Run Towards the Roar

“The right story for the right moment” I mentioned last post and indeed, the word “story” is related to “storehouse.” A place to keep the grain that will see us through the winter of our discontent and accompany us in the summer of our joy. 

 

The story that comes to mind at the moment in my hour of need is told by Michael Meade in his book, The World Behind the World.

 

"On the ancient savannahs of East Africa, life pours forth in the form of teeming, feeding herds. Nearby, lions await in anticipation of the hunt. They send the oldest and weakest member of the pride away from the hunting pack. Having lost most of its teeth, its roar is far greater than its ability to bite. The old one goes off and settles in the grass across from where the hungry lions wait.

 

As the herds enter the area between the hunting pack and the old lion, it begins to roar mightily. Upon hearing the fearful roar most of the herd turn and fell from the source of the fear. They run wildly in the opposite direction. Of course, they run right to where the strongest lions of the group wait in the tall grass for dinner to arrive. “Run towards the roar” the old people used to tell the young ones. When faced with great danger run towards the roaring, for there you will find some safety and a way through.”

 

This takes both wisdom and courage. Hearing the roar of those millions standing behind the oldest and weakest of them all, it is so tempting to run in the opposite direction, as far as I can away from it all. Take refuge in a village in Ghana or a Zen Center on Mt Baldy or a farm in New Zealand. Shut off the news for four years and meet the day with the people, plants and animals that I meet in three-dimensions, far away from images and words on screens. 

 

Yet in running away from the roar, it might mean delivering myself into the hands of the awaiting catastrophe. Though handing over the reins of political power to the most morally repugnant and spiritually bankrupt members of our species is a genuine disaster not to be ignored, somehow we have to garner the faith the higher and deeper forces of love and compassion can fortify themselves and run towards the roar of that old, dying and ultimately weak lion and its cohorts. One can only hope.

 

Another story comes to mind, the old Greek tale of the wrestler Antaeus who fought the macho Hercules. Every time Hercules threw him to the ground, Antaeus rose up stronger from the contact with Mother Earth. Hercules finally figured out what was happening and spun him around on his shoulders until Antaeus grew weaker. So perhaps if we keep our deep connection not only to Mother Earth, but to the ground of our very being, we have the possibility of rising stronger having been thrown down as we have.

 

Meanwhile, that village in Ghana is awfully tempting.