This was lunch. A late lunch. At one of my favourite cafes. The whole work of art came as photographed. Not my design, but that of its creator. In the midst of making contact with this delicious looking and fragrantly enticing installation, as if by yet another cosmic libretto of tragi-comedic farce, came spears and arrows from the deep, dark, unspeakable Abyss. In real time, the Bunny’s mindscape became a multi-dimensional stage – enter the surreal hyper-real oxymoronic characters and what have you. Wagner and Artaud, do your very best yet again! (And no, sadly, I did not manage to finish my lunch.)
Beware, this will be yet another fragmented ramble… Bunny style.
Well, some thoughts seep into the mind while one is engaged in utterly innocuous pursuits, for example, performing obligatory and necessary daily cleansing rituals in the shower. These poignant moments often slip away, but sometimes they return in a flash of recollection much later, triggered by goings on far removed. The knife in my burger drove home the irony, and summoned from its watery slumber a musing from a few days ago. Getting out of the shower, this bible passage about Jesus attacked my consciousness out of the blue, in just such a manner – a somewhat bizarre and even perhaps rude intrusion. Yet, these types of mindscape-invasions are quite commonplace for me (and I suspect many others too).
Matthew 12:46-50King James Version (KJV): 46 While he yet talked to the people, behold, his mother and his brethren stood without, desiring to speak with him. 47 Then one said unto him, Behold, thy mother and thy brethren stand without, desiring to speak with thee. 48 But he answered and said unto him that told him, Who is my mother? and who are my brethren? 49 And he stretched forth his hand toward his disciples, and said, Behold my mother and my brethren! 50 For whosoever shall do the will of my Father which is in heaven, the same is my brother, and sister, and mother.
At the time, stepping out of the shower, the immediate response in my mind was almost audible. It was as if I was having a little conversation with a campfire circle of monkeys right in there. What is the “will of” the “Father in heaven”? Or more precisely, what did Jesus think it was? I am no bible scholar with numerous PhDs in the subject, but just a simple minded Autistic Bunny navigating life in a rusty old wheelbarrow. The images and textures that came to mind were these: if the “Father” represents the ‘Creator’ figure, the ‘One who Gives Life’, then surely it must be the “will” of the “Father” that one follows one’s focused path, the ‘created-to-be’ life, which is the journey of Beingness. Anyone standing in the way of that, thus, is not mother or brethren. All who support and in any way encourage and facilitate this thematic development are therefore close kin.
Today, while grappling with concepts of kinship, smells of fried beef, sweet onion, yeasty buns, sesame seeds, and the stark image of that knife plunged through the soft construct that was to be nourishment, the above returned and enveloped my heaving seething mass like a diaphanous yet stubborn dumpling skin.
“Who is my mother? Who are my brethren?”
It is a slow process. Yet life itself is an Unfolding, anyway. What are we all scurrying towards? The moment a child is brought forth, it’s life begins to tumble towards inevitable death. Nobody knows this better than a child born into debilitation in the midst of a world teeming with guffawing, bouncing corporeality. What better, then, to make of this ephemeral existence but a journey towards Beingness? Hence, whoever impedes the evolution is an enemy, and whoever emboldens is kindred spirit.
The grace note is this. While grieving for the genetic blood ties that turn rogue with their knives both literal and metaphorical, I must remember the true kinsfolk who have nudged me in the right direction, booted me in the butt even, and sometimes dragged me screaming, all sending me along the meandering path towards Beingness. That elusive “will of the Father” thing. I thank you, my eclectic ‘family’ – human and canine all. Of course I am thinking of Lucy, yes, she is kinsfolk. And even a little bit more, because she is not human, and that is the pulchritudinous stroke of cosmic humour! Dogly indeed!