Uncommon Peace

Princess Cats 005

The Princess Cats

“Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it.” ~ Ram Dass

“Have you listened to the radio lately? Have you heard the canned, frozen and processed product being dished up to the world as American popular music today? ” ~ Billy Joel

What did I expect? Yet another bitter cold morning, lingering snow from a fairly intense storm, coyote voices in the dark, one over here, many over there, they’ll find their way back together. There’s been a hunt. Someone got separated from the pack. It’s all good.

For the first time this winter I find that I am ready for it to be gone. Monday morning, yesterday, driving in to town to go to work, I found the surreal feeling of snow packed roads and slow frustrated drivers to be a bit disconcerting. That hushed feeling of “I’m not there yet” couldn’t quite stick in my mind. I was focused, but only enough so as to be a repeatedly momentary Buddhist. I hate it when that happens. Give me continuity any day. Flickering enlightenment just pisses me off. It’s all or nothing. But I didn’t see it that way out on the road. Simply put, it was snowing and I was going. Sweet.

We’ve got a fully feral cat in the cattery right now. His name is Smitty. Who names these cats?! The poor guy spends his day in a cardboard box, but I saw him venture out just a bit yesterday, long enough to reach through the cage and into the next cage, where he gently and cautiously touched Sunny, the cat with the broken leg. There was no hostility involved it was like all “dude s’up?”. The moment was sweet. His deep fear of us humans was gone for a time and a simple sense of curiosity gave birth to a communal gesture. It was sweet, as I said, and for a moment I saw no feral in the feral cat. My own worries, tribulations, and philosophically self-annoying creeds fell by the wayside. And in the background the radio played, pop music, and I don’t remember for sure but the song I confabulate as playing at that moment is Taylor Swift, “Why ya gotta be so mean?”. I love that girl. She’s a step above the rest. That’s an aphorism that I am proud to use. We could use more of that in the world today. Imagine Michelangelo using a ‘chunked and formed’ approach to crank out marble angels. Really? Really? We cattery workers like to speculate as to whether an animal is feral or just scared. Well, let’s put it this way: when I am backed into a corner it doesn’t make a lick of difference to me. When openly confronted with what appears to be a sudden truncation of my personal freedom, with no way out until the showdown abates, I am not inclined to act graciously when offered a snack. Call it a treat, if you will, I don’t want your friggin snacks, k? Not now. And later? Don’t bother with snacks dude, it’s pizza or nothing. You may quote me on that. But perhaps cats see it differently. I’d like to think so. There’s a lot to be said for courtesy, and it should be used whenever possible.

An eerie fog has settled as the first light spreads into the gray sky. In some Celtic traditions the mist means a loosening of sorts, wherein the world of spirit and the material world are commingling intimately. I love that image and I sometimes sense that it may be true. Maybe a feeling of presence or the hint of whispers and soft giggles in the fog, maybe just a feeling of uncommon peace, and quiet. Yes.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.




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