Practice

Human beings have the amazing capacity to consciously feel. Our emotions extend beyond ourselves, our species and all other living beings. We can feel affection for objects which are inanimate. We can be saddened by the destruction of a precious object. We can be moved by printed words. We can be amused by lines on paper in the form of a cartoon.

Last evening I was impressed by my own ability to feel. I was preparing supper at 7 PM when I heard an unusual scratching on the wall of the kitchen. I went out to the deck off the kitchen and peered around the corner of the house. There in the driveway Skunkie was trying to get past my barriers and lattice to get under my back porch, which is an extension of the kitchen.

"Hey!" I yelled. Skunkie looked up at me with a skunkish shrug. Skunkie resumed scratching.

I went to the other side of the deck for a metal pole I leave there for just these situations. I banged the pole on a cinder block near Skunkie's work site.  "Hey, buzz off!" I growled. I was trying to be the portrait of an aggressive predator. The metal on concrete got Skunkie's attention.  As Skunkie backed from the lattice and turned to run under my car, I was impressed by Skunkie's size and beauty. Yes, beauty. This skunk was very clean, Shiny black fur and bright white stripes. I also noted that Skunkie is huge.

Skunkie's triangular head peeped out from under the car after a few seconds. Those onyx black eyes peered into my brain. I felt like Skunkie was casting a spell. I actually felt a wave of affection for the face in front of me. I reminded myself of my purpose. I acted out angry determination to keep Skunkie away with another round of metal bangs. Skunkie withdrew under the car and eventually left.

'Wow,' I thought when I returned to cooking supper after a thorough spraying of pepper spray around the house.  I realized I admired Skunkie's beauty and soulful eyes. I felt true affection for this intruder. Am I a masochist? Hardly.

I was reminded of the power I  have as a human being to reach out emotionally beyond my own needs. This is the basis of compassion. While I am not about to open a hole in the lattice around my porch for Skunkie to move in,  I understand Skunkie's need to try to get in. Upon reflection, I realized her rather large size most likely means Skunkie is pregnant. It is even likely that Skunkie was born under this porch which I now claim to be mine.

My neighborhood is rife with skunk habitats. My intellect enables me to rationalize my emotions to balance my compassion with my own best interests. This is the work of my humanist practice. I can coexist with Skunkie. There is no need to poison Skunkie. There is no need to strike out at Skunkie. I accept my responsibility to myself to keep her from stinking up my house without becoming unnecessarily aggressive or violent against this other being. This has required some patience, major engineering and labor.

I am grateful to Skunkie for this lesson. My gratitude is at times outweighed by my annoyance when Skunkie seems close to breaching my defenses. Learning to live in this misty mindscape between thought, emotion and instinct is a major part of the business of humanist practice as I experience it.