Identification. Life’s Bondo

Had the title last week and not the words. Opened the draft last night but didn’t have the words. Thought about it this morning and yeah…no. Didn’t have the words. We all know what it is, identification. It is the thing that fosters empathy, feeds understanding. It is the thing that permits us moments of self-indulgence. And not always in the “bad” things. It is a door.

At least my version of it. Psychologists of the varying schools of crazy/not crazy may differ. I don’t care. I know it when I feel it. Because it is first, a feeling thing. Then an intellectual thing. Body reacts, brain trys to translate. Still. I have no words….

It’s Sunday. Last day to post a Ten Things of Thankful. I had every intention of putting up a post. Then I wasn’t. A lot of things were going to happen this weekend. And then they didn’t. Right now, at 11:35 am, post “morning walk”, all I want to do is close the door to the world and lay on the bed. If I sleep, great. If not, do I care? No. It’s about stopping the world.

No. Not like in Carlos Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan. But in the more mundane simple retreat from the world at large. That’s what I initially felt and then I re-counted my walk this morning and a non-descript event. We always have that – the choice to interpret events and interactions any way we please. To suit/indulge our moods.

I haven’t been walking much because, well, it’s practically winter. But I have to. So this weekend I decided I would. 10:00 am was a little late to begin but what the heck. I was going. That’s what counts. My “schedule” of gift buying, visiting niece and family, washing the car, wrapping presents…yeah. That schedule is totally out the window and splattered on the pavement.

This morning there was no sun. Clouds and in the 30’s. Fresh, cold air. It’s all good. I dressed in layers – black leggings under black jeans, 2 shirts – a black “muscle” t-shirt under a black turtleneck. No, no Johnny Cash, walkin’ the line theme goin’ on with me. I broke it up with a pullover knit sweater in royal purple. But damn if the beret isn’t black.

2 laps around the complex for a total of 3 miles will suit me fine. As I’m winding up the 1st lap, I look to my left (holy shit. no, not over my left shoulder) There, lying comfortably curled up in front of a bush is a grey cat. Eyes closed, he does not budge. It was rather an odd scene. The bush was part of the landscaping that bordered the steps leading up to this particular building. In my mind, I’d think a cat would prefer to be on the other side, the “safe” side. Not facing the sidewalk and parking lot.

As I approach the final segment of lap 2, I see ahead of me the same grey cat. Risen from his nap, I notice he’s closer to the sidewalk yet still on the grass. Just sitting there. Staring at me, watching me as I approach. As soon as I’m parallel to him, he steps off the grass and begins to walk with me. Oh…k.

At first the cat walked on one side of me. I’m talking right there, inches from my leg. Then he switched to the other side. Then he began to walk in front of me in a windy, back and forth fashion. I stopped a couple of times thinking, “I’m walking towards the highway now. He’d better stop ‘cuz I don’t want to be responsible for him getting squished by a car!” 

When I stopped he began rubbing his head against my leg. Collarless, plump, I couldn’t decide if he lived there in the apartment complex or was a stray. My main concern was that he not follow me to the busy road ahead. We walked together about 60 ft when he stopped. As I continued, now without feline accompaniment, the sun pierced through the clouds.

Today, I’m thankful for that event. In spite of the escapist mood I’m fighting this very moment, it tells me that the path is there. And it will be lit. I need but find it, walk it. I’m thankful to my own damn self for reminding myself that each day, is the only day.

Lizzi’s BlogHop. It’s a good thing.

 

 

Edge remnants and such…

I have a coupla posts about the Cat.  So what?  Of mice and men, cats and magic….there but for the grace of the Cat go I.  Timelines?  Did someone mention timelines? What?  That was “timeframe”?  I see.

I’m thinkin’ I have one more post about the Cat here.  I mean, who doesn’t have a “Trilogy”?  Back to the Future, The Matrix…The Godfather.  Besides, you know what they say about trilogies.  OK, the number 3 at least…. “it happens in 3’s, they go in 3’s, 3rd times a charm”, etc. 

All of us can easily conjure up on the giant screen inside our brains, famous movie  trilogies. Or recollect fondly? from our formative years the various religious references involving trilogies -Father, Son, Holy Ghost, Taoist Trilogy, the theory of clarks, scotts, rogers.…  Aren’t there 3 major food groups?  And what about the I, IV, V?  Huh? Huh?!  Triads, whether they be religious, criminal, physical or musical in nature, are significant.  

Life is a triad. Can we call it a Trilogy?  There are 3 “events”: we’re born, have a “life” and  we die.  3 components that are linked and intertwined, in my humble opinion, in an Escher kind of way.  There is no starting point A that immediately and linearly produces the B that ends with the flatline C.  As a clarklike female, I prefer to think of life more like a Mobius strip and my existence as simple “configuration space”.   I know what you’re thinkin’ about now….”any minute Girlie’s gonna go off on a Pythagorean rant with a side dish of discourse regarding the importance of adhering to proper Euclidian etiquette when in the company of  well to do, hypontenustic people. LOL 

……don’t worry.  I’m better now.  Sometimes when we freefloat, ponder the past, search the present or plan for the future we find ourselves veering off into all sorts of uncharted territory – landscapes morphed by memory, the litter of lingering feelings strewn along the roadsides… it’s easy to miss the paw prints.  But if we are lucky, like little Jamaal, we’ll have a shoulder upon which to perch for however brief the moment, and the world will open up again to life lessons and the Cat….