Say there was a mouse trap that, on one particular day, became very conscious of himself and his purpose. The mouse trap, sitting idly in the corner behind the old off-white refrigerator, suddenly awakened to the idea of what his wood and metal meant, how the bait sits so seductively on his stomach, and how upon its removal, how his springs will release and do their work. The mouse trap, upon figuring out the ifs and thens of his existence, starts to despair.
“But I think I like mice!” He laments, and the lament is in two parts. He thinks of the things he will do and grows despondent, and he knows that no amount of forethought suddenly stops himself from clamping down. This is what springs do, this is what bait does, this is the life of a mouse trap.
At the beginning of his sentience, while the trap spins inside himself, he is filled with a very defeatist sort of self-loathing. He is aware that his thoughts and his function are at odds and thus, retreats into a kind of resentment as to his condition. If only I didn’t have to hurt mice, he thinks.
Later, a mouse will arrive in search of something or other. The trap will see the mouse approach, and having some semblance of responsibility, reveals his nature to the mouse.
“I would love to get to know you, mouse, but unfortunately, the second you touch me, you’ll be split in two. It’ll be horrific and awful and no one will be happy about it.”
The mouse considers this, and considers the bait, and considers the candor, and approaches the trap anyways. Certainly, if the trap was so forthright with himself, he must be able to control the potential energy sitting within himself.
“Mouse trap, if you’re so aware of what will happen, couldn’t you simply not let it happen? It seems pretty easy to stop something if you are mindful of it beforehand.”
The mouse trap reflects on that and turns inwardly, thinking about the feelings he would have as the bait is removed, as the clamp shoots downward. It certainly doesn’t feel involuntary, though not necessarily voluntary, either. Maybe with mindfulness, the mouse and the trap could have a nice time together.
“Sure, I can try. But I still want to remind you that I am a mouse trap, and you are a mouse, and things happen.”
The mouse takes this final warning into consideration, steels itself, and approaches anyway. The trap is happy to meet them. Behind that old refrigerator, the two feel trust. The mouse tenderly removes the cheese from the belly of the trap and as it begins to idly chew, the trap snaps closed on it.
Now, the trap knew this was going to happen. But it doesn’t want to think of itself as a liar or a tempter or a monster. As the despair of its nature rises up again, the trap sends the spite onto the little mouse lying in twain.
“I told you what was going to happen, didn’t I? I’m a mouse trap after all, what else could happen? I told you, I told you, I told you. Now look what’s happened.”
The trap is filled with remorse and anger and puts these onto the mouse. It should have known better. But the mouse trap, ever aware of its own nature, knows it never should have acquiesced to the mouse. Even further below this, the trap has an inkling that because he perceives of himself as a mouse trap, he will never be anything different, and that the fault again lies with him and his utilization of his circumstance as a justification for the things he does.
The mouse trap does not know what to do with this.
jeez, louise 