© 2023 Dean William Rudoy, PhD
Out here in the desert there is a drought. The lack of rain compromises the health of the piñon trees, which in turn become susceptible to the appetite of a little bug called the Bark Beetle. Regrettably, though the trees send forth sap to close the wounds from the beetles’ chewing, many eventually succumb.
One day, while out walking amongst the trees, I stopped at one that had lost most of its needles and was slowly surrendering itself. I looked closely at one of its branches and saw a little beetle walking along the bark. I asked the beetle to at least pause for a moment to acknowledge what it had done in bringing down a noble tree. But, he paid no heed to my entreaty.
Then, it crossed my mind that his world and its imperatives are really not much different than mine—just at a different level of magnification. As I stepped away from the tree, the beetle disappeared—but, he was still there. If an airplane took off from the desert and someone looked out the window, they would see me—but, as the plane ascended, I would eventually disappear, too—but, I would still be here.
What happened to the seed from which the tree grew? What happened to the caterpillar from whom the butterfly emerged? Within each were instructions about what was to unfold. It’s the same with us, but often we get lost along the way of becoming who we really are.
Much exists in this life beyond our perception. I suppose that fact should give us pause, before we make our claims regarding the significance or superiority of what is happening at our level of magnification.
Back to the beetle. He was eating the tree, but that’s not all that was happening. The tree was becoming beetle. Who knows, maybe he did pause to give gratitude for that miracle.
I always intend, but most often forget, to pause in gratitude before I eat something. Even though that carrot or cookie or cutlet look nothing like my blood and bone and nerves, that is what they are about to become—through some miracle of transformation—at a cellular level of magnification.
Everything is changing into something else in this life—unfolding into different forms and patterns. No one can explain that, but it seems filled with meaning. And for that, I give thanks.
Dean Rudoy is author of Emissaries: Stories and Reflections
“a quiet book for chaotic times”.