When I moved to Hawaii in 2012, the last nation of critters I thought would be teaching me anything in the tropics were cats. But they are now and forever, so they probably know a thing or two about being. Or being here. Or being here now.
Whatever it is.
If all cats everywhere could write one thing in a high school yearbook it would be, “Don’t eva change!” Cats get hissy when you change routine. I have heard their behavior compared to a human obsessive-compulsive disorder but I think it sounds more like most people in serious romantic relationships.
It’s easy to peg cat behavior because cats are in front of us and communicating with them requires our full attention. This is true of all nonhuman life with whom we do not share a language and also people in the park wandering around within gazing range. It’s much harder to see that their behaviors aren’t theirs exclusively, for they also exist within us. We are no different than the animals and park people we observe because we are animals and park people, too.
But let’s stick with other animals: we can observe them in a way they cannot observe us. Unless my cats are playing coy, I’m pretty sure they devote far less of their time observing me than I do them. And it’s the same thing with fish in the ocean. It’s not that they aren’t curious about this new crazy-looking critter flopping around while holding his breath. They are. But their curiosity is likely attached to something important like, “Is this thing friendly or is it going to eat me?” Once that’s solved, they tend to just hang out for a bit or swim away, whereas I ask that and then when the fish don’t eat me, I follow them around like a groupie, dazzled by their every move, writing them into metaphors in my head, processing their symbolic meaning humanity built up through the ages, and comparing them to all sorts of crap cluttering my noggin to, uh, better express what they are like when I regale people with what I saw in the ocean. Plus, they’re just beautiful.
And so we must ask, What is this special power of observation of ours for? Why are we set apart in our ability to admire and create multitiered levels of meanings about life and lifeforms? Is this capability for something? Something we’re not using it for correctly? Or perhaps at all, because we’re still enchanted by the idea that having it separates us from animals?
Let’s dial in on this. Animals are keen observers. They respond to their observations in the moment in a way that matters to the moment. We, on the other hand, observe and create an interval of thought between observer and observed. We wade through our backgrounds, chest-deep in metaphors and complex symbols only humans understand, which is great for doing things like working these disjointed sentences into a coherent essay in our heads through our eyeballs. I wrote it crappy; you made it nice. Fish couldn’t give a poop.
Wait, I said let’s dial in and then meandered. Isn’t that just like us? Look at me leading by example. The point is, “civilized” humans observe, study, and then act. There’s an interval of thought between human observation and human doing that isn’t there for animals in most instances. One could say that animals do math, while humans map out math, discuss it, and then do it. For us, math is a thought experiment first. Westernized humanity treats itself as one big thought experiment.
And there are animals, the actual geniuses in the room. They are freely acting with the precision we’re busy envisioning for ourselves and may someday perform. Bizarrely, because they’re not consciously counting their steps all along the way, and we can take a timeout to huddle up and discuss them, we think we’re superior. They must be instinctively programmed like robots, we say, or completely unconscious of their actions. They’re cheating, these animals, and we’ll have no part of it, so we declare them lesser beings. To be higher is to think before you act, which usually leads to second guessing yourself and screwing up the task at hand–but never mind that. We’re higher.
Know what would make for a nice thought experiment? Less thought.
Ironically, coming from the placeless place of no thought makes you thoughtful because that’s where wisdom comes roaring in. Being cluttered up with knowledge makes you thoughtless. That’s when you get tripped up. Or trip and call it enlightenment.
Know who didn’t see that swerve coming? Cats and fish. Lucky you, you know how to read.
Wait. Are you still reading this? That’s odd, because I finished writing it like an hour ago.