We take a break from training to respect the Sabbath day. Although a few weekends prior were not noted in the blog, this one does. Did you know that every day of the week is Sabbath for someone, somewhere? Sunday it's the Christian Sabbath, Monday for the Greeks, Tuesday for the Persians, Wednesday for the Assyrians, Thursday for the Egyptians, Friday for the Mohammedans and Saturday for the Jews! Moral lesson: Respect the Sabbath day - rest everyday.
The morning is absolutely spent as a "day of rest." Everyone is asleep. By lunchtime, my meal is interrupted by my baby sister's breaking news: An old moth was standing guard at the gate, fell and is currently incapacitated. My mom was at hand to provide a small container with some water and a freshly-picked flower. As I knelt down to inspect the damage, I noticed two things: One, the moth's left antennae was broken off, reminding me of Hopper in the PIXAR movie "A Bug's Life." Perhaps this moth was dutifully defending our gate and was overwhelmed by some despicable foe? Second, the moth was slowly inching forward, pressing itself against the container towards the gate. Truly, it's loyalty to duty was commendable, despite its injuries and age (it was the oldest-looking moth I've ever seen).
For the rest of the day I let my mind drift.
"The significance of the moth is change," according to Dr. Hannibal Lecter. My mind reels from countless interpretations of this omen. I am advised to "get a haircut" by my loving parents, and it fuels my pondering even more. As I walk towards the barbershop, I remember people changing their hairstyles during moments of significant emotional upheaval. Was the moth fulfilling its purpose by prophesying my imminent haircut, or something more significant?
At least, some things don't change. As I enter the barbershop, the same barbers and money changers greet me (I am still figuring out why barbershops almost always have money changers beside them), the same assorted decorations and posters on the walls and shelves, the same slightly-broken furniture. I continue to drift while I wait for my turn. A poster of Avril Lavigne is on the wall - I like her song "Keep Holding On," it's very reassuring - and I hope her marriage is OK. A boy sitting beside me plays with marbles, and I remember how thrilling that was for me the first time I combined marbles and gravity. I also remember the first time I had a haircut - I thought cutting my hair would hurt me, and I thought the barbers would be too preoccupied with their chit-chat (I always liked how they talk in a provincial dialect that I don't understand) that they would accidentally hurt me... in a way that would make Stephen King proud.
The day ends with no monumental disaster. The rhythm of life winds down from its crescendo, and as I turn down the lights, I think of those whose symphonies continue late into the night, and those whose orchestras have just begun. Mine begins its encore presentation at 2:00 AM.
