“I often think that men don’t understand what is noble and what is ignorant, though they always talk about it.” ~ Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Rain, not snow, and not much rain. Neighborhood dogs have had a couple of goes at it, but peace-laced darkness is the tone of the morning. Coffee good. That’s important. The cat is curled up on the bed in a just so manner that seems to be deliberate in cuteness. I’ve long had a disdain for holidays, Thanksgiving included. The Thanksgiving/Christmas thoroughfare is the most daunting, and it seems prone to excess that pleases and then pulls the rug out from under. Not to mention the beauty. Don’t forget that. Now, the day after, I find all manner of things to be grateful for. This is good, and in my mind the whole trick is to carry that gratitude in my daily doings, and the farther away from the designated holiday the more value is likely to shine. But that is cynicism, right? Yeah, partly. There’s that old chestnut (how clever) about how the early winter holidays are supposed to be about inner values, not the commercial edge we traverse throughout the days. I don’t know. I’m feeling pretty much alone this year, but I know that to be an irrational perception. Yeah, and what about the Seasonal Affective Disorder, right? What about that? And where the hell is the snow anyway?! What about that, huh? In the immortal words of Donald Trump: you tell me. And tell me clear, sans irony, and you will have my eternal gratitude. I thank you in advance.
It tickles in a most unpleasant way. Anxiety for no reason. My science fiction mind wants to run off into realms like Chaos Theory, or Systems Theory. Maybe parallel universes. I feel stuckness, rather intimately. If anyone came at me right now with that “it’s all an illusion” bromide I might well flip them off, although I would, might, whatever, agree with them to a large degree. And I might get all philosophical and stuff as well. Pirsig’s inquiries into quality, and then into values. Now, you might say that all of this cerebral stuff is getting in my way, that if I had a job I would’t have time for all this. That’s pretty much of a no-brainer. I couldn’t agree with you more. But the only job within memory that blanched the cerebral stuff from my busy mind was at the animal shelter. Ya gotta love them kitties. Sure, some are needy, some are scared, some are depressed, and some are really very cool and spot on when you walk up to their cage and look at them in silence, and they are like all “and your point is?”. I’ve said it before, the sweet thing about working with animals, in the face of their incarceration, is that it is an immersive endeavor, and that quality comes mostly from the resonance created by animal to animal communications. Case in point: my cat, dear Rosie, has had some behavioral issues lately. No details, I’ve got it covered. Cats are not so easy. Not like dogs. I know of no other way than to search for the common ground, because that is where communications unfold. I remember when the new dog trainer came to the shelter. I watched. Finding common ground with the dogs, for communication, was also crucial, but the end seemed to be different. Once established, the communications with the dogs was applied in telling them what was expected of them, then the expectations were gradually nourished into fruition by little chunks of hot dogs. Come to think of it, that might work with me as well. But I think we all know that cats are on to that game, regardless of the fact that some of them will play along. Cats are negotiators.
Therapy this afternoon. I’m looking forward to it. I could get into a good Socratic, or better yet, Bohmian dialog with a raven as well. Truth is I’d feel quite in to a good squawk right now. Or a croak. Yup, Raven is both Trickster and Creator. I’d be well-advised to learn from that. Cryptic, right? Bohmian Dialog begins by sitting quietly with no pre-conceived agenda, and then only speaking that which arises from the heart. It’s a start. For that I am grateful, as is my cat.
Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.