So I'm breezing along a bike trail through rural country, feeling the exhilaration you get on a bike in Indian summer, when suddenly I find myself swerving hard to avoid a snake.
A large snake. Two feet plus, chocolate brown, mingled with the shadows.
Garter snakes routinely bask on that path, and what with the perfect climate and habitat, some grow quite large.
But not that large. Or that colour. And never in shade; Thamnophis is a sun-worshiper, intently keeping pace with her chosen beam as it crosses the pavement.
I hit the brakes and doubled back. And that's how I met my first wild rubber boa constrictor (Charina bottae).
Scion of an otherwise tropical family, the rubber boa lives farther from the Equator than any other. (As for the "rubber" bit, a glance at the photo here will cover
that.) Thus Charina follows the pattern of North Coast reptiles: we have fewer species than other regions, but those exceptions are notably charismatic. A tradition this wayward constrictor further upholds by bearing its young live, like most other local reptiles, and then by being so uncommon, and so hyper-local, that though I grew up just 5 miles from that spot, I'd never encountered one before. The only specimen I'd ever seen, more than 40 years ago, was a captive juvenile taken in this self-same south-county microhabitat.
The heads of both were so small and sleek that telling one end from the other was initially difficult. This is part of an unorthodox defence strategy, as rubber boas hide their business end when frightened, and if the threat persists, lunge at the tormentor with their blunt head-like tail, to confuse it.
Those striking gold eyes, tiny for a boa, are the result not just of nocturnal habits but also the fact that rubber boas spend most of their lives – more than 50 years – beneath rotten logs and forest litter, where large corneas would be a medical liability.
But it's their disposition that's truly legendary. Charina is the Greek root of the English "charming", and likely the French câlin (cuddly, snuggly), both of which epitomise this disarmingly affable creature. When I knelt to pick it up – prudently, behind the jaws – he not only declined any attempt to bite, but even to escape. Instead he just rolled into a ball in the palm of my hand and buried his head beneath the coils.
The gentle shyness, along with the velvet softness of his liquid body, had me talking baby talk immediately.
"Funny snake," I chided, stroking his silky back. "You can't s'eep here; you'll get runned over."
As I struggled to bag a one-handed photo of his face, he eased into lazy loops and tentatively explored my gloved hand. I snapped away best I could (whatever advantages this newfangled phone photography offers, ergonomics ain't one), and shortly he relaxed, wrapping himself around my hand and wrist with real warmth.
Comparison to a long, linear cat would not be unwarranted.
I was sorely tempted to keep him, but didn't, of course. That their diet is made up almost entirely of new-born mice, and they won't even eat that half the year, was just another reason.
So I walked wistfully a ways into the trees and carefully deposited the sweet little guy on the forest floor. He edged away reluctantly, as if he'd've happily come along if asked.
How the pet industry missed this one is beyond me, but I'm glad these magical beings endure in my native forest.
(This is the bedroom in the cabin I posted about last Wednesday. It occupies the entire second storey, and is uncannily like stepping into a Van Gogh painting. The friends who built it say that was entirely unintentional.)
"The only things stopping me today are genetics, lack of will, income, brain chemistry, and external events."
Eddie Pepitone
(Going out to all you PMA freaks out there.)
(Graphic courtesy of Nicholas Darinzo and Wikimedia Commons.)
(Friends lent me this tiny cabin high on a forested ridge to use as a radio shack for two weeks. One of the nicest and most radio-friendly sites I've operated. And an excellent hermit hut.)
Appearing also on My Corner of the World.
A moth walks into a podiatrist's office and sits down. "Doctor," he says, "my life is a mess."
"After twenty years of faithful service to my company, they laid me off.
"My brother, the only other surviving member of my family, was given three months to live.
"I'm feeling more and more irrelevant every day, as if no-one needs or wants me. My whole life has been a complete waste. I've accomplished nothing of note, even by my own account.
"And today my wife, the only reason I got up and went to that dead-end job every day, announces she's leaving because I'm too depressed."
"That's terrible!" says the doctor. "But why have you come to me with this? I'm a podiatrist."
"Oh," says the moth, "I just came in here because the light was on."
Wu Ya's commentary: "Mind the gap."
(Photo courtesy of E. Jones and Wikimedia Commons.)
Thus I am one of few goyim to have experienced the blessing of Jewish grandparents.
During that time I came to relish the Hebrew world view – so similar to my own Scottish and Old Settler heritage, yet so... not.
Upgraded, as it were. Different data, same conclusion. And with a wicked snap no Scot could despise.
So twenty years later, when, having become a Zen monk, I encountered the following online, I was primed to appreciate it.
The following is one of many well-shared excerpts from Zen Judaism: For You a Little Enlightenment, a short 2002 book by David M. Bader that took the early Net by storm. The site I saved my own text from has long since gone to the 404 meadows, but Heller Web Space preserves a close facsimile, with appropriately Web 2.0 æsthetics.
So enjoy this spin on the wisdom of the Ancestors, with refreshingly Nasrudinic clarity.
Zen Judaism
by David M. Bader
1. If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?
2. Be here now. Be someplace else later. Is that so complicated?
3. Drink tea and nourish life. With the first sip... joy. With the second... satisfaction. With the third, peace. With the fourth, a danish.
4. Wherever you go, there you are. Your luggage is another story.
5. Accept misfortune as a blessing. Do not wish for perfect health or a life without problems. What would you talk about?
6. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single "oy".
7. There is no escaping karma. In a previous life, you never called, you never wrote, you never visited.And whose fault was that?
8. Zen is not easy. It takes effort to attain nothingness. And then what do you have? Bupkes.
9. The Tao does not speak. The Tao does not blame. The Tao does not take sides. The Tao has no expectations. The Tao demands nothing of others. The Tao is not Jewish.
10. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Forget this, and attaining Enlightenment will be the least of your problems.
11. Let your mind be as a floating cloud. Let your stillness be as the wooded glen. And sit up straight. You'll never meet the Buddha with such rounded shoulders.
12. Be patient and achieve all things. Be impatient and achieve all things faster.
13. Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers. Each flower blossoms ten thousand times. Each blossom has ten thousand petals. You might want to see a specialist.
14. To practice Zen and the art of Jewish motorcycle maintenance, do the following: Get rid of the motorcycle. What were you thinking?
15. Be aware of your body. Be aware of your perceptions. Keep in mind that not every physical sensation is a symptom of a terminal illness.
16. The Torah says, "Love thy neighbour as thyself." The Buddha says there is no "self." So, maybe you are off the hook.
17. The Buddha taught that one should practice loving kindness to all sentient beings. Still, would it kill you to find a nice sentient being who happens to be Jewish?
18. Though only your skin, sinews, and bones remain, though your blood and flesh dry up and wither away, yet shall you meditate and not stir until you have attained full Enlightenment. But first, a little nosh.
(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)
So I'm breezing along a bike trail through rural country, feeling the exhilaration you get on a bike in Indian summer, when suddenly I find myself swerving hard to avoid a snake.
that.) Thus Charina follows the pattern of North Coast reptiles: we have fewer species than other regions, but those exceptions are notably charismatic. A tradition this wayward constrictor further upholds by bearing its young live, like most other local reptiles, and then by being so uncommon, and so hyper-local, that though I grew up just 5 miles from that spot, I'd never encountered one before. The only specimen I'd ever seen, more than 40 years ago, was a captive juvenile taken in this self-same south-county microhabitat.
