La muerte de Señor Cucaracha

A funny thing happens when you become an observer; you begin to see things...





Although I have already seen many iconic sites on my journey; from the Golden Gate bridge to Big Ben to the Eiffel tower, the purpose of my travels is not only checking off items on some invisible inner bucket list of places and things. There is also a second, concurrent journey happening; an inner journey, a time to reflect and take inventory of where I truly am and would truly like to be. And just like the trusty Michelin Guide I picked up on my first day here in Spain, I am not without "guide books" for the inner journey as well. Among other things, lately I have been reading and rereading passages from "The places that scare you" by Pema Chodron and auditing a UC Berkley "Intro to Buddhism" class via iTunes.  I find most of this stuff boils down to the same practice.  Be in the moment...observe. Perhaps it's an oversimplification probably informed by the fact that all my days consist of is observing: go someplace, see something, process & repeat. It's an interesting parallel. So I study and reflect and meditate, not quite sure if anything is changing. I don't feel zen or peaceful or one with the universe. Quite the opposite. When you begin to open that channel, you feel like a crazy person.
Enter Señor Cucaracha.
I have just put my bag down and am waiting for my overnight bus to Bilbao when I see him; merely inches from my foot, motionless. I wonder if he's dead.  If anyone knows me they know my aversion to cockroaches. Now I know no one "likes" them but my dealings with them border on the irrational. I once called a boyfriend in the middle of the night because I had found one in my apartment. It was clearly dead; on its back, yet I was having a near panic attack, frozen with fear and unsure what to do. He stayed with me on the phone and after 20min I was able to summon the courage to sweep it into a dustpan. But I couldn't throw it in the trash; couldn't have it in the house so I opened the front door, ran to the curb, and flung it across the street. That's just one example.
But as I am now a Zen master, I have learned that just because I am bothered by something doesn't mean I have to react. I can sit and observe. So I tell myself, "This cockroach has as much right to be here on this earth, in this bus station, as I do. He's not actually doing anything to me". So I sit and I breathe and even though the inner panic starts; instead of pushing it away, I bring it closer. I try to quell my thoughts and focus on the feeling of fear underneath that's fueling them and  I just try and experience the physical sensation; the hairs on the back of my neck; the twitchiness of my muscles; the heaviness in the pit of my stomach. It's intense but instead of continuing to panic the emotion subsides. Señor Cucaracha & I? We cool.
As I sit and wonder at the power of my mind and pat myself on the back for being able to harness my thoughts, a bus worker comes by to smoke a cigarette and steps on the cockroach; not enough to squash it, mind you, just enough to mangle one of it's legs and flip it onto it's back.  I jump up and move away.  I look down at the cockroach and watch it's legs and antennae flail around as it struggles to right itself.  I watch the cockroach struggle and then...well...then I start feeling the cockroach struggle.  I want to help it but I can't bring myself to.  I haven't magically stopped being insurmountably grossed out by cockroaches, I've just been able to tolerate this particular one's  existence for a few precious moments.  But now I am in a panic.  Noone else notices what is happening.  DOESN'T ANYBODY SEE WHAT'S GOING ON!  Maybe I can find a broom or long stick and nudge it right side up.  The only other option is to ask someone to help me which is absurd.  I imagine the quizzical looks as I ask someone in Spanish to help me "salvar la cucaracha", save the cockroach.  At best I would be ignored as someone who did not have a basic understanding of the Spanish language or at worst only serve to hasten the cockroach's death.  I watch it struggle and think, "it's struggle would be no different from mine in the same circumstance" and still I can't bring myself to help him.  I can only watch from a distance and feel crazy with guilt and shame.  Only when I realize they are making the final call for my bus do I tear myself away from the scene.
As the bus rolls out and I calm down, I am amazed by what has transpired in me; the internal drama of what would normally be an ignored scene.  This is absurd, I tell myself but in a deeper place I realize that it's not.  It's open. It's connection. It's yoga.  It's just new and unsure and unfettered.  I feel bad that I didn't help the cockroach but I couldn´t.  Really, I felt paralyzed.  I could not help it even though I wanted to.  Then my mind's eye began flashing on moments in my own life when I felt people could have...should have...helped me out but didn't.  Then I started having real compassion and understanding for the possibility that maybe they wanted to but were also paralyzed by their own fears.  I, know! I know!  It all seems a little insane that my heart and soul crack open from a momentary encounter with a Cucaracha but that is the reality of inner exploration.  Damn this stuff is potent! I am completely petrified and exhilirated by the prospect of what's next....