Two moments today triggered something within me that still resonates in my mind. One I will let go for now as I know it will haunt me another day and perhaps I will write of it then. The other I will allow to leave me know. (I apologize from the start if my words seem stunted or confused. I have finally made the first headway into my book and instead of clearing my head like I had supposed, it has raised a giant clamoring of voices, a twisting of pathways, like all the words destined for the page are trying to force themselves out at once and I fear for my sanity if it does not in the meantime relent...)
Today the monkeys ventured farther from their exhibit area then before this year. As I raced up the hill to the place where I had last seen them charging towards, I kicked fate for ensuring that this would only happen when my boss was gone. Sure, the monkeys had wandered before... But this was different, these monkeys were on the move, and I had no way of knowing where this new compulsion might take them. I had visions of them settling into a tree hole far from home, entering an exhibit where some other zoo denizen might do them harm, or even just charging straight on until they found themselves outside the park boundary. And so with heart pounding and mind swimming, I came from underneath the covered pathway that runs alongside the bird house to a sight so brazen it was nearly comical. Eduardo, the adult male of the family, was stationed on a low hanging branch that reached over the path a few feet from a bird cage. Inside the cage were two puzzled looking barred owls who bobbed their heads and shuffled their feet as they stared at the small orange intruder. Eduardo was arched defensively, leaning as close to the caged predators as he dared, and screaming his little furred head off. He was warning the birds that they better not try anything funny because he had them in his sights and he wasn't going to give up easy. He spent an hour there, moving up and down the trees yelling at these new found menaces. Now and then he would switch his attentions to the cranes, whose exhibits also bordered the top of the hill that the family had crested. I was afraid for a time that he would either jump directly onto the owl cage and risk the safety of his feet or that he might try to scale closer to the cranes and climb across the hot wire rimming his exhibit. The thought of a crispy tamarin, smoking as it lay on the ground sent cold shivers through me. However, I had to admire his bravery and his dedication. Here was a tiny creature standing up to an adversary several times his size. The evolutionary reasoning of it makes sense. By declaring to the predator that it has been spotted, it has lost the element of surprise and therefore catching the prey has suddenly become much harder. I am going to put up a fight, he screamed, and you are better off passing up this Big Mac value meal because this food is not only fast but it bites! He was defending his territory, protecting his family, and letting them know who was boss!
Beyond that though, the irony of the situation did not escape me. He was obsessed with fending off this predator that posed him no real threat in the first place. By approaching them, he put himself in more danger then he would have prevented. He nearly put himself in a situation where the owls would have had the opportunity to exercise their hunting instincts. He nearly gave himself a frazzled new hair do courtesy of those popping silver wires. He spent an hour yelling himself hoarse at a pair of completely impotent old hoots but was unable to help himself, urged on by the force of instinct and the lack of understanding about caging. A strange feeling came over me as I pondered this. A feeling of seeing my reflection shining from some alternate world. What if in my struggles against my oppressors I was really allowing them power that they otherwise would not control? What if the threats were all in my head, a concoction born out of inborn fear and the need for something to rail against? What if in focusing on these powerless imaginings, I am overlooking the real dangers, the real threats, the real enemies? What if failure is my owl in a cage, an impotent concept, only given a chance at existence when I let the thought into my mind. Instead of keeping it always in my sights in order to ward it off, perhaps I should banish it from my mind, realize that it isn't a potential threat and thus better concentrate on the real issues at hand, the affirmatives of the actions necessary to reach my ultimate goals. Would it truly liberate my mind and allow me to succeed or would it merely make me complacent, luring me to drift off course without that pressure to keep me moving forward? Like a tamarin who turns his back on the owl, only to suddenly find himself in his talons, would I be letting my guard down prematurely? I guess the real truth of the question lies in whether failure is a real threat for me or not. Is it a possibility, an impossibility, or perhaps an inevitability? As you can see, I haven't quite sorted it out for myself yet. Perhaps in time I will open my eyes and see the bars surrounding my fears, stop my alarm calling, and liberate myself. In the mean time, I think I will keep my eye on it. There is something satisfying about defending ones territory anyhow... As Eduardo finally responded to his mate's insistent call that they return home, I could swear I saw a smugly satisfied smile on his face.
