"On a walk one day I looked down at one of those weeds and it looked as beautiful as any other plant. Why, I wondered, had I bought into the “weed” label? Why had I so harshly judged an innocent plant?"I'm with Robert Wright on that. Weeds are plants too. I'll take a wild, untended patch *any* day over a manicured, fussed-over garden.
But a lizard, that he also writes about in his article, is my blind-spot.
"...there was my moment of bonding with a lizard. I looked at this lizard and watched it react to local stimuli and thought: I’m in the same boat as that lizard — born without asking to be born, trying to make sense of things, and far from getting the whole picture."Indiana Jones couldn't stand snakes. Henry Jones, Sr., his father, couldn't stand rats and I will never ever have the jones for empathizing with lizards. It's a childhood phobia thing.
Yes, I know, that is *just* where my inquiry should begin. Why am I repelled by the lizard's form? What exactly is it about a lizard that simply freezes me? I recognize, with more than just a little sadness and frustration, these are questions I can't even begin to think about.
So, good post, Mr. Wright, but I would much rather work with weeds and ponder over simpler questions like the Meaning Of It All. At least I do not have to deal with slithering forms, beady little eyes, darting tongues and terrifying scenarios involving ceiling fans and detachable tails.