Rabbit Got Me
before and after
Imagine a time when things were pretty good…then, almost without a gradual progression, not so good. We are not always aware of the gradual progression. Even if there is awareness that the ground under my feet is shifting, what do I do to stop it? There is no way out—the spiral of existence keeps curving outward.
A couple summers ago, Tim and I were on the deck after dinner when a Hawk swooped onto the edge of the yard and snagged a small bunny. We yelled at it to drop the rabbit—let it go! Other birds chimed in. The bunny was squealing. The Hawk actually let go and it hopped away into the bushes.
The other evening, I heard squawking from the trees outside as I was at the sink of the kitchen. Tim came in to get the binoculars. “What’s out there?” I asked. A moment later, he came back with a report. ”It’s a Hawk down on the grass with a rabbit.” I did not want to look.
A recent meme celebrates the rabbit as the instigator of trouble and transformation, rather than the victim.
“The Rabbit Got Me” is inspired by the saga in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland when she fell into a hole while chasing after the intriguing white rabbit.
“Curiosity got the best of her” and she descended into the underworld, an unknown place of new experiences and an unexpected journey. Lewis Carroll’s classic 19th Century children’s book concocted a wild tale of animated creatures. Grace Slick later revamped the story into a psychedelic journey for the 1967 Jefferson Airplane rock hit, White Rabbit, one of my all-time favorites. I sang it with a friend on a Karaoke stage for my 50th birthday (along with Nancy Sinatra’s hit, These Boots are Made for Walking).
And if you go chasing rabbits
And you know you're going to fall…
But we do not always know that we are going to fall. And falling is not always entirely bad. The rabbit will get us sooner or later—more of a time for waking up.
When the rabbit gets you, there is a before and an after.
About 23 years ago while residing in the beauty of Denver, Colorado, working in healthcare and just entering what I thought of as middle age with the idea that I had plenty to look forward to, plenty of time to plan, strive and accomplish (even though the window was closing a bit).
Then…the rabbit got me with an out-of-the-blue stage IV cancer diagnosis that thrust me into feeling more like an elderly person with little time left. Fortunately, I recovered back to a woman of middle age, but with an altered view of the future. I quit my job, moved to a different city and changed everything in ways never imagined prior to the rabbit’s visit.
Six years ago, the onslaught of the MeToo movement was a tumbling row of dominoes. The rabbit got a lot of men. We had Donald Trump in the office of President, confident that a second term would be unlikely.
Then…another rabbit got most of the people in the world when an out-of-the-blue Covid-19 Pandemic closed down public life and required unavoidable restrictions that raised health fears. Many people died. The rest of us found ourselves stuck in an altered reality and turning more and more to screens while sheltering inside and losing confidence in the future. For some, this time was a welcome break. Once the restrictions were lifted and a new normal returned, urgency to make up for lost time and true joy in simple public life took hold. Joe Biden had taken the President’s office—surviving to thrive in our own stormy lives was a relief.
A bigger meaner, scarier rabbit got the US citizens once again with DT back in the office of President. The rabbit is after him—just nipping for now. As we lose democracy, one piece at a time, I wonder where our much-needed transformation is bubbling up.
There is a line in a Julian Schnabel movie called Hand of Dante that is especially great:
You have lifted the veil on the inexpressible. You have entered the sigh. You have become the poem.
JS said of that line in an interview:
That, to me, is the intention of the artist, to become the thing that they believe in. If they can do that, if they can transgress death, then they can live with death.
I look outside my window at the verdant canopy of leaves that flourish in the treetops. This time, I spot one bright red leaf among the green. Basic signs of transition happen all around us. This one is familiar, of course. Autumn will be upon us in a matter of weeks—the seasonal representation of the beauty and inevitability of death. Sometimes the first red leaf is spotted on the beach.
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Rabbit Run