Opossum is an intriguing word. For those thinking it should be spelled “possum”— that's only in Australia where that species of animal lives. Here in America, it is the opossum.
An
opossum wandered by on my walk yesterday as if it had decided it was time to toss
a rope into my swamp-wallowing. Could be it was a sage-offering, the opossum a
new recruit to my tribe of spirit animals. It has all the markings of eMMe-truth, especially when entwined with this
particular solstice.
A well-known fact of the opossum is that when it perceives danger, it often topples over in a grand death moment, the breath of the animal even perfumed with the stench of a corpse. What is lesser-known, is that occasionally an opossum forgets it is still alive, the slowing of its breath and heartbeat stealthily removing the idea it is play-acting. Apparently, the stellar performance fools even the actor and the animal never moves again.
In terms of the 2020 solstice and my swamp-wallowing, I wonder if I and many in our nation, have lost the knowing that we are not yet dead. Our breath though barely perceptible is still there, bodies waiting for minds to catch up to what is true. 2020 has felt excruciating. Loss of health and or loved ones to Covid-19, loss of income, loss of routine, loss of normalcy. While 2020 has been horrific, so were the three years previous as one-by-one, opossums toppled over after encountering predators unleashed to annihilate good governance and a semi-functioning society.
My story is complicated by a history of predatory encounters, each toppling me into corpse pose. Over time, corpse pose became normalized, not fully-living or fully-dying, walking as though I lived while living as though I had died.
The Opossum Solstice is a reminder that we do indeed still breathe. Though predators exist, they are not close enough to smell our breath. It is time to move.
Tonight, I will set a bonfire with the intention that my opossum awakens so she and I may live as though we are indeed, still breathing.
A well-known fact of the opossum is that when it perceives danger, it often topples over in a grand death moment, the breath of the animal even perfumed with the stench of a corpse. What is lesser-known, is that occasionally an opossum forgets it is still alive, the slowing of its breath and heartbeat stealthily removing the idea it is play-acting. Apparently, the stellar performance fools even the actor and the animal never moves again.
In terms of the 2020 solstice and my swamp-wallowing, I wonder if I and many in our nation, have lost the knowing that we are not yet dead. Our breath though barely perceptible is still there, bodies waiting for minds to catch up to what is true. 2020 has felt excruciating. Loss of health and or loved ones to Covid-19, loss of income, loss of routine, loss of normalcy. While 2020 has been horrific, so were the three years previous as one-by-one, opossums toppled over after encountering predators unleashed to annihilate good governance and a semi-functioning society.
My story is complicated by a history of predatory encounters, each toppling me into corpse pose. Over time, corpse pose became normalized, not fully-living or fully-dying, walking as though I lived while living as though I had died.
The Opossum Solstice is a reminder that we do indeed still breathe. Though predators exist, they are not close enough to smell our breath. It is time to move.
Tonight, I will set a bonfire with the intention that my opossum awakens so she and I may live as though we are indeed, still breathing.
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