This is The Thing

OK, so I started this new project.

This new project that my guidance has been telling me to move ahead on for — what? — two years now?

And I have moved ahead on it — and frankly — it’s been nothing short of amazing.

Everything has shifted.  My attitude, my flow, my enthusiasm, and my prosperity.

Funny how that is.

So, if you’ve had some wacky idea running around in your brain for a while, and you haven’t been acting on it, I encourage you to get off your butt and just do something — anything — the tiniest forward motion on it.

That is all.

Well, yes, it has been six months (nearly) since I last posted.

That’s about to change.  I’m gearing up for the New Year, which will have me blogging, and teaching, and playing in a whole new ways.

Example #1:  I’m embarking on an entirely new spiritual support project for 2010, which has got me very excited at the moment.  I hope to transfer that sense of excitement to others who are interested in entering the New Year with a clear intention to use every minute of 2010 for their enjoyment and upliftment.

You can track what’s going on with that at this link:  A New Adventure for 2010 — I’ll be posting fun updates and info about the Project there every single day between now and January 31, 2009.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I’m busy prepping a completely new kind of blog — a video blog (although there will, no doubt, be some writing, too) — on a theme that’s been front and center for me recently:  Moving out of binary thinking.  I’m so sick of Right/Wrong, Democrat/Republican, Gay/Straight, etc., etc., etc. that I could puke, so I’m choosing to work with my own consciousness to move toward something new — and I invite you on that journey, too — keep an eye out here for the announcement of the new blog.

That’s it for me, six months older, definitely wiser and more centered, and ready to write again.

• Don’t worry if you don’t have an instrument. There will be an area where there are instruments that are availalabe for anyone to play — if you bring your personal instruments and don’t want to share them (which I completely understand), don’t place them in this area (which will be marked).
  • Any instrument that is not in this area should be considered someone’s personal instrument — please don’t pick it up, play it, or even touch it without their specific permission.
• The front two rooms of our house will be dedicated to music.  If you want to have a conversation with someone else at the party, please take this out to the yard or into the kitchen, rather than carrying it on in the hall while music is being made.  In the music hall, incidental verbal interactions such as “an-a-one-and-a-two”, “let’s try that in the key of G”, and “Here’s a good one” will be welcome.
• Leave your ego and your judgments at the door (especially judgments you may have about yourself “I have a crappy voice”, or “I suck at playing guitar”).  Refrain from “taking stage” and performing a personal concert — the point of this gathering is to have people make live music together — not for any individual to give a house concert.  Expect that any song/music you start may end up being a group effort, and don’t get in a snit if someone else fires up a harmonica in the middle of your classical piece.
• Join in. Yeah, you may not think of yourself as a musician, but that could end on Solstice, 2009, you know?  Sing, shake a tambourine or maraca, pound on the drum kit in the synth, dance, listen — stretch your edges.
• You may be recorded. I’m going to have the four track deck recording during the party, but it’ll be inobtrusive, and purely for my own enjoyment.
• I reserve the right to throw everybody out at 3 pm, although I may not — just depends on how I feel — it’s my birthday, after all.
• There will be tip jar out — proceeds will go to me — it’s my birthday, after all.
• There will be potluck snack table up — it’s potluck — if you’re going to snack, please also bring a snack to share.
• This party is strictly bring your own beverage. Alcohol is welcome, but mindless drunkeness is not (mindful and intentional intoxication to spur you on to heights of musical genius is welcome).  If you want something to drink, bring it.  I say this nearly every time I have a party, but people inevitably show up and ask:  “Can I have one of your beers?”  This year, I will be saying “No” in the nicest way, and pointing them down the street to Aldrich‘s, where there is a wide selection of excellent brewsky.
• Come absolutely, positively fragrance free – if you don’t, I’ll probably ask you to leave, even if that feels embarassing and awkward for either or both of us.
• If you bring a friend that I don’t know, show them these rules before you bring them, and ask them to come only if they want to join in this intention:
  • The intention of the party is to celebrate and kick-off my 54th year on the planet by making music together that is dedicated to creative, enjoyable connection — and having fun while doing it.

I receive guidance pretty easily.  (I said “receive” — not always “act on”.)

For some months, I’ve been mulling on the fascinating disintegration of the economic system that was the status quo for most of my life — people who have done “the right thing” all their lives (poured money into their 401Ks, invested, etc.) finding that all of this was basically for naught, the frank exposure of what it really means to have a system in which a tiny minority lives in outrageous luxury while a vast majority lives in daily fear and struggle, etc..

I’ve been watching it all unfold, and I’ve been constantly nudged by my guides and my own knowing that there has to be a better way to make exchange.  I have felt, throughout the so-called “economic crisis”, that this is not the breakdown of a normally healthy system, but the natural realignment and healing of a system that has been teetering at the edge of a health crisis for a very long time — perhaps for its entire history.

Over the centuries of human history, economic systems have risen and fallen, coalesced and dissolved — and one after another, have been replaced by new systems — so the natural question, for me, is:  “What next?”

I’ve been talking and thinking about this for months and months.  I’ve tried some experiments (although those experiments have admittedly been based on the old system, which obviously needs changing).

