Cougar as Chaos

“Hey, just so you know: there was a cougar sighting up ahead 45 minutes ago.”

I stop in my tracks, processing this piece of news like a weather report.

“Ahh that’s good to know, thanks for the heads up,” I reply.

“Yep. I didn’t see anything, but I only went as far as the bench. Keep your head on a swivel if you want to make it through your walk.”

(Seriously—that was bro’s advice.)

We part ways. Him and his very long corgi heading home. Me, into the trees.

I weigh the risk of walking vaguely towards where the cougar was last seen, and the inescapable feeling that I’d be fine even if the big kitty did appear.

I admire the ferns while walking into the trees.

———

Living intuitively was once my default operating system, but self-betrayal after self-betrayal infected the system until I no longer trusted the hum beneath my skin.

So perhaps my biggest shift this year has been reconnecting with my intuition and relearning how to let that subtle sense of knowing lead me through the world.

———

As I walk, my head is indeed on a swivel.

Every rustle in the bush bends my attention. 

I take care to glance behind me, ensuring I’m not being followed. I’ve long heard tales of how if you’re being stalked by a cougar, you won’t know until it’s too late.

Oddly, the thought soothes me. If my death must be painful, I’d rather not see it coming.

Up ahead, I hear what’s definitely not a small animal moving in the ferns.

I freeze. My breath catches. My heart somehow speeds and stills. 

I scan, scan, scan like a game of I Spy.

Finally, I spot two mottled-gray deer heads staring at me.

My breath releases.

“Te veo, venadas,” I whisper.

(I see you, deer.)

I continue towards the maple doorway.

———

Intuition doesn’t care about safety or logic, unless circumstances insist.

Mostly, intuition wants you to stay in dialogue with a sense of aliveness.

Sometimes, what makes you feel alive might not make sense to anyone else.

Sometimes aliveness lies in an impossible-seeming dream, or a mythic gamble.

Judge the source of aliveness, we should not.

So intuition is the guide who led me to hockey and boxing, to driving with spirit (but not stupidity), to sharing my singing publicly, which comes with its own kind of risk.

Edges where ability and feedback kiss are my favourite, especially when the feedback is physical: a crunching bodycheck, a hook to the liver, a sudden disappearance of grip, the blush and rush of “did I really just share that?”

Edges like these are where I feel most deliciously alive.

Yours will not be the same.

The search for them is always interesting, and fun.

———

I’m moving further from where the cougar was seen.

I’ve passed through the maple doorway, danced the half-moon stumps, gazed at what’s currently one incredibly golden maple tree, and am nearing the park’s edge.

Even so, my system still hums on high alert: eyes roaming, ears scanning, mind sharp.

My body only begins to relax when I see the trees thinning, and hear faint voices on an adjacent trail. A silent sigh of relief slips out. Even though I was certain I’d be fine, emerging from the forest unscathed was welcome proof of that belief. 

———

The sensible decision would have been to go walk elsewhere.

But intuition screamed, “You’ll be fine.” Aliveness sang its siren song.

And Jinx wanted to delight in the danger, to dance with the aliveness.

(This kind of thinking is always her, she always grins at edges.)

I haven’t come this far to turn from aliveness.

There will be no more betrayals.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander