Mouse

A mouse ate through a bag of potato chips in my cupboard. It was the first evidence of a rodent visitor in my house since I moved in one year ago. Odd. I am convinced that I may actually be the visitor. The mouse is probably the descendent of many generations of furry forebears in this house or its vicinity. I most likely will be passing through this property, despite my sense of human ownership, faster than the mouse's progeny. To the mouse, I would guess, this series of squared walls and ceilings and pipe chases is simply an extension of earth and roots and plants which surround my little house. There is probably little room in mouse consciousness for the human house concept. To my mind, that makes the human element of the landscape seem much less important in the big picture of life. I envy the mouse's unconscious foraging. I envy the mouse's capacity to deftly make my space his/her own in as much as it provides the mouse with what the mouse needs. There is a great Christian message about all this. Most Christians, quite blatantly, choose to ignore it. In my practice, I hope to retain this consciousness of the appeal of mouse-ness.