It’s the middle of January and a black ant is busy doing something on the countertop.
What’s a black ant doing around here in the middle of winter? I lean closer to see if I can discover what black ant is up to.
Black ant’s antenna and feet are moving to a purpose that isn’t apparent. No tiny crumb, no moisture, no nothing, just black ant, white countertop, and a pantomime of purpose.
I move off to make coffee. I keep an eye on the progress. There isn’t any. Black ant is moving but he isn’t moving anything - or anywhere - only moving.
I wonder if the pantomime motions of black ant are intended to encounter real things.
In case any real thing might be within contact. Had there been anything on the countertop besides black ant, his motions would have met with success.
I wonder if that’s the same situation for all of us.
Dylan sang in, Talkin New York, “Lots of people don’t have much food on the table, but they got a lot of knives and forks, and they gotta cut something”. Is that a metaphor for all the imperatives of life: we come equipped for success and lack only opportunity”?
No, though true - oversimplified.
It may be entirely true for black ant whose only purpose may be to eat, live, and make more black ants. If so, this black ant will likely die a failure. Even if I fed him now, I know he will wander off, and die alone, his corpse food for spiders or dissolution.
I’d like to help but I cannot.
I feel the same about a letter I received from a prisoner interred at a San Francisco correctional facility. The writer was Joshua Thomas Payne. Joshua had read a story I’d had published many years ago in, Chicken Soup for the Soul - the At Work edition.
Joshua told me he had written to all 44 of the authors in that book. All his letters had come back with a yellow label proclaiming: Return to sender, unable to forward. Was I his last hope? I think that was the implication.
He went on to tell me that he too hoped to be a writer. He supplied a list of possible titles, most of which were obscene, blasphemous, or otherwise indecent. Each of his titles were intended to reference the unspecified incident that landed him in prison.
I felt sorry for him. His sour outlook precluded any help my thoughts on writing might provide. It reminded me of a rude line someone wrote next to my high school yearbook photo: “With an attitude like yours, you won’t go far”.
Maybe I should write a note to him saying I’d like to help, but I cannot.
At least black ant’s problem wasn’t attitude - only lack of opportunity.
The Letter
Reactions to the Letter
I felt sorry for Joshua Thomas Payne. My impulse was to help him. I had no idea how I could. I showed his letter to two friends to see what they thought.
One thought I should send him a copy of my essay, About Writing, since Joshua seemed to be interested in learning about writing. I wasn’t so sure Joshua was interested in writing. I wasn’t sure what Joshua was interested in.
My other friend thought Joshua sounded mentally ill and that I shouldn’t respond at all. That advice seemed sensible.
I didn’t write back.
I considered sending him a copy of Black Ant Reverie.
Nobody thought that was a good idea.