Baby Opossums

We’d all been home in the house for nearly a week, thanks to the Coronavirus.  At midday we somehow all came out of our nooks and crannies and decided to take a break from our work by walking the dog.  I had settled into the suspended center (what I call my space of prayerful alignment) first thing that morning and was allowing myself to simply rest there. 

Inevitably, then, I was listening and speaking from there as well.  I said, “Let’s go a route we don’t normally take and see houses we aren’t used to seeing.”  We walked all the way up Wolfe Street, blocks past where we’d normally turn and loop around.  When we got to Chicago, I said, “Let’s turn here then go on to Lee.”  Half-way down Chicago we came upon a tragic scene.  Small newborn baby animals that I assumed were squirrels were lying on the road.  Some of them did not survive whatever had occurred there.  But two were squirming, whole, and holding onto life in their tiny bodies, which were smaller than my thumb.  I couldn’t walk away.  I had no idea what to do.  But we had come down this street.  This was the next space in which to be present, to listen.

A man walking his dog walked past us and noticed.  He kindly got off his phone call and came over to help. He looked down and identified the creatures as opossums.  His name was Jordan.  He said he used to work for the Virginia Wildlife Rescue Center and he had time to take these creatures there that day!  He didn’t seem to think they had much of a chance, being so small, but if they did, he knew the process for their survival. 

Another unusual thing that had been a part of all of this is that I had decided to wear my fanny pack, which I hadn’t done for months.  It had a stack of clean tissues in it.  I quickly emptied the extra contents into my son’s hands and laid the tissues along the bottom of the cloth bag.  I scooped up the tiny creatures and placed them next to one another to let them know they were not alone.  I gave the flowered baby blue fanny pack to Jordan who kindly strapped it around his waist.  I felt so much trust in this stranger.  So much trust in whatever process was unfolding in this tiny miracle, even if I had little hope that the babies would survive.  I had so much gratitude that when I had no idea what to do, I was crossing paths with the person who did. 

We continued our walk onto Lee Avenue as planned.  Not long into our walk we came upon a beautiful garter snake sunning on the sidewalk.  Seeing a snake is always a miracle for me.  I love these creatures and my life has been connected to their magic and medicine over the years through dreams and encounters and symbolism.  I had so much gratitude in my heart.

When I think about sharing these stories, my mind comes online and says, “That’s a coincidence.  It’s spring.  There are baby animals.  People will think you’re crazy if you say it’s a miracle.  Don’t be a flake! Especially right now!”

Luckily, I’ve been practicing noticing my thoughts but not becoming them.

What if wearing a fanny pack I hadn’t worn in months, turning down a street we never turn onto, encountering suffering animals and Jordan and the snake…what if it all matters even if the babies don’t make it?  What if the whole universe was rooting for them anyway? What if this is part of listening into another realm?  What if it’s the thing that matters the most?  What if the story isn’t supposed to have a tidy moral, but just these questions?  What if it’s all an invitation to trust and to keep turning down new roads, step toward the pain of the hurting and possibly dying, to learn how to receive the gifts as they come?  What if it’s about being deeply affirmed in simply being in this world in this moment?  What if?