Masked Bandits or Furry Friends?

Long ago, when the world was new, Raccoon had a smooth face and a curi­ous mind. Every night, while the oth­er ani­mals slept, he would sit by the riv­er and watch for the Moon’s reflec­tion in the water. And every night, he tried to catch it.

He would splash and grasp, dive and scoop, but the Moon always van­ished beneath his paws. Still, he kept try­ing, over and over, his lit­tle hands grow­ing more nim­ble, his mind sharp­er with each attempt. He became the best prob­lem-solver in the for­est, but the Moon still slipped through his fin­gers like a dream.

One night, the Moon asked why Raccoon chased her. 

“Because you’re beau­ti­ful. I want to touch you.”

The Moon laughed and gen­tly explained that we can­not hold what is meant to be reflected. 

But for his won­der, clever mind, and per­sis­tent atti­tude, Moon bestowed upon him a gift, brush­ing his face with her glow. A dark band formed across his eyes, like the shad­ow of the Moon dur­ing an eclipse.

That’s why Raccoon sees what oth­ers miss. He reminds us that curios­i­ty is a sacred gift.

For the past decade, my father has fed the rac­coons around his house. Every day, he dri­ves into town to grab the buck­ets of left­over food the local piz­za joint saves for him from their all-you-can-eat lunch buf­fet. Then, at dusk, he car­ries the food out and waits for the gaze (a group of rac­coons) to show up. One will rub his head against my father’s leg like a house cat. Another will care­ful­ly pick through the slop, look­ing for any left­over pie before she will set­tle on piz­za. He speaks to each one, wel­com­ing them and ask­ing about their day. They will chit­ter and bark in response to his query. Sometimes he has to use a stick to break up a lit­tle squab­ble, but most of them are cour­te­ous and well-behaved guests.

My dad, a staunch veg­e­tar­i­an since the 70s, is cer­ti­fied as a Wildlife Rehabilitator, tak­ing in infant rac­coons that are aban­doned or have lost their moth­er, usu­al­ly because of human care­less­ness (run­ning them over in the street) or cru­el­ty (“tree­ing” and then shoot­ing them). In pro­tect­ed envi­ron­ments, some rac­coons can live sev­en to ten years, but most wild rac­coons rarely see their third birthday. 

“Their time on earth is so short. I want to give them as much love and joy as I can. I want to be a safe space.” 

Makes sense. In yoga, we teach that the ner­vous sys­tem must first feel safe before it can expe­ri­ence curios­i­ty. My dad is cul­ti­vat­ing curios­i­ty by car­ing for these creatures. 

The word curios­i­ty aris­es from the same Latin root cura, mean­ing to heal or to cure. Curiosity is the cor­ner­stone of mind­ful­ness; this nuanced emo­tion cracks open the shell of pre­con­cep­tions, assump­tions, judg­ments, and expec­ta­tions, allow­ing us to see truths oth­ers miss. 

Just like raccoon.