There’s always something rustling in the bushes. There’s always something stirring in the swamp. You can hear the sudden swish, amidst the reeds, or an abrupt bloop – the sound of a mini-creature going for the dive in algaed water. These are nature’s responses to my loud prowl, lurking in their territory as I made three repeated treks down the same route in riverside.
The instinctive fear in the land and amphibious creatures astounds me. They are so quick to move and then they become so still. Humans are so far behind the rest of the species in such sharp detectiveness. In an attempt to excel in this, we use whatever brain substance to steer ourselves to inventions of devastating devices.
I could report on today’s glorious fest at Stanley Park, but that could detour us from the trails that I am determined to report. In reflection of the last twenty-four hours, my three treks in this delta strip left me in amazement over the concept of fear. I first trekked alone. For my second, I was with an American devotee (the name escapes me) who walked the whole of India; and the third trek was with Sing Lung (dancer/actor from Toronto). Fear is so pervasive. It’s in all of us, so much entrenched. For the animal kingdom, fear translates into “will I be eaten?” For a human it’s, “Will I be ridiculed, criticized, character assassinated?”
How to address this reality of possibly losing your hide? What’s the optimum protection?
Bless the humble creatures, the lower brethren, who must live out their tenuous destiny. As humans, we have an obligation to protect their domain in order that they may be permitted to follow their natural course. Secondly, we have the opportunity to protect our spirit from moving in the direction of the world of Maya - this nagging world that sucks out our very life.
Let’s live life the best we can. Insert devotion.