Squeezing The Legs Out Of The Snake

That's what the Tibetans call it, when you try to force your delusions on objective reality.

You find a snake. It's an animal; it should have legs. But where are they? It has no hair in which to hide them, no feathers, no shell.

Well, they must be inside.

So you squeeze. I picture the unoffending reptile, coiling around my wrist: bug-eyed, silent, indignant.

You want it to have legs. You'd feel better if it had legs. You insist it have legs. In the end, you'd rather it were dead, than it go on existing without legs.

But the thing is, it has no legs.

And that's only a problem for you.


(From Rough Around the Edges [manuscript in progress]. Photo of Epicrates cenchria, the rainbow boa, courtesy of Rawpixel.com and a generous photographer.)