After having stumbled upon the fish running a few weeks ago, I was motivated to tear my eyes away from the lovely blue skies down to the murky waters of the harbor below me. My faith did not go un-rewarded.
Per www.neaq.org - "Moon Jelly, Aurelia aurita. Sea jellies, sometimes called jellyfish, are boneless, brainless and heartless, and are made almost entirely of water. They are also survivors, and have been around since before the dinosaurs"
Then these brainless creatures, unsuspectingly residing in our midst. Just. Chipping. Away. One swish at a time, one bite of plankton here, a quick detour from a rock there - but always propeeled by the need for sheer survival. As we tangle up our lives in webs of our making (this punishing inner critique included), at the cost of breathing, relaxing, smiling and taking in all that we have been given - they just simply carry on
A Smithsonian article about the Moon jellies I saw in the Charles says "In their domelike bells, guts are squished beside gonads. The mouth doubles as an anus. (Jellies are also brainless, “so they don’t have to contemplate that,” one jelly specialist says.)". I wouldn't go quite as far as wishing for an anatomical rearrangement but less thinking sounds about right at times too. My respect is further enhanced by reading that they are so adaptable as to be slowly taking over our oceans - from thriving in dying, oxygen-poor waters through growing off of washed out fertilizers to replacing larger fish in food webs in marine ecosystems.
These lazy, slow, brainless creatures with gonads for brains, who know how to just keep at it - are slowly coming to dominate. I on the other hand, am leaning on sun-warmed railings by a lovely river on my lunch break, watching them in awe as half my brain starts the process of disengaging so I can head back to Dilbert-land and achieve those all critical professional milestones that a year from now will be invisible and worthless.
But remember the struggling Boston Ivy from a former post? It was struggling up through a crack in pavement and winding delicate tendrils around a wire fence, putting out tiny delicate leaves.
Here it is now, a few weeks after:
It all goes on. As do we.