered the people.

At some point, a man paddled in front of me. One of the otters noticed him, rolled to his stomach, and made a B-line in his direction.  It dove, and when it surfaced it was floating on its back barely a foot from the man, pounding a shellfish with a rock.

The otter floated nonchalantly beside him, making occasional, soft contact with the boat's cockpit.  Its head was turned up with a gaze that met the one the man was turning down on it.  They were unwavering.  There was no fear, or caution, apparent in either.  The otter would eat, dive, and return to the same position, and he did it over and over again.  If the man wanted to he could have reached down, and touched it.

I'm not an otter expert, but that's not something you see often.  If I didn't know better, I'd say he wanted human company.

Lost in the Details

After ten or fifteen minutes of this rare casualness, the man's wife appeared.  She paddled around a corner, and burped a spontaneous "Oh my God!" quicker than her eyes and brain put the 'this isn't supposed to happen with those' pieces together.  There they were, the sea mammal and her husband, floating on the ebbing tide.  It was the next moment, and the choice she awarded to it, that ignited my critic, because what she did next is what I've done most of my life. Whether it's done often, or rarely, doesn't matter.  It comes up empty every time.

Just as she'd tied off, and turned loose, her 'oh my god' she put her paddle across her waist, and looked down.  She began rummaging through the pack she had tied to the bow.  She finally located a small camera that she removed, and placed on her lap so she could peel off the neoprene gloves she had on.  That was followed by a slow-motion montage of removing the camera case, wiping the lens, adjusting the settings, and performing a few 'test' shots she turned in the opposite direction to take.
Oyyyy.  Duhhh. Dyooo.
WHAT!!?

"My Life was here a minute ago.
I just put it down for a second.  Right there.  I was preparing to document it, and it disappeared.

I swear."

POOF!..., and it's gone.

It's anti-climatic but I'll say it.  In the time it took the woman to prepare for the moment, the moment played out, and became a new one. Whatever occurred within it doesn't exist for her.  It's not logged into memory, or a point of reference.  

For her husband, however, it's already an insight, or a metaphor, or a man-crush.  That's up to him.   If nothing else, he knows there's no such thing as man, or beast.  There's a single, desperate, universal desire to be seen that takes on all forms in order to meet it.  It's life's own effort to see past the form it takes, and reunite with the ephemeral lightness that it truly is.  The one that lays beneath, and provides support for, everything.

That lesson can't be learned by recording an image, or a sequence.  It's a lesson too large for language, or a test tube.  That lesson only sinks in if you let it, and the way you let it is by letting go. When an otter consciously awakens to the awareness that he's no such thing, and neither are you, that you're both just different garments for the joy that wears it, don't take a picture. Memorize it, instead.

The picture won't capture what you hoped to capture,
anyway.

Pictures Off The Wall

I don't like when the galaxy aligns to collect her debts.  I've learned to pay what I owe, however, and today I owe my ex-wife.  I forget that people say they're sorry in the ways they're capable, not in the way we demand.

My town is small which means if she's been mentioned she's been made aware.  In fact, I know she's been here because the picture of my mother I wrote about in 'Weight of Gravity', was put away some weeks ago.  Initially, I read that as a victory.  I was wrong.  All I was seeing was an otter.  It, and other altered nuances I've noticed, are profoundly sincere, and courageous apologies.

Thank you.
And I accept.

Galaxies shift when the alignment they're in threatens the continuity that sustains them.  People, not so much.  So, I also want to say I was wrong about my ex's misunderstanding about how, or if, the term 'narcissist'  applies to me.  It does.  I'm starting to believe the otter, and the humans, choreographed their exchange for me.

As I was driving home the otter rose next to me the same way he had by the man.  He was floating by my window, so I rolled it down.  "You know, Pat," he said, "If this is your last year of life, try forgetting about what you want to do, and ask to be shown what you need to do.  Being 'real' has nothing to do with the spotlight, or the stage.  It's about the curtain that covers it.  The way you leave your mark on anyone is through the acknowledgement of the contribution they made to you.   Grow the qualities you want left behind in those you'll be leaving."    

If my mother reappeared, and took her place on the mantle, it would make sense to me now.  It would fit.  The only place her picture belongs is in Healing.