Crack! The neck snaps.
By: Tom Jacobson
Tags: Survival, Life Lessons, Awakening, Buddhism, Inner Pain

Crack! The neck snaps.

Photo by Syl Pierce on Unsplash

Laughable.

It was late afternoon, no; it was more early eve. Last night. Happy Holidays…

The snap! Was audible. Clearly heard from my sitting place before my altar where the Buddha continued to gaze serenely as though nothing had just happened.

I knew a rat had got caught in the toothy rat trap I’d set an hour before.

My meditation was immediately invaded by the sounds of mortality. The furry creature was a big one. I’d forgotten to tie the big, toothy metal trap to something solid. It is not unusual for the big rats to run off with the trap closed on their breaking necks.

I knew this from many years ago when killing rats was just house cleaning. I haven’t killed a rat in years until now.

This guy was no different. What meditation? There is no meditation in the middle of such an experience. My heart was instantly with him, his very real agony, unimaginable pain. Thanks to me.

The ones we have here in Antigua, Guatemala are called black rats, in Spanish, not known for their size, not like some that get to be almost the size of a small possum. No, the black rats are smaller and I dare say far tougher, hardy souls. It was my destiny, my utter misfortune to separate him last night from his current path.

What will be the inevitable price? I accept this. I have accrued so many of these debts, put another on these shoulders, I can handle it. I will not burden you with the karmic disasters I’ve been involved in. Suffice to say that I’ll be around a long, long fucking time, my friend. You see it is, was, my fate.

Satisfied now? Am I satisfied now? Rub my nose into it.

Meditating, oh lofty activity, ah me, ah my calmness, my serenity, so smug, so sure of yourself. Death waited outside not ten steps from where I sat waiting for awakening, don’t make me laugh. You cannot take life, no, you cannot. It is not mine to take.

The metal trap snapped, for a microsecond a sense of relief, an ancient, hunter's elation, did it! Then instantly followed with a sense of remorse, almost sick, then the audible, tortured struggle. Yes, the tough black rat thrashed and kicked. He rolled about the concrete floor, trying to rid himself of this shock, utterly unexpected. The little guy was out doing what we all do: eating.

The metal trap rattled ceaselessly, crazily in pain beyond imagination. My heart stopped. If you will, if you do not wish, then I suggest you skip to the next paragraph.

You are in the supermarket; you get close to a block of cheese on the display. Oddly, you are the only one present. Though you sense life around you. Those are the other creatures… Suddenly, you just touch the cheese block and all hell unleashes. A huge, metal bar with teeth comes down with the force of a bear trap onto the back of your neck. You pull away, fall on the floor, no one around, maybe someone, something watching. You begin to struggle, twisting, turning on the shiny floor. As you twist around the bright lights in your eyes, blood everywhere, your blood. Questions rush: Why? What is this? My hands cannot reach around this metal clamp crushing ever harder on the back of my neck. I hear a break, bone, and I continue to fight, my legs grow numb. I pull, twist, completely disregarding what this might do to my face. I somehow pull free, and there next to the now smashed cheese remains of my nose and cheeks, impossibly it seems, an eye, my eye.

I look around as I spit blood and flesh and make a run for the store entrance.

The black rat, somehow, was strong enough to climb the vines where he lives on the balcony rail of our second-floor porch. There he incredibly twisted free from the toothy metal, leaving a piece of him, whiskers too, and was gone. Now I have to imagine he sits in some bushy hideout, shivering in pain and never before felt terror. If a rat wonders, he must be doing lots of that right now. If he does not wonder, does not reflect, does not attempt to reason, he then sits in the moment, in his pain, and only knows without knowing that it is his place to survive.

That I was the cause of his pain is a weight hard to relate.

Unfortunately, by this act, I confirm that I cannot call myself Buddhist. My first sit was in ’68, the last ten years in Buddhism. One might wonder what was it all for? Yes, I must continue my practice, for it is all I know to do. If I don’t continue my practice, then I’ll never evolve myself out of this thinking that yes, I can take their lives when I so wish.

Need to be careful not to throw the baby out with… need to hold on to that which is good and bolster and move forward. Mind and heart are the pilots here.

‘O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree……’, Want a Holiday cooky?

But no more traps, not me.

Fuck that.