Now, I’m ready to throw caution to the wind and experiment for real.

Between now and June 21st, I’m offering all my private reading and session work by donation/pay-as-you-can/whatever-you-want-to-call-it.  Just like that — no fretting over control or policies.

If you’re reading this blog, you now know this.  I’ll be announcing it more generally at my website in the next couple of days.

Here’s why I’m doing this:

1. I’m honestly sick and tired of trying to “make” money.  Money is just an agreement anyway — an agreement which changes constantly (and usually without my consent) — so, the fact is:  I’ve never “made” money — I’ve only exchanged it.  The most prosperous and abundant eras of my life have always been when I haven’t really worried about “making” money — but rather, focused on what feels fulfilling to me.  Granted, there have been periods during those eras where there wasn’t a lot of cash flow — but I’ve found that, consistently, my level of satisfaction and “happiness” (a word I dislike for its vagueness) has been linked to whether I felt I was “doing what I came to do”, not to how much money I had in the bank.
2. I’m absolutely done with buying into the concept that, somehow, there is “not enough” — of anything — time, money, food, resources.  I’m done with this concept because I don’t see how it can be true — not when grocery stores and restaurants throw masses of food into their dumpsters, not when we actually have problems with dumps that are too full, not when I have too much crap in my basement.
3. I’ve been having a distinct “If not me, who? If not now, when?” feeling for months and months now.  It’s clear to me that I want my life to have an evolutionary/revolutionary effect, and that I want to live in a world with an economic system that actually works for everyone — so I’m willing to take action on that desire.
4. I’m ready to finally muck out every last bit of fear I have — to enter into an even deeper level of radical trust that the Universal Consciousness will care for me perfectly (as it always has), and that I am completely safe in every moment.

So, if you want a reading with me, schedule it by June 21st — and offer what money you can in exchange.  I trust that you’ll be honorable and do what you are able.  I trust that you will be a divine agent of the Universal Consciousness that cares for me so ably.

If you like my experiment, and you don’t want a reading, but you want to throw some energy toward creating a new kind of economy — an economy where everyone rests into the arms of that Universal Consciousness, and we’ve put down all the fears that keep us from sharing and sharing alike — if you like the work I do and want to support it — click the donate button up there in the upper right corner, and invest in a new world.

This is me, diving off the diving board.

Again.

While I continue to work on a thicker, chewier post for you:

It’s June 1st, and in 21 days, I will be 53 years old.

I’m taking this opportunity to do move into some adventures — to stretch my own boundaries and flex my spiritual muscles — so for the next three weeks, I’ll be trying out some new experiments in my work and my play.

For one thing, I’m going to be offering my reading/session work by donation for the duration (more on this tomorrow) — I’m also going to be blogging here every day about the whys and wherefores of that choice, and about my internal process and experience of it.

For another thing, I’m going to do a weekly “Sit Down Comedy” segment via Ustream (more on this tomorrow, too).

For another thing, I’m going to be making music every day — playing piano, singing, playing guitar, etc..

I invite you to join me here at the blog every day for the next three weeks to read what’s up in my corner of the Universe.

Happy Almost Birthday to Me.

It’s unusual for me to blog about politics here, for a lot of reasons.  I think of the political world as about 98% pure circus, and I don’t personally believe that we will evolve the world through that medium — it’s been my experience that the most profound transformations our culture and species have experienced usually arise from spiritual and social shifts which are rooted in personal change.

I used to be quite the little activist, but I came to realize that a lot of my attraction to political activism in the form I practiced had to do with an addiction to the rush of experiencing righteous wrath — which can be fun in the way a carnival ride is fun, but which usually leaves you feeling similarly limp and exhausted after.

So, all that is by way of prefacing an invitation to activism.

In the years since my government began using torture on prisoners, I have felt a lot of things.  Outrage, hopelessness, sadness, triggering of fear arising from my own abuse, and a sort of stunned silence that this could even be happening.

I know that this is almost certainly not the first time that my government has actually tortured people. It is, however, the first time that my government has done so publicly, accompanied it with brazen justifications – and not a damn thing has been done about it.

I’ve been kind of stunned since it began (seven fucking years ago!), to be perfectly honest.  I’ve wrestled with how to take action in a manner that is not “fighting” anything (I’m a firm believer that “Fighting for Peace is like Fucking for Virginity”).

Oh sure — I sent letters to my congress-critters way back when — I had hopes that the new administration would actually do something — but I’ve come to a point now where I simply cannot refrain from moving into determined and sustained action on this issue. I must know that I have done all that I can to help create the world I want to live in.

So, this post is my first step. It presents the reasons I believe that we absolutely must investigate, and an invitation — because I want you to join me (action item at the bottom of the post).

I come to this action after a great deal of soul-searching and thought — I’ve been focused more and more on bringing all aspects of my thought, speech, and action into alignment with my spiritual principles, and have come to the conclusion that in this case, I must act in order to be in alignment with my conception of Cosmic Law.

