Affinities, and love, can span many lifetimes. 

One morning, on a spring day in 2004, I opened my window blinds, sat down at my desk, and glanced out at the lawn and beyond. I saw a tiny bunny, several yards away, hovering over the body of a larger rabbit. Apparently, this rabbit had died in a slight indentation in the lawn.

Throughout the day, I saw the young bunny race back and forth across the grass, chasing away a large bird that was trying to get at the dead rabbit. When not chasing the bird, the bunny bit off mouthfuls of the tall grass, returned to the rabbit, and placed the grass over the body. The process took considerable time, for the bunny also had to keep chasing off the bird. It was still trying to fend off the bird when I shut my window blinds that evening.

On another morning, this one in the spring of 2005, I saw a grown rabbit hop straight to where the other rabbit had been buried. The rabbit rearranged what remained of the still discernible mound of grass and then hopped back the way it had come from around the side of the building. I did not see the rabbit in 2006 or 2007 as I was working elsewhere.

Then in 2008, late one Monday night, I returned to the US from Australia. The next day was my first morning in about eighteen months to work at my old spot in front of the window. The thick grass outside the window was due for the weekly cutting. But I could see the spot where the rabbit had died for the “burial mound” was still discernible.

As I watched, I saw a rabbit come around from the side of the building and go straight to the spot. It remained there for a few seconds and hopped a few feet away. Then it went straight back to the spot, rearranged some of the dead grass, paused a few seconds, and returned the way it had come from around the side of the building.

Affinities span many lifetimes. They do not involve just human beings. And just as humans can be filial children and seek to repay kindness and love, other creatures can as well.

Do not wonder if others are doing their best . . .

Fill the silence—with silence.

Many years ago, I avidly devoured Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee mysteries. I remember a story about an experienced policeman saying that when he questions suspects, he will just remain quiet. Unable to take the silence, most would start talking. And what the police needed to learn would soon be divulged. 

How embarrassingly true! 

What is it about silence that so many people find so uncomfortable? It’s as bad as putting a compulsively neat person in a messy room with “Don’t Touch Anything” signs. The room will surely be organized in record time. Likewise, a compulsive talker just needs to do his thing: fill the room with audio clutter. 

Just because someone else isn’t talking is not an invitation for us to fill the airwaves with whatever comes to mind. 

Does the other person really want to hear about our childhood, past relationships, health status? We may deem them important or interesting. But most likely, they’re not really worth sharing with one and all.

Always bear in mind that . . .