Monkey business
And the inevitability of it all
There are monkeys in my home. I can’t get them to leave. And whoever keeps letting them in won’t own up to it. I know I am bigger than them and smarter than them but I don’t want to get too close. Their latent aggression hangs over me as I throw broken up bananas across the kitchen counter and watch outside as the rain beckons tall, hulking mushrooms up from their dank dwellings.
The scene itself is marvelous, from a distance. But now the monkeys are in my home and I can’t get them to leave. And whoever keeps letting them in won’t own up to it. I know they just want to be warm and safe, but I am afraid of them and want to assert my dominance, so I trap the big one in the tumble dryer, where he is sleeping, and crack immediately when he knocks on the glass. To my surprise Papa Monkey is conscious and smirks when he learns his power over me. I am scared and he is calm and he talks in inevitabilities.
I see now there is nothing to be done. The monkeys are here, and they’re waking up. There will be chaos and conflict and probably destruction, and then there will be none. This is the natural order. Let them in or they will break in. Give them space or they will make it themselves. I can keep fighting or I can accept them. Who do I become if I keep monkeys in my home? What will people say? That silly woman, she is asking to get her face ripped off.
On Streatham Common I see these huge, majestic butterflies, white with pink and orange blotches on their wings. They carry themselves delicately from the forest to the small oak tree just ahead. Next comes a swarm of tiny green butterflies. Dancing in the sky they are frightening. A dark, threatening shadow. Soon they land and they cover every inch of the trees on the field. I look with amazement, but I must be careful. One wrong move and they will all take flight with immense intensity, overwhelming the entire scene. Slowly, I move away from the low branches and stand up in March’s pale sun.
It’s a delicate dance: to allow but not succumb, to look and not disrupt. And all the while keep the house clean and go to work and fold the laundry. So I do it all and write and draw and kiss and cry and sing Alicia Keys in the shower. Something is happening and it is me but it is also beyond me, and all I can do is let it be.