As a citizen of the United States, I consider myself a “cell” in the body of this nation – a nation that I believe is very ill at this point. If I am to help my nation heal, I have to become an active agent in its healing.  I cannot pretend that “they” are doing it, if I hold myself to be an integral part of each unit of enfolding intelligence (I am a part of my family, my town, my county, my state, and my country).

I want to always remember that I must treat others (and advocate for the treatment of others) — as I would like to be treated.

I want to remember that “those” people (including the torturers and their victims) are, in some sense, me.  That we are connected.

If I were doing something that was so clearly out of alignment with Cosmic Law, I would want to be confronted and would want my actions exposed to examination, so that I could learn — so I must be willing to advocate for that confrontation and examination — even when parts of me want to succumb to hopelessness and say “It won’t make any difference”.

I have to know that I’ve spoken up for what I believe.

So, here are (some of) the reasons I believe that we must investigate Torture:

Reason #1 – Because There is a Festering Wound in My Nation’s Heart

The argument that we should just “move on” and “look forward”, ignoring the human rights violations of the Bush administration, would be fine and dandy – if it had ever actually worked.

Think about your own life. Have you ever really been able to just “move on” from an act of intentional harm that you perpetrated — an act that you knew was wrong, either when you did it or after?

These are the acts poison the soul and haunt the psyche, until they are faced and investigated and understood – they are the acts that recovering alcoholics reveal in their Fourth Step, so that they can unshackle themselves from their past – they are the acts that people bring to the confessional and the psychiatrist and the terrifying moment coming clean with the beloved, hoping that love and connection will not be annihilated by the revelation.

They are the acts we are doomed to repeat, if we do not come to understanding of them. They form the dysfunctional patterns that swirl our lives into chaos and drama, if left unexamined — no matter how much we’d like to pretend that we’ve “moved on”.

Think about the act of physical healing – the tiniest splinter, left untended, either poisons you or festers out, and no disease can be truly resolved until the underlying cause is addressed. You go to the physician, and together, you investigate your symptoms – nothing is treatable until it’s diagnosed, and in order to arrive at a diagnosis and any hope of treatment, you have to tell the doctor the truth, and the doctor has to tell you the truth.

And this is much more than an illicit affair, or a drunken disaster. This is much more than a splinter.

If any individual you knew told you that they had performed the same acts that the Bush administration sanctioned – would you shrug your shoulders and say: “Well, that’s in the past — let’s just move on”?

I know that my country harbors many forms of “disease” in parts of its body – racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia, classism, religious intolerance, greed – the symptoms of which have been sometimes chronic and sometimes acute — but we have pretty much always at least claimed to be seeking a cure.

Even as a person facing a number of these oppressions, I’ve held on to the hope that that claim was genuine. Through assassinations and wars of invasion, through Watergate and Iran-Contra, I have stubbornly believed that the United States could one day fully manifest as the healthy body implied in the purity of this embryonic phrase: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal . . . . “.

The national identity that most US citizens have clung to – the myth of our role as defenders of freedom and paragons of democracy – has been steadily eroding for years now, as leaders of our nation tiptoed up to, and then stepped over, the slippery slope of these oppressions. Descending into State-sponsored, State-justified torture means, to me, that we are approaching the awful bottom of that slippery slope.

Go ahead — say it, out loud, that way — State-Sponsored Torture.

I think we need to say this out loud to ourselves, and to hear it broadcast from our televisions, and blared from the floor of Congress, so that we can face reality — the diagnosis is in, and we’re sicker than we thought.

There is a festering wound in the heart of my country — and that’s a dangerous place for deep infection – very dangerous indeed.

Reason #2 – Because There Is an Enormous Log In My Nation’s Eye

When you criticize your neighbor for doing despicable things, and then invade their home under the pretense of getting them to stop doing said despicable things, and in the process, do similarly despicable things – you look like an arrogant, hypocritical, disingenuous asshole.

Depending on your despicable acts, you may also look like a criminal arrogant, hypocritical, disingenuous asshole.

Even if you get away with it and no one turns you in, everyone in your neighborhood who heard you bitching earlier is going to know, and they are going to see right through your claims of moral superiority and righteous intention and ending tyranny and blah, blah, blah.

Until the United States cleans its own house, the entire world will rightfully suspect us of being exactly what we are being: Arrogant, hypocritical, lying assholes. A nation that doesn’t believe in its own Constitution or laws. A nation that is, at once, acting like a meddling busy-body and a bossy, obnoxious teenager, throwing its weight around and refusing to take responsibility for its actions — with a penchant for torture.

Finally, and perhaps most pragmatically, there is this reason to investigate:

Reason #3: Because We Said We Would, and then We Said We Would Again

The UN Convention Against Torture was signed by President Reagan in 1988, and ratified again in 1994. The United States has not withdrawn from the Convention, and is still bound by it. The Convention says, among other things, that:

““torture” means any act by which severe pain or suffering, whether physical or mental, is intentionally inflicted on a person for such purposes as obtaining from him or a third person information or a confession, punishing him for an act he or a third person has committed or is suspected of having committed, or intimidating or coercing him or a third person, or for any reason based on discrimination of