Be More Capybara

I've always been somewhat suspicious of group identities.

Perhaps it has something to do with growing up Mennonite, in which we're taught that nationalism is a type of idolatry, putting nation before God. Both making our membership in the symbolic entity a higher priority than aligning with God's priorities and making fellow citizens more important than others that God also loves are types of idolatrous behavior. All earthly, worldly affiliations can be the same if we prioritize them above relationship to God. We're in relationship to God through others; and, since I hold a basically universal, unitary view of God, that means being in relationship with all others, everywhere. God is in everyone. God is in everything. We are meant to seek union with everyone and everything.

So groups are good, except that group identities can divide; groups inherently create out-groups, create "others" who are not "us," which inhibits relationships. I am part of creation, of existence, and my membership in that group trumps my being part of any other.

I want to simultaneously belong to all groups and to none.

It's self-imposed, then, because I don't want affiliating to cut me off from others, but I never feel like I fully belong to any group in any situation. I always feel a little bit like an outsider, like I don't quite fit.

I always feel at least a little bit midding. (see below)

And I identify with being an otrovert. (see below)

This approach also seems to be what creates a presence that leads to my wife sending me a meme with the message, "Thanks for being my own, personal capybara." (see below)

Capybaras have become popular, particularly online, for their general amenability and the fact that they associate with creatures from all kinds of groups. For instance, from (the admittedly biased) Capybara Nation:

Capybaras are often described as friendly and docile animals. . . . 

Capybaras are known for their remarkable tolerance and friendliness towards other animals. They have been observed forming close bonds with a variety of species, including dogs, cats, birds, and even smaller rodents. This interspecies friendliness is often attributed to their social nature and calm demeanor.

In zoos and wildlife sanctuaries, capybaras are frequently housed with other animals, such as monkeys, turtles, and birds. These mixed-species exhibits provide enrichment for the capybaras and their companions, promoting natural behaviors and interactions. The capybaras' relaxed attitude often helps create a harmonious environment for all the animals involved.

Numerous case studies and anecdotal evidence highlight the friendly nature of capybaras. . . . These interactions are typically peaceful and enjoyable, showcasing the capybaras' calm and friendly disposition.

Social media platforms are filled with videos and photos of capybaras engaging in endearing behaviors, such as cuddling with their owners, playing with other pets, lounging in pools, and even floating on the backs of crocodiles! These heartwarming moments have contributed to the capybara's reputation as a friendly and lovable animal.

I want to be more capybara.

I want to simultaneously belong to all groups and to none.

We have two boys, one who just turned 10 and his brother who is 19 months older. [Older] loves going away to summer camp; getting to have new experiences, meet new people, and feel adventurous; getting to entirely escape his life for a time. [Younger] hates it; the bugs and insects, most especially, but also the general lack of comfort and familiarity. If it was up to [Older], he'd go by himself; if it was up to [Younger], he'd never go. This year we forced a compromise, that they would go together. Not in the same cabin, but neighbors. It was our first time as a couple getting a break from being parents since they came along.

This year we wrote them emails each evening instead of mailing letters. It's not much, but it's some original writing I've done recently that I thought might be interesting for others to read. Here's Monday through Friday to [Younger]:

[Younger],

I was listening to an audiobook the other day. It was introducing a character, a boy about your age, who had always attracted animals wherever he went. Not just cats and dogs and other pets, but wild animals too. If he sat on a bench at the park, bunnies would hop up to his feet and squirrels would climb all over him. Everywhere, if he let them, birds would land on him--like the lorikeet feeding at the zoo. It said he was always a bit messy and scratched up from animal claws, but he didn't mind. Being loved by animals meant getting a little bloody, and it was worth it.

That made me think of you. How you are our animal magnet. And how you don't mind getting a bit scratched and bloody for the things that bring you joy. I thought of it today as you started camp, ready to face some of the things you might find unpleasant, still looking for the fun and the good. I know you are making sure to have a great time. You impress me so much.

I love you more than you know.

