Active alcoholics and addicts can't abide boredom. They crave a different "next" and feign power in commotion. They keep moving, keep kicking, keep dancing, keep reinventing. It's exhausting. I know it's exhausting. Serenity does not have a palatable essence. Overexposed, active addicts will retreat and retrench; not join and breathe.
They lose their way. They lose their voice.
They clutch. They pose.
I'm sure my dream sprang, in part, from a signal moment that occurred while I was on safari in South Africa. Our guide raced the open jeep to an area where he understood that a chase was underway. Dust up. Rattle. Roll. We approached an expanse and the guide slowed to a stop. Before us on the golden savannah under the late morning sun, lounged four lionesses. Their demeanor was slightly aloof, but they held their power even in repose. A couple of hundred yards, if that, beyond them grazed a small herd of elephants, including a calf. Neither the mother nor the aunties appeared alarmed. In the jeep, I heard a soft collective gasp.
We sat there for some time, practically to the point of boredom. Every now and then, a lioness gazed back at the jeep. Periodically, an auntie elephant nudged the distracted calf closer to the herd. Paradoxically, there was no whoopin' or hollerin'. No alarm sounded. No dander raised. The young Afrikaans man at the wheel commented that this was indeed a rare occurrence . . . this peaceable tableau of those that normally would not mix.
Cameras clicked. The college girls whispered "awesome." Everyone breathed. Everything breathed. Eyes softened. Cameras dropped to laps. The red dust swirled up and powdered our exposed arms, muddied our sweaty noses. The power of harmony was palpable.
