The ant

I sat silently and watched as an itty-bitty black ant climbed onto my leg, curiously exploring the barren land of my skin.

I found myself wondering whether this ant understood me as living...eventually arriving at the conclusion that indeed, on some level, it must. Otherwise, the ant and its friends would likely be making a meal of me, as ants do.

I looked in earnest as it acquainted itself with its foreign surroundings, its antennae and legs moving feverishly across the surface of my skin.

Suddenly, the ant sunk its tiny, jagged pinchers into my flesh, a sharp stinging pain shooting through my ankle. But I remained still, unmoving.

I watched as this ant released its grip and then clenched again. Released and clenched. Released and clenched. In silence, I curiously observed the ant — which was quite obviously flustered — as it kept its pinchers sunken into me and flailed, twisted, and wriggled its body about. As though to do maximum damage.

As I stared, I couldn’t help but see our own very human behavior in my tiny new enemy — clinging, resisting, fighting. Clinging, resisting, fighting…against...nothing. 

I gazed at the ant as it fought against itself. Fought against its idea, its belief, in a problem. Which was, in actuality, no problem at all.

Then, just as quickly as it began, the ant let go and walked lightly on its way, as though nothing had happened, eventually making its way back to the soil beneath me.

Like the ant, I, too, could simply let go of my clinging and walk freely away.