context: totem animals are a fanciful concept, chosen to reflect some part of ourselves we must project to see. One of my favorite, personal totems is the octopus. Intelligent, covert, capable of fading at will to virtual invisibility, this insanely vulnerable invertibrate pulses through the sea. The paradox of the apparant power of the larger of these beasts & the obvious vulnerability are often the focus of meditations I do.
So, here's a story: Jason comes home the other night & excitedly tells me about a date he wants to set up with me. He's been talking to a co-worker, who recommended scuba diving, in the Puget Sound. I'm a bit shocked, having a fear of water, however temporary & certainly a fear of sealife. He's dying to tell me more & starts talking about the octopi in the Puget Sound & how we can see giant octopi, but should probably go at night, there will be sharks, the water is murky, etc...
He's always very excited to go to the very limits to get me to what my heart's desire. Which scares the hell out of me. Generally, I figure out a way to join him, his ideas are typically spot on. He also takes offense if I reject his cool ideas for reasons of safety, assuming I have some kind of trust issue.
It's likely that I'll go scuba diving, but I'll prep first. The moral of the story is contained in the joke below (My husband is from North Carolina):
What are a redneck's last words?
"Hey Y'all, watch this"