My Possum Kingdom Come

Shortly after posting about resurrection and life in a new form, came a surprise: two baby possums. At 10:30 pm, my "tortie" cat came rushing through the door, a baby possum in its mouth. She dropped it at my feet, and the possum went scurrying beneath a sofa. I can laugh about it now, but it wasn't funny then. I freaked. "I don't know nothin' about baby possums!"

In one corner of the wild kingdom ....

I have a dear friend involved in wild animal rescue. She does know a lot about them. I called her, and then called security where I live. A nice man came and helped me steer the little marsupial into a box.  From my friend, I learned that possums do not carry or transmit rabies. They like bananas, yogurt, and cat food. And oddly enough, they have a tendency to like cats, although they are very afraid of dogs.

I managed to get the possum-in-a-box to my rescue friend. We were years overdue for a visit. We stood outside in the dark, standing about 8 feet apart, with the possum in her temporary home stationed between us.  It was so good to catch up with my friend of 25 years. When we were younger and healthier, you could have found us at high school basketball tournaments, where I earned the dubious honor of being able to yell louder than any other parent. We've pledged not to wait for another wild kingdom episode to stay in touch.

Two nights later, it all happened again. My cat brought in little Miss Possum's sibling (I'll call this one him.) This time, I threw a towel over the little guy to keep him from running, called security again, so there would be a second set of hands to help me get what looked like the tiniest dinosaur into a crate with food and water. He spent the night in my car inside his temporary quarters, quietly waiting for my friend to take him to join his sister.  My friend and I had another nice visit. This is quite a treat, given that I now have almost no human contact, with shelter-in-place.

It´s a cute story now that it´s over. At the time, I found this too sudden and too stressful. I felt that awesome responsibility to save a life--no matter how small a package the life comes in. And I didn't feel competent in any way to do that. I also knew I couldn't live with myself if I had just let the baby possums loose. I didn't know it at the time, but their mother had been trapped and relocated a few days before.  They had no mother to go back to. They may not be as afraid of cats as dogs, but hungry, strong stray cats that roam our development, and they might be willing to pounce on a possum. Any number of misfortunes could await them, perhaps the worst was the possibility of venturing into traffic on the main road nearby.

When I have a wildlife encounter, I research what that particular animal represents in Native American or other indigenous or ancient symbolism.  Here is what I found on several websites about the possum:

The word for "opossum / possum" was among the Powhatan words first recorded by English colonists at Jamestown, variously spelled opassom, aposoum or apasum. I found many references to various indigenous cultures. Opossum is considered the correct term for this sole American marsupial, while the word possum technically refers to their cousin marsupials in Australia. However, in Texas, nobody says "opossum."  We call the stunning North Texas lake area Possum Kingdom, not Opossum Kingdom. I don't want those funny looks Texans give each other when someone says something perfectly correct, but not locally resonant. So, I'm going with plain possum. Some consider the possum a fertility symbol. Some South American cultures have a legend about the possum bringing fire to humankind. Others see the possum as a classic "trickster," as they do the coyote.

On a more practical and beneficial front, possums eat ticks (thus protecting humans from Lyme disease), are not rabid, will eat garden pests and rotting fruit that attracts flies. The Missouri Conservationist magazine calls them "unlovely, but unique," and says that "nature's vacuum cleaners" can help home owners get rid of snakes in their yards. Opossums are good for the world.

I never see these surprise nature events as pure coincidence. As a friend in a coffee shop in Mexico told me, "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous."  I started researching possums online until I found something that clicked in a coincidental way with the surprise in my own life. This text spoke to me: "Possum teaches how to find fixes to complicated problems and how to renew and resurrect yourself!"

I had just posted a lovely poem about new life, and now there was a possum in my house. How undignified. If you´d seen me jump and scream when my cat brought the first one in, "undignified" might not sprung to mind. Scared-crazy-leapin'-lizards might have, though. My own spiritual practice and worship experiences have taught me to automatically think of resurrection as elegant, beautiful, and grand. And, now, a possum. 

Just before I coaxed the second little possum into a crate, it played dead--the "trick" possums are famous for. They flop over, drool at the mouth, and can even emit a scent that makes them smell dead. To see this tiny thing play dead under a street light while two giant human beings lurked over it was cute, but not funny. It wasn't funny, because it was so damn brave. That creature the size of the palm of my hand had no idea what was happening. Lost and alone, it had to be utterly terrified. He did all he could, and all his instinct knew to do.  

Playing dead has saved many a possum's life. They're masterful at it, which is why some animal "symbolists" connect this marsupial with its prehistoric face and hairless tail to a concept as grand as resurrection.  I saw it for myself. 

If I hadn't known in advance that possums can play dead, I might have thought the little guy had died before I could rescue him. He certainly looked dead, lying immobile on his side, until suddenly, he arose and tried to run away from the crate that guaranteed his safety. 

Many people have grown uncomfortable with the concept of "God," largely because of the baggage humans heft onto the word. When the natural world intrudes into my domestic one, God comes to mind, but so does the term "divine authorship." This term places God at the beginning of all things, in the center of all things, but keeps from labeling God as the grand fix-it guy in the sky. 

Without acknowledging this divine authorship, I don't know how else to explain the interrelated threads of my life experience, the coincidences that are clearly not accidents, the way all things carry meaning into my life, upon examination. 

It's not an experience I would have scripted for myself. But I welcome it. I'm sure resurrection means new life in a new form. I had no idea, though, that it could mean possums in the living room. And, so like my other experiences with the divine author, in case I didn't "get it" the first time, I was given a second chance with a second possum. Or maybe that was the divine author's way of seeing to it that these two deserted siblings found each other again.

It's a key element in resurrection that years of tradition have invited me to forget: the element of surprise. Anything utterly new will include surprises.  That's part of what makes resurrection so frightening and beyond control. It's also part of what makes it beautiful, and real, and divine.

Last I heard, the two little possums were happy to be back together, enjoying some yogurt, and taking turns in the lap of my angel friend who secured their safe travel into a new life. Sometime in May, having grown larger, smarter, and stronger, they will move on to yet another new place. 

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