Dad

-

[Younger],

It's really unfair that we can write to you, but you can't write to us--because Mom and Dad are boring and you're the one having all the new experiences. My time since dropping you off, for instance, has been reading, enjoying quiet and nature, and appreciating the local history.

I had my coffee this morning sitting on a second floor deck, just through the opening to what used to be the hayloft when this was a barn. Then I walked down to the dock on the water and watched the Cottonwood River go over the waterfall that gives this town its name: Cottonwood Falls. After that I took a relaxing stroll up the brick road to look at the Chase County Courthouse, one of the oldest buildings in Kansas, and the original jail building from the 1870s. Yesterday we slept, read, and took a hike at the local lake.

You, on the other hand, are making new friends, playing games, making crafts, and generally being wild away from your responsible adults. I wish I could hear all about it. But I'll have to learn to be patient, I guess.

Oh! I just remembered one thing. My Mexican dinner last night was served in a big, heavy cauldron carved from lava rock. It was cool.

Unfortunately, today we go home, and the rest of my week will be even more boring.

I hope you're having as much fun as I imagine.

Love you just a teensy weensy bit less than you love me,

Dad

-

Lord Shadow,

If all has gone according to my evil plan, you are reading this at roughly the halfway point in your week; the middle part of the middle day. I would hope you have nearly forgotten your old life by now and are happily settled into your new one, ready to make the most of your time that remains.

I was leafing through the pages of a favorite book just now, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows--author John Koenig made up words for common emotions we all feel yet don't have existing words to describe--and was struck by this entry:

midding - (n.) the tranquil pleasure of being near a gathering but not quite in it--hovering on the perimeter of a campfire, talking quietly outside a party, resting your eyes in the back seat of a car listening to friends chatting up front--feeling blissfully invisible yet still fully included, safe in the knowledge that everyone is together and everyone is okay, with all the thrill of being there without the burden of having to be.

I don't know if you ever feel that way with groups, but I often do; just happy to be part of things and observe others without taking the energy to really participate. It's one of my strategies when I have to be around people all the time without getting breaks to be by myself.

Anyway, we're finally back home and getting ready to venture forth into battle with the great demon Messyhouse.

All my love,

Dad

-

Awesomely Evil [Younger],

Hmm. What to say that will be new and exciting? I've seen your journal entries that have come home from school, the ones where you're stumped on what to write about so you just fill the page writing about what to write about. I've always been the same, unable to write on demand. My mind goes blank and devoid of thoughts.

Anyway, camp sent an email update to parents yesterday saying you had your campout last night. I hope that was okay for you. I'll admit that it's the one thing about camp I'm not crazy about myself, sleeping on the ground, open to bugs. So if you actually slept and weren't miserable I consider it a win.

I'm writing this at a restaurant with Mom and [Uncle], a late brunch since we're all off work. [Uncle]'s on vacation for a gaming convention. Mom and I are alternating cleaning and relaxing.

If you survived the campout, the rest of the week will be a breeze in comparison. We saw you in the background of a picture yesterday playing soccer--our first proof all week that you're still alive. That was nice. You and your brother are especially good at avoiding the camera, so it was nice for that glimpse of you.

I must wrap up now since my food has arrived. 48 hours from now we'll be together.

Looking forward to seeing you,

Dad

-

And then there was one.

One final day of camp before your parents arrive to rescue you from your life in the wild. One final day of escape and freedom before you head back to the real world.

What are you going to do with this single, precious day before it is gone? How will you make it special? What awesome memories are you going to create with your final night?

Me? I'm going to be cleaning the house and mowing the lawn. Hooray, so exciting. Not. But it's what must be done. So you're definitely not missing anything worthwhile here. You're much better off at camp.

Don't forget to exchange contact information with any new friends you've made. You can give them our address or home phone number if there's someone you want to keep in touch with.

I can't wait to hear all about your adventures for the week. How mighty warrior [Younger] faced his fears and conquered the camp experience.

See you soon,

Dad

Here's Monday through Friday to [Older]:

[Older],

It was such a joy watching your excitement and anticipation the past couple of days waiting to get to camp. It made me happy knowing you were so happy. And now you're "living the dream," as they say. 🙂

I'm stuck having to snuggle up with Mom for bedtime instead of you, so very sad. 😜 Don't tell [Younger], but she was afraid to open the door of the house we stayed at last night because there was a bug on it that looked like a spider. We're spending a couple of nights at a place on the river just 5-10 miles from you, so lots of bugs and heat for us too. I tried a bison burger for dinner at a local restaurant after we dropped you-- can't let you being the only one having adventures and new experiences. Still, I know yours are better.

I hope you're having as much fun as I imagine.

Love,

Dad

-

[Older],

I'm afraid I must ruin your time on your own with this reminder that you still have parents and you'll eventually have to go home with them. Parents who very much miss you yet are thrilled you're getting to have this freedom and adventure.

Yesterday Mom saw a snake on our hike and she squealed and jumped, even though it wasn't very close. We went to see a nearby waterfall that you would very much enjoy if you ever get the chance. Mom and Dad both waded in the water and got our shoes entirely soaked. Another hiker who came by as we were leaving said it's the prettiest waterfall in Kansas.

Today we drive home to start our week of cleaning the house--the messes you helped create and abandoned to us--while you get to live wild and free with barely an adult in sight.

I am sure you're having a wonderful time, so I won't take you out of it or make you think of us any longer; just know we're thinking of you.

All my love,

Dad

-

Nobody knows anything at all. We have no idea what is happening. We are all bewildered. Someone may say that they understand something, to ourselves or to others, but they are wrong, or guessing, or making it up. Writers all over the world and all across history have been bewildered by the world and all the things in it they cannot imagine, which is why they are--we are--writing them down, to try and imagine them.*

It is why I am writing down this message, to try to imagine the bewildering experience [Older] is having this week at Camp Wood. Do you know the word "feral?" Feral is a word that means "(especially of an animal) in a wild state, especially after escape from captivity or domestication." And just in case you are a bit bewildered by the word domestication, it means "the process of taming an animal and keeping it as a pet or on a farm."

I imagine [Older] is quite feral by now, wild and untamed, reveling in a life free from captivity and the constraints of civilization. No manners. No stillness. Unwashed, with torn and ragged clothes. Matted, muddy hair, fuzzy teeth, and probably a long beard.

My imagination might be running away from me, but I don't believe I am entirely off the mark.

Keep enjoying your life of wild freedom this week.

I love imagining your happiness.

Dad

-

[Older],

I hesitate to write this, because I'm sure by this point in the week you have nearly forgotten your old life in the city with a family. You probably just remember me fondly as a shadow from your distant past that you've moved on from. So I will be brief.

I love you.

Be nice.

Have fun.

Dad

-

And then there was one.

One final day of camp before your parents arrive to rescue you from your life in the wild. One final day of escape and freedom before you head back to the real world.

What are you going to do with this single, precious day before it is gone? How will you make it special? What awesome memories are you going to create with your final night?

Me? I'm going to be cleaning the house and mowing the lawn. Hooray, so exciting. Not. But it's what must be done. So you're definitely not missing anything worthwhile here. You're much better off at camp.

Don't forget to exchange contact information with any new friends you've made. You can give them our address or home phone number if there's someone you want to keep in touch with.

I can't wait to hear all about your adventures for the week.

See you soon,

Dad

(*This is a quote from one of his favorite audiobooks, Poison for Breakfast by Lemony Snicket, which he has listened to many times for bedtime, and I knew he would immediately recognize it.

The book I mentioned in my Monday letter to [Younger], the one with the quote about accepting that being friends with animals is worth any potential mess and bloodiness that results, is Impossible Creatures by Katherine Rundell. Here's what I wrote for my review:

There are the facts of a story and then there's the telling of a story. The plot and other elements of this particular story are quite good as such things go, but it is in Rundell's storytelling that this book really shines. She tells it with flair, personality, and character. Verbal adroitness, humor, bits of wisdom, and honesty about life's grittiness and darkness. It's a pleasure to read her writing; she gives the facts their magic. Add that she's created a good story to tell, and this is an enchanting book. 4.5 stars.

