You never really know what its going to be like. I mean you can expect, or predict, or surmise, but really, you are never going to know, until you are there. I live in a land of cats. Solitary, sleeping, languid, sultry cats. I have much to learn from them, with their hours of gazing, sleeping, stalking, claw extending and curling while dreaming of, well, gazing, sleeping and stalking. I have been at this game for more than 2 years now, this game of school, not working, thinking, running, yoga classing, chore-doing, blogging, not blogging, cooking, loving. I have not amounted to much. I have made a home. I have started a new life, but there is little to show for it. Except sleeping, lazy cats. These cats are not my cats. They belong to no one. But here they are, on my deck, each morning, bounding onto the bed each night, purring, not purring, killing mice, scurrying away, pretending to be frightened of me, rubbing my legs, chortling at me, lining up for breakfast, treats, snacks, dinner. There is a lot of action in the garden now, flocks of finches, sparrows, hummingbirds, residents, migrants, jays, mockingbirds, phoebes, doves, invasive species and welcome domestics. THere are veggies and citrus trees and ferns and houseplants. My stamp is everywhere. And yet I feel so incredibly small, so incredibly useless. Karen Miller has convinced me that my practice is in the details. That my bed making, floor sweeping, dish washing, laundry folding is all part of my mantra, my zen, my love for this life. Lately, it just feels like chores. Most of it feels so incredibly boring, without meaning, without measure. After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, indeed….
So now what? The path in front of me is long. The joblessness, the chores, the plans, they are the same. Where do I find meaning in what seems to mundane? There was no creature, now he is here. There was no being and he came into being. THere was no food, or safety, no place to sleep, warm blankets, dry huddling spot. I made that. Their bodies have relaxed, no longer living in a crouch. And this one, he seeks me out for love, affection, pets, snuggles, body slams even. This boy that belongs to no one. Where there was no life, now there is his life. He even comes when I call him. What on earth can I learn from these not so feral cats? That I read to much Mary Oliver? That I fret too much about missing out? That I haven't seen enough classic movies, or lived in a big enough house, or travelled to enough places? Or that I spend way too much time on Pinterest, Facebook, Tumblr, Reddit? That yes the list is long, and that life is short. But perhaps my one wild and precious life doesn't have to be so wild, so precious? I spend a lot of energy yearning, searching, trying to find the meaning. Where is the meaning?
He is right here. Asleep on my couch. Dreaming of who knows what.