Snake Story

Coming back from the park behind my house, I was startled to see a snake on my lawn.  The snake seemed in distress. I wasn't sure why I thought this at first, though as I write this, it occurs to me that it could be my own consciousness playing tricks with me, creating this narrative. I'm sure I had the thought: "Something isn't right with that snake." As I walked around him toward my door, I saw the reason why.  He was missing a bit of his tail.  The lawn maintenance people had been by just a half hour earlier to mow the grass in the park.  I surmised that he had a bad encounter with the lawn tractor.  The snake quickly left the small patch of grass and went off into some undergrowth below the fir tree by my corner window. It looked like he ought to be three inches longer.  His tail looked wrong, but there was nothing I could do.  I don't particularly like snakes, but I didn't like the idea of another species suffering because of something we humans had done, accident or no. I briefly considered going to the garden shed for a shovel to kill him, but he was certainly able to move and so might easily survive.  I decided not to do anything.

I went back inside the house and made a few phone calls. Immersed in the flow tiny necessities that is business, I forgot all about the snake.  Now that it is night, however, I see that moment like a bright bubble wobbling upwards through the dark. Remembering something you have forgotten is a bit like dreaming.  It's an island in a silent sea of unconsciousness.  What is the difference between dream, memory and narrative?  Oh, don't answer me that, I know that you know the difference; you're not insane.  What I mean is: what is the difference at the point of awareness?  It doesn't seem like there's much difference, although in my waking moments, I'm definitely aware that I'm carrying more body weight than I am in my dreams.

As I write this, I remember from the interminable Home Owner's Association meeting that the name of the landscape maintenance firm is American Dream.  The dream of owning one's own business is a piece of the American narrative. The lawn mower men named their business American Dream.  The poor snake doesn't give a shit.  He's off under some leaves somewhere thinking Oh My Fucking God That Hurts!  Now it's late.I really should turn in.  I need sleep.  I don't know why I feel compelled to save this little bit I have retrieved from the anonymous grains of moments and days.

At the end of the story, I say a prayer for the snake, not that it will do him any good.

May you find a safe place to stay.
May your find what it is you need.
May your pain be not more than you can bear.

OK, that was a false ending.  I've just remembered another thing.  After work, Hunter and I went back down to the park to shoot some baskets.  No, I didn't see the snake.  But Hunter found a dead bird.  I thought it was still alive, perhaps stunned by flying into a window or something. I said, "No, I think he's still alive." Hunter insisted he was dead, but once again, I decided to do nothing.  Well, nothing with the bird anyway.  I remember thinking, "Well I'm sure as hell not going to bury it just yet."  Because the thought of burying an animal that isn't really dead is quite horrible.  Better they be really dead before you go burying them.  Anyway, I went down and played basketball for a bit and was quite mediocre.  However, I am better than I am in my dreams.

Lately, I have been having a recurring dream in which I can not get the basketball up to the hoop.  Like, there's something wrong with my arm muscles or my brain or nerves or something, and I can't get it to go that high.  It's rather frustrating.  I've had the dream so much lately that I've actually become aware that I was dreaming, because I'll say something like, "Hey, this is just like these dreams I've been having lately..." And then I realize, "Oh yeah, because this is a dream, too."  In fact, last night I had a variant of the same dream, although I did not become lucid.  I did explain to my teammates that I have this strange thing that happens where I simply can not shoot the basket, so my contribution would be go get the ball and try to pass it to someone in scoring position.

This is the true end to the snake story.  Yes, I know, it's a strand of narrative about a recurring dream, and something about a dead bird.  I was kind of hoping for some grand loop tying it back to the theme of memory, narrative and dreams, but that's all I've got. If you want more, why don't you pray for the snake or something.

5/20/13 Update:

Stumpy is still alive.  I saw him last week as I came out of my house.  He was sunning himself in the front garden. Hunter chased him under a bush, but I made him leave him alone.