The onset of responsibility is a
miraculous
thing. It's awesome, wondrous to behold. You could also say it's one of
Life's great
mysteries.
First we don't exist at all. Then we're born, after which for many
years we depend on others for everything ... until one day
we're responsible for our own lives. It's not as if we qualify for
being responsible like being awarded a certificate when we
graduate
from a local community college course after diligently studying for it.
I'm talking about the
inexorable
possibility of being responsible coming on, like the
inevitable dawning of a new era in the life of every human being.
From
nothing,
to being, to being responsible - the genesis of human
being. That's what's
miraculous,
awesome, wondrous to witness as it
mysteriously
unfolds. What begets responsibility? The answer is it's
nothing
which begets responsibility. This is the same
nothing
which could beget anything at all (that's what possibility is). Look:
one of the infinite possibilities
nothing
actually does beget, given it could beget
anything at all, is responsibility.
Is it just me? or is that really awesome? To be around it,
to witness it
happening
in
my youngest son's
life is
nothing
less than a
privilege.
We're walking along, strolling along,
(actually ambling along is the best
word
for this), ambling along together through the
vast
cattle pasture the
Cowboy Cottage
abuts.
Conversation
is effortless and easy. There are plenty of pregnant pauses between
sentences There's time to look down at rock formations. There's time to
look up at moss adorning tree limbs - so perfect, it's as if it's been
deliberately
placed there that exact way, just so.
As
we approach the creek
he tells me (for the first time) he's planning to travel across the
United States on his motorcycle. Although I'm not a 'biker
myself, I'm thrilled to hear it. I am, after all, of the Easy
Rider and the
Zen
and the
Art
of Motorcycle Maintenance generation. I admit the thought
"Hey! Let's do this together!?" does pop into my head. I
admit I do entertain it like a possibility - but only for a second or
two. The thought then morphs into "No, it's
his big break-out experience, Laurence. He doesn't need
you interfering.".
The journey described by Robert Pirsig in his
Zen
and the
Art
of Motorcycle Maintenance set the stage for Robert and his son Chris to
bond.
Joshua
and I are already
bonded,
so I can't use that as an excuse to justify coming along and getting in
his way. Instead I tell him I'll be his number one supporter, fan, and
backer from home base - but not his co-rider. He gets it - that is to
say, he already got it. It's actually the best I can be
for him. When he tells me he appreciates it, I can tell he means it.
Down
by the creek
we come across a flock of hundreds of migrating water fowl
floating on the barely moving water, bobbing for food, preening their
feathers. It's a marvelous sight. We try to keep ourselves from
startling them, but inevitably one of us steps on a twig, and the
resulting snap echoes around the tiny canyon, instantly
violating the
quiet.
The entire flock takes off, almost all at once, the
whooosh and whirr of their flapping wings
drowns out my audible gasp of "Oh no! I'm so sorry.
I didn't mean to disturb you. Please don't go ..." ... but it's too
late. They're all gone, leaving nothing but slowly fading ripples. "The
good thing is they'll all be back soon after we leave" says
Joshua
as we head back to the
Cowboy Cottage.
What we've set up in the kitchen area is the second
magical breakfast burrito assembly line.
We've got eggs, soft flour tortillas, sausage, brussel sprouts, chives,
tomatoes, cheese, butter for the pans, waxed paper to wrap the burritos
individually, and plastic ziplock bags in which to refrigerate them. We
have three pans, a bowl, a cutting board with two sharp knives, and
four small plates.
We're cutting and slicing and dicing and sautéing and talking
about responsibility and the
Cowboy Cottage
and the cattle pasture and crossing the United States on a motorcycle
and Easy Rider and
Zen
and the
Art
of Motorcycle Maintenance and the creek and migrating water fowl ...
and suddenly like magic there are two dozen or so burritos
(the realbreakfast
of champions) stuffed with eggs, sausage, brussel sprouts, chives,
tomatoes, and cheese, each individually wrapped in waxed paper, sealed
four at a time in ziplock bags in the freezer. Equally magically, all
pans, knives, plates, the bowl and cutting board are all washed and
dried and put away, and the kitchen area looks like nothing's
happened.
Joshua
and I look at each other, smile, fist bump, slap palms, and
high five. The era of responsibility has dawned -
mysteriously. Preparing
breakfast
burritos together to feed each other, is a good analogy for the calling
of this new era.