A Teaching in Whiskers and Breath

A rustle in the night —

small heart, swift body,

moving through shadows I called my own.

The pulse rose: danger.

The child whispered: wonder.

Two truths in the same breath.

I saw it first with alarm,

then with a widening gaze —

a creature of need,

woven of the same longing as this body of mine.

Both of us here,

in this house borrowed from earth,

seeking refuge.

I laid a path of kindness,

soft cheese on the altar of the trap.

Not to kill —

to meet.

To ask: can love hold even this?

The first night —

a feast and an escape.

The small one knew joy.

And I laughed — the trap had become a gift.

The second —

eyes met mine,

breath caught in a space between worlds.

There is a moment when fear becomes reverence.

I held the gaze.

I spoke through the field: You are safe. You will go free.

And so it was.

Carried in tender hands,

released to the great green temple beyond these walls.

The teaching lingers:

There are fewer enemies than we imagine.

Often what startles us

is a small being seeking the same peace we long for.

May we meet the darting ones —

in the world, in the self —

with hands unclenched,

with hearts willing to see again.

The mouse was a teacher.

The fear was a veil.

The field of love is vast enough

for even the smallest visitor.