On a zoom last week a woman asked for prayers. I emphatically said that I would. But now I am at a loss as to the woman's name, or that of her sister who has a health crisis, or even what the diagnosis is. 

 

I prayed anyway. 

 

This morning I read an article about a formless octopus who escaped from an aquarium. He or she realized that the lid to the tank was ajar, and slithered out. Then the cephalopod slid across the floor to a drain that connected to a pipe a hundred feet long which fed into the sea. How could the octopus have squeezed through such inhospitable spaces, or even understood that this was the avenue to freedom? 

 

She didn't leave a note. 

 

Octopi are an enigma. Their malleablity gives them a pass when the door is narrow. Eight legs come in handy for exploration, suction, smelling, and tasting. In fact arms that have been severed can continue those abilities for an hour. The instantaneous adaptation an octopus can achieve in mimicking her surroundings as to color and texture is far swifter than that of a chameleon, which comes in at a sluggish twenty seconds. This is because decisions about camouflage have to be deployed by the brain in a reptile, while an octopus can act without such a delay. Thinking, or perhaps responding happens in the arms themselves. 

 

There are times when I think less than I used to. What I mean is that I can skip the detour of always needing to assess. If a friend asks for support I can offer it even without reviewing their level of worthiness. If someone is exhausted I can listen without reminding them of why they should be grateful. If a friend is crying my arms can respond without a lecture. 

 

I have an inkling that my prayer arrived exactly where it needed to be.