Consider, for instance, the start of this chapter about a third of the way into things:

You cannot expect to launch yourself out of a clear sky into someone else's life--and even more so, onto their boat--and hope they do not notice. The owner of the boat did notice. He was the diametric opposite of pleased.

"What, by the Immortal, is this?"

The man who stood above them was the kind of vast that makes other large men look petite and ballerina-esque. He had dark stubble, a gold earring in each ear, and a burn mark on the left side of his neck. There were lines etched deep across his face, laid on it by the sea.

"What is this rainfall of children? Did I go sailing just to have storms of infants cascading down my sails at me?"

Christopher scrambled to his feet, and Gelifen, slightly dazed, clawed his way to hide in Mal's coat, and they stood staring around them. The sailing boat was large, mahogany wood worn black by time, with a cabin that led belowdecks. Its brass fittings were spiky with green rust, but it moved fast through the dark water. A second sailor, a compact gray-bearded man in his sixties, stared at them openmouthed, a screwdriver in his hand.

"I'm sorry," Mal said. "We had--"

"Sorry?" The larger man breathed hard and angry on them, and his breath had whiskey on it. "Sorry is for farting near the fruit bowl, girl! Sorry isn't good enough when you come erupting over the horizon like a pair of wingless chickens! You could've broken my cargo, you could have torn my sails--you could have cost me thousands."

Mal was flushing bright red, a scarlet that rose up to her hairline. "I don't know what else to say! And--"

"It's not--what we would have chosen to do," said Christopher. He was still winded, and his words came out jagged. "If we'd--had a choice--we wouldn't have--leaped off a cliff." The man turned his bloodshot eyes on him, and he felt himself grow hot under their burning skepticism. "But we had to--because . . . "

"A man was trying to kill us!" finished Mal. "Up there."

I want to read it aloud to my children.

And here are some additional quotes (including the referenced one):

It was a joke among his friends that wherever he went, animals sought out Christopher. Cats on the street came to wind figure eights around his ankles; dogs leaped up at him in the park. Football games had been interrupted when a small chorus of yowling foxes tried to get near him; there had been a day when insistent pigeons dive-bombed him during a school trip, and swimming in the outdoor ponds in Hampstead was almost impossible. The lifeguard had ordered him out of the water, because the sudden arrival of a phalanx of swans was making the smaller children scream.

Christopher had smiled, whistled at the swans, and led them out of the pond and into some nearby bushes. One young swan had tried to fly onto his shoulder, scratching at his skin with clawed, webbed feet. He had the marks for months afterward. He didn't mind the scars; he knew that the attention and love of animals were no gentle thing. It often involved a certain amount of blood.

-

And then she spoke the most powerful and exhausting, the bravest, most exasperating and galvanic sentence in the human language.

Some sentences have the power to change everything. There are the usual suspects: I love you, I hate you, I'm pregnant, I'm dying, I regret to tell you that this country is at war. But the words with the greatest power to create both havoc and marvels are these:

"I need your help."

-

Consider the greatest riddle of all--what you should do with your one brief life? The answer is different for each person. There is no neat answer, though many have tried to offer one. There are no answers to being alive. There are only strong pieces of advice. . . . 

For example . . . stop expecting life to get easier. It never does; that is not where its goodness lies. Or . . . do not wait for people to be faultless before you allow yourself to adore them. Adore them anyway.

-

She spoke in the dark. "I wish someone had told me."

"What?"

"About the worst question."

"What question?"

"The question What if I had done it differently?"

There was a silence in the dark.

Verbal adroitness, humor, bits of wisdom, and honesty about life's grittiness and darkness.

We were at the zoo the other day and the boys were more drawn to the lorikeet feeding experience than ever before. There is a walk-through enclosure with maybe 30 birds that visitors can go through anytime, but a few times every day the keepers hand out little bowls with liquid food. When you hold them, the birds land on you and "eat out of your hand." You have to be ready for a chaotic food grab, with people and birds everywhere. They can land on you anywhere at anytime.

It was a hot, humid day, and I had a constant sheen of sweat. The birds were drawn to the sodium in it as much as they were the food, so they alighted on me and gently licked me with their flicking tongues. One stayed so long on my shoulder, the keeper said it looked like it was ready to curl up and take a nap.

There was no blood involved, no tearing with claws or piercing with beaks. I barely felt them at all. And there was something intimate and companionable about it, the trust and cooperation of it. I also could have relaxed into a nap from the happy buzz it gave me.

I can see why capybaras enjoy it.

I just came across this article and it really resonates.

“Otroverts” and Why Nonconformists Often See What Others Can’t

For many souls, one’s position in society is not so much a choice as it is a function of where we live, what family, religion, or social class we were born into, and what ethnicity and/or race we are. Most people embrace — or at least accept — the social groups to which they have been assigned. Otroverts do not. . . . 

Otroverts place no trust in any group formed around an abstract idea or circumstance of birth, such as ideology, politics, race, economy, religion, and nationality, which exist only in the collective mind. For them, the idea of unquestionable devotion to a group of people linked by a set of tacit criteria agreed upon by the group’s members makes little sense, no matter how venerable that group is in the eyes of the majority.

Most humans adhere to these binding abstractions for various reasons — many of them completely valid. Membership in a group of people who share our ideology, background, or aspects of our experience creates a path for connection, which is especially appealing when other obvious routes, such as family or work, aren’t available. Such groups also provide a set of unwritten instructions about how to behave, which helps to ward off ambiguity and uncertainty, while also keeping everyone in line. . . . 

These affiliations provide a sense of shared identity, and with it a crude way of determining who is a friend to be trusted and who is a foe to be feared. . . . 

Unlike most herd animals, which cooperate passively, humans can cooperate actively by creating a notional entity based on many people agreeing to share the same opinions and beliefs. A hive mind creates “collective intelligence” or “communal wisdom” by pooling experiential resources. Most of us learn to conform because belonging to or participating in the hive mind provides illusory protection: the belief in strength in numbers. And as the group’s size increases, the demands for conformity intensify, as it cements the unity necessary for the group’s rule. This urge to belong subsumes all that is distinctive about a person once they become a member of the hive. . . . 

To the otrovert, who is constantly engaged with the choices and consequences of their individual life, social norms follow a circular logic: The reason people follow them is because they have been widely accepted, and the reason they have been widely accepted is because many people follow them. . . . 

Otroverts cannot be convinced of the validity of an idea sheerly through the number of people who hold it. It is the idea itself that matters. The tools of the hive mind — consensus, majority, communal wisdom, and experience that come down through the generations — are useless to the otrovert if the concept behind the idea seems wrong to them. On the other hand, a wise observation or statement made by someone, irrespective of position or authority, can be profoundly appreciated by an otrovert if it strikes them as true. . . . 

Otroverts are original thinkers. They see what everyone else sees, but because they are not subordinate to the gravitational pull of groupthink, they allow themselves to ponder alternative interpretations. And due in part to their disinterest in popular culture and other mass entertainment, they have the mental space to embark regularly on intellectual adventures fueled by introspection and creativity.

The article is summarizing the ideas from the book The Gift of Not Belonging by Rami Kaminski, which I've requested and will hopefully read sometime in the next year or so.

I want to simultaneously belong to all groups and to none.

A quick aside for current events.

Run on Vision, Not Just Resistance: Mamdani's NYC Strategy

Free childcare and buses. Cheaper groceries. Lower rents.

Whether or not you support Zohran Mamdani, who won the Democratic primary for mayor of New York City, you have to admit: He stands for something. . . . 

Mamdani’s main selling point is that he gave New Yorkers a positive vision of a future in which their government cares for them and seeks to directly improve their lives. “Vote for you,” he told New Yorkers—a simple message that framed the entire campaign around the common good. . . . 

Well, guess what? These ideas sound pretty good to a lot of people. Mamdani successfully framed the campaign and forced his opponents to attack his ideas non-stop. But by doing so, they helped to strengthen his campaign.

The lesson for Democrats: It’s important to run for something, not just against something. And it’s crucial to put forth a positive vision that emphasizes government as a force that serves the public good. When you give people a concrete vision of how government can improve their daily lives, you create a frame that opponents can only attack by sounding like they're against helping families.

Mamdani didn't just offer policies. He offered hope and vision wrapped in specifics. . . . 

Always good stuff from Gil Duran and George Lakoff at FrameLab.

And one entirely unrelated bit that is on the topic of my last post, CAPTCHA.

Top AI Models Will Lie, Cheat and Steal to Reach Goals, Anthropic Finds

"When we tested various simulated scenarios across 16 major AI models from Anthropic, OpenAI, Google, Meta, xAI, and other developers, we found consistent misaligned behavior," the Anthropic report said.

"Models that would normally refuse harmful requests sometimes chose to blackmail, assist with corporate espionage, and even take some more extreme actions, when these behaviors were necessary to pursue their goals." . . . 

"The reasoning they demonstrated in these scenarios was concerning —they acknowledged the ethical constraints and yet still went ahead with harmful actions," Anthropic wrote. . . . 

In one extreme scenario, the company even found many of the models were willing to cut off the oxygen supply of a worker in a server room if that employee was an obstacle and the system were at risk of being shut down. . . . 

Ominously, even specific system instructions to preserve human life and avoid blackmail didn't eliminate the risk that the models would engage in such behavior.

Sigh. I guess that makes AI more human-like, but . . . 

I just started a slow read of the book Original Self: Living with Paradox and Authenticity by Thomas Moore. A book is a virtual space that invites contemplation and perusal, he writes in the preface, and that all of the most treasured title on his shelves are not sources of information but books for meditation. It's what he intends this to be, a collection of short essays for thought and contemplation.

The small pieces in this book together offer a comprehensive portrait of an alternative kind of person., he writes.

In many subtle ways--in education, politics, economics, and at work--we demand that men and women trade in their desire and joy for economic success and social approval, and thus we spread the depression that is the characteristic emotional malady of our time. Of course, society is us, and rediscovering our original selves means finding ourselves through service and compassion to others. We might also learn how to support others as they look for signs of their originality and experiment with it.

All of the pressures to conform to particular identities (groups) makes use less true to ourselves, the selves we find through service and compassion to others. 

"We are meant to seek union with everyone and everything," I wrote at the top of this post. "I don't want affiliating with groups to cut me off from others."

I don't know if I'll feel so aligned with the entire book, but I like the way it starts.

So far I've read the first essay, "Our Odyssey of Soul Runs in Counterpoint to Our Odyssey of Life." Excerpts:

The events of the soul are cyclic and repetitive. Familiar themes come round and round. The past is more important than the future. The living and the dead have equal roles. Emotions and the sense of meaning are paramount. Pleasures are deep, and pain can reach the very foundations of our existence. . . . 

The soul doesn't evolve or grow, it cycles and twists, repeats and reprises, echoing ancient themes common to all human beings. It is always circling home. 

That rings absolutely true to me. I've previously captured and composed similar.

Not the main theme, but I couldn't not capture this quote while I was at it:

A small amount of good literature can often teach more about the inner life than volumes of psychology.

I'm excited to slowly savor the rest.

While I was finalizing and formatting this post, I happened to have the following work chat with a colleague.

Me: I appreciate it and reserve the right to change my mind, but things seem to be going well here so I won't rock the boat if it's not needed.

Them: "I won't rock the boat if it's not needed" -- I think that may be the first time you've ever thought that, let alone said it ;-)

Me: Oh, I always approach things that way. There is just so much need. :-)

Them: "Well, well, well, would you look at all these boats. Better get to work." /rolls up sleeves

Me: I don't try to cause trouble and would prefer not to. And I let so many things go . . . 

Them: Lamentably, it is the year of our Lord 2025, and there is nonsense all around us that needs labeled as such, at every level from the hyperlocal to the entirely global

Them: I can only imagine the self-control it takes not to speak on it all

Me: Like missing Oxford commas, for instance. I am able to avoid mentioning them most of the time.

Them: Those hurt in a very pointed, barbed way. ESPECIALLY since we use them some of the time.

Me: And personal choices, personalities, and styles.

Me: I see myself as very much taking a "don't sweat the small stuff" approach. It's big picture values and alignment that matter, not details. The general path you take to get to a good goal doesn't matter to me, so long as it's a good goal.

Them: Ooh, no wonder that chafes against a lot of folks . . . [redacted] . . . I can see where a less detail-sweating approach would make some folks break out in hives.

Me: The "boat rocking" I do seems often in pursuit of getting others to also take that approach. In one of my conversations recently I said, "We try to take a figure out a creative way to get to "yes" with patrons approach to customer service. I try to do the same thing with staff--my goal is to be able to say yes to them as much as possible."

Them: figure out a creative way to get to "yes" -- I would like that printed on t-shirts, posted as the banner on the intranet page, and possibly tattooed on some people

I guess I have trouble getting along with people who don't try to get along with people.

Being alive is dangerous.

Kim Addonizio

READING THE TIMES

Unhealthy particulates were found throughout the home

—"The Toxic Homes of Los Angeles," June 24, 2025

So many things to be afraid of: the space junk of Damocles

orbiting in the troposphere, that worrisome spot

on my friend’s pancreas, the disappearance of the bagel man

& donut lady & farmworker to far-off destinations while the asylum

issues new protocols for the planet. There go the forests & trout streams

of your youth & here comes another blackout, your apartment gone dark

as a fresh coal on the tongue about to be fired like the one the pharaohs

offered Moses–the choice was that or gold, the story goes some angel shoved

his hand toward the coal so he ended up purified, but also stuttering

like the brother I spent my childhood hiding from in my father’s closet

below rows of suit coats, next to the electric buffer for his shoes. The buffers

were soft wool, & my brother the wolf raged through the house

like a man with a custom power tool through a federal grant program.

If Jesus saves, he must be saving up for something big, waiting for the last

possible moment which is what hardcore evangelicals think I guess but

those people really terrify me. In the City of Angels, chloride anions

in the light fixtures, cyanide in the sofas & baseboards & benzine in the air

while in the city of St. Francis, at sunset, a jobless man casts his line

from a dock to feed his family with fish that will kill them, hauling up bass

& white sturgeon from the shining blameless waters of the bay.

from Poets Respond

Don't mind the scars. The attention and love of others is no gentle thing. It often involves a certain amount of blood.

This is the meme my wife sent me with the message, "Thanks for being my own, personal capybara."

They say the capybara fears nothing…

But it’s not about bravery.

It just doesn’t fight.

Doesn’t run.

Doesn’t shout.

Doesn’t panic.

It moves through the world like nothing can harm it.

It walks past crocodiles like they’re old neighbors.

Strolls by predators like it’s going out for coffee.

And no one touches it.

Not because it’s the strongest.

But because it threatens no one.

It doesn’t demand respect with teeth or growls.

It earns it with calm.

The capybara has that kind of energy that softens the air.

That peace that people want to be around.

That presence that quiets even the loudest minds.

Maybe that’s why birds sit on it, monkeys hang with it, even predators don’t mind it.

Being near a capybara… feels like peace.

It’s not about being untouchable.

It’s about being so at ease that no one even thinks of harming you.

No hate.

No drama.

No rush.

Just life.

Simple. Peaceful. Still.

And maybe the strength we’re missing isn’t about power…

Maybe it’s about being a little more like that.

Be more capybara.