It’s A Lot
Like Life
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I had to decide. She’d had a
reaction to the anesthetic which left symptoms similar to epilepsy.
Convulsions. Starvation. A rack of bones loosely held in rags of fur. Put her
down. A euphemism by any other name . . . death.
My tears soaked her fur. I held her
last breath. My Cat Ballou, playful, teasing, gentle sweet kitten-cat.
That night I lay in bed, holding
memory, accusations rattling around my brain cage, familiar. Why does everyone,
everything I love, leave me? What is wrong with me? Is this my karma? Is there
no end? Beating myself. Grieving.
Finally I heard my wild monkey-mind,
the guilt/shame false accusations. If I let it, that silly mind could take
response-ability for the Peloponnesian War. Think about it. If I can take
responsibility for war, I can avoid responsibility for harsh words spoken in
haste.
Stop it! My good-sense mind finally
woke up and took control. I drew on everything I knew, prayer, mantras,
meditation. Finally I simply focused on following my breath, in, out. As
clearly as if they were spoken, I heard the words, You ask the wrong questions?
(I do NOT hear voices.)
Why not ask, Why have I been given
this kitten gift of pure love and fun for four whole months? Oh, the patterns
of the past have a strong grip. I was glad to break that pattern, to drift into
sleep with a few more tears.
So this last week has been hard
times for me. I spent hours every day in my garden, watering flowers, giving
attention to every single plant in my extensive garden, doing what brings me
solace. Friends come by bringing comfort and bananas. I accepted their fussing
over me.
In our way of marking time, we left
an old year behind and turned our faces into the new year ahead.
Here on the Rancho we gathered at
Julie’s house for shrimp pozole. Julie made the soup and the rest of us brought
pot luck. Good food, peaceful ambiance, stimulating conversation. Home by ten. Few
of us, if any, stayed up to watch the clock turn around the day.
If there were a lot of fireworks, I
slept through the bangs and crackles. I’m used to hearing fireworks daily, for
our people use fireworks to celebrate every occasion, births, deaths,
anniversaries, stubbed toes. Fireworks are part of the background noise, like
my wind chime at the corner of my house and the trucks along the highway a
couple blocks south.
The sun is shining. It’s a beautiful
day. My first amaryllis burst into blossom. In my ballpark, it’s a tie
ballgame.
Sondra
Ashton
HDN: Looking
out my back door
January 4,
2018
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