It’s
a buffetty day in Edinburgh. The wind has been making the window frames sing
and there’s a sliver of very faint rainbow dancing in and out of perception above
the tenement rooftops. I feel abundant, and the creature I have to thank for
this is a half-dead wasp.
This
morning at 6.27am I find myself sitting writing my Morning Pages in my car on a
soon-to-be busy road in Edinburgh. I have a flat tyre. I’d called the RAC and
they’d suggested that 11pm was not a useful time to get help (to be clear, if I
had realised all they’d be doing is changing my tyre to the little runty one in the boot, I’d have done it myself,
but in my mind I had the idea of a superhero made of rubber magic who would blow
life back into it and with a tiny glob of his versatile spittle, plug the hole in
my tyre with a fat nail in. This was not to be). So there I am, in my car with a cup of tea and a
notebook, doing my morning, just a bit earlier than my morning is normally done.
At
some point, I become aware of a wasp in the corner of the window. The
combination of my not-quite-right readers and the morning light makes it hard
to see if my visitor is inside or out, and while I’ve been nurturing affection
for all things, there was a moment of ‘mind the sting-y little bastard in the
corner – he’ll have you!’
I
lean close. He’s on the outside and the wind is wobbling him. He looks slow. Autumn
wasps are said to be grumpy and likely to sting, but as I sit, I remember two
things. Firstly, a video I’d seen about these hated little beasts who, by
summer, are starving and in desperate need of food. They bug you at your café table
because their life is at stake. You’re having a leisurely mouthful of your sweet
treat and they’re stumbling across a sugary oasis that could save their life. No wonder they fight for it.
Secondly,
as part of my prep to run a course on money mindfulness, I’ve been listening to
the revelation that is Wallace Wattles. Seriously, check this guy out! 1910,
and nailing The Secret right there. He says the universe is made of a ‘thinking
stuff’ that responds to our gratitude and thought, and gives us exactly what
our thoughts request (what we focus on). He also explains that we are all made
of this stuff, you, me, the table, the clouds, the air, the pebble that sits on
the mountain summit cairn and the granite slab at its base. We are all made of
it. And the wasp.
As
I’m having my car-based mini-epiphany (the best kind, roundly integratable in a
single bite, has potential to travel), I remember a third thing: in the glove
box, I have a tiny pot of honey! So I find a business card and dip the corner
in.
I
open the window just a crack, post the honey-laden card out, and zibb it shut
again. The wasp responds to the movement of the window. Then its antennae start
to wave around. Then this slow, sleepy creature is suddenly vibrant, moving fast,
finding the gold and suckling on it, waggling everything it has (legs,
antennae, wings, little waspy bottom).
I feel like it’s become brighter, like I can
see it in glorious technicolour, picked out like those black and white photos
with a flash of bright. I feel my breath, I feel a smile in my whole body, and
joy seeping through my sleepy mind. I imagine the wasp’s tiny consciousness
full of wonder, delight and honey, marvelling the perfection of all things and the
truth of Mr Wattles’ words lands in my body. Everything I could possibly desire is right here, on the invisible hands of a benevolent universe.
As
I watch, I am the wasp and the wasp is me. I am the hand reaching out the
food and the insecty mandibles receiving it. I am the nourishment itself
and the body it moves in. I feel totally held, absolutely at ease and full of
joy.
And
suddenly, the wasp is gone. Not so much as a goodbye. It’s eaten all it needs
to eat to sustain its form and, full of life again, off it has flown to do its
next bit of the business of being a wasp. It had no need to eat and eat and
eat, no need to stay where the food source is and limit its life to that corner
of car window for fear that wherever else it goes, there will not be enough.* There is enough.
 |
| "Word in your ear. We are all one. You're welcome." |
There
is a great force all around us just waiting to give us everything we want,
need or wish for, if only we can open up to receiving it, taking our fill and
moving on in the knowledge that wherever we are in the universe, there is
enough. I, you, we are enough. There is no competition and no shortage of anything.
There’s no shortage of money. There’s no shortage of time. There is only mind
that creates these concepts, which, if we believe them, create a very unpleasant and unsteady experience of being alive.
Our
job here is to enjoy our existence and, trusting in the friendly, abundant,
naturally generous universe, be all that we can be by letting our joy take us
lightly by the hand and lead us towards what we most want to fill our time
with. If something doesn’t exist, we can imagine it into being and find it
already there, waiting for us. All we need is all around us and within us. I’m
sitting in my car, grinning. I feel full and happy and safe in the world.
All
this thanks to a wasp. And it's not yet turned 6.30.
--------
*
Anthropomorphism junkie. Go with it.
