Toad in the Road
fate, futility & why our actions matter anyway
Penwith is almost an island, just a few miles from North coast to South — sticking out into the Atlantic at the south-westerly tip of Britain. Moorland thick with griglans and furze stretches along the granite backbone that traverses the length of West Cornwall from Trencrom to Chapel Carn Brea — peaked with Bronze and Iron Age forts, home to the greatest concentration of Neolithic sites in Europe. A beautiful and ancient landscape — home.
Stretching across this narrow neck of land, a lane rises steeply from Morvah, up and over the top of Carn Downs before descending towards Penzance.
Once, I was driving home along this quiet lane. It was a gentle evening, the sun setting in a slowly darkening, golden pink sky behind me.
As I approached the top of the hill, a fat old Toad jumped into the road — right in front of me. I halted the car and got out to determine the fate of the creature. Thankfully there it sat, unharmed just in front of the approaching tyre, lazily staring at me.
The common toad bufo bufo typically lives for 10–12 years, but can live for up to 40 years! Toads prefer to walk, rather than hop. And, toads can sense danger.
I picked the little fellow up and carefully placed hir safely on the grass away from the side of the road.
I felt quietly heroic — my small action had saved a little life and contributed to the healthy biodiversity of that area of moorland. Smiling to myself, I switched the engine back on, released the handbrake and pulled away.
As the car lurched forward, the old Toad leapt out again — I slammed on the brakes the moment I saw the movement, and got out with a creeping sense of Déjà vu.
Toad was dead.
Squashed flat on the road, under my car.
“WHY?” I asked myself, over and over, as I drove home in a confused karmic daze.
It got me wondering about fate, futility, and whether my actions really matter, really make any difference?
I have a great love of Norse mythology and the old Norse held a concept similar to fate or karma — örlog. The word örlog means “primal law”, the cycle of unalterable destiny or fate of all things. The idea is ancient, old as stories. The oldest written record is from from verse 20 of Völuspá, the first poem of the Poetic Edda.
In the Elder Futhark this idea is represented by the rune Perthro, the lot cup from which warriors would seek to know their fate before a battle, also the means by which rune are cast.
The old ways.
I don’t think anything in life is pre-determined, though there are undoubtedly patterns, ecosophical laws in the weave of the universe that influence and guide our ways through life.
The road from Morvah always leads to Penzance, but only on that örlog day, when I happened to drive along it at the same time my friend Toad was trying to cross it, when our paths met twice — first with hope, and then with finality— only then did I stop and notice.
“Life is short and the time of death is uncertain; so apply yourself to meditation. Avoid doing evil, and acquire merit, to the best of your ability, even at the cost of life itself. In short: Act so that you have no cause to be ashamed of yourselves and hold fast to this rule.” — Milarepa
I’m glad I saved that toad from being squashed on the road. Even if it was only for a small moment.
