the Tree of the Dancing Squirrels

.

Tree of the Dancing Squirrels from my house

The Tree of the Dancing Squirrels (as I think of it) is silent now, bereft of dancers like some darkened theater in the wake of an evening of musical wonder and delight. Its 'meaning' has been erased by the passage of time, tender shoots turned brittle in autumn's onslaught, the dancers gone home or off to some more nourishing venue. Those squirrels that once hung upside down or pirouetted among the leaves now lope here and there on the ground, bearing fodder in their jaws, seeking out storage sites. Dancers are just people in the end, but oh how wondrous was that lighted stage!

This morning, an uninvited email arrived from some entity that headlined its efforts with the banner "RELIGION OF LIGHT." Its opening salvo read:

Dear friends and family,
A research work on the spiritual meanings.
You can read the teachings online.

I got that far and closed it out. "Meanings" are like anchovies in my life: I can understand that others may eat and enjoy and receive nourishment from them, but anchovies are one of my least-favorite foods. I would feed them to the squirrels if I could, but I can't imagine any self-respecting squirrel eating anchovies or meanings either.

A friend is wrestling with the recognition that his own kindly and innocuous efforts are linked inextricably to a system and outlook he finds harmful and unkind. It is like a thumbscrew in his moral mind ... no escape and painful and confusing. Goodness goes around some hidden corner and finds itself in the embrace of the very evil (if that's the word) that goodness hoped in some measure to correct. And worse, of course, is the fact that there is no corner to go around. The innocent man finds himself guilty in much the same way that the guilty man proclaims his innocence. Exactly how far is it from "here" to "now" or "here" to "there?" The religion of light could probably explain and anneal, but an honest man is not so fortunate. The Zen teacher Ta Hui once advised a student by mail (more or less... I'm too lazy to look it up), "Do not be too virtuous. Too much virtue makes people crazy."

This morning, on my porch across from the Tree of the Dancing Squirrels, a small bird had flown in the open door and was trying desperately to understand and escape. It seemed incapable of finding the door through which it had flown, a door that remained open. It flew fruitlessly against the windows through which the great outdoors was so obvious. It was insane ... being able to see what was true and free and yet something inexplicable stood in the way ... some meaning that defied all meanings. The bird fluttered desperately and I approached as harmlessly as I could ... which didn't convince the bird, of course. It grew even more desperate as I talked softly and approached the window nearest to its unavailing efforts. I talked without thinking, wanting to reassure and trying to reassure in the only way I knew how to reassure ... talking. But my kind intentions were seen in a completely other -- and completely understandable -- light. Another threat in a confounding world of threats. I cooed and murmured and opened the window nearest to the bird's struggles. Wide, wide open ... then herded the bird with a non-threatening hand that must have looked so threatening, towards the unrestricted opening. And then, with meanings and confusions and fears left behind ... s/he was gone. I was pleased to have been of some assistance ... but not pleased enough to find meaning in it.

Make a mistake, correct it.
Don't make a mistake -- correct that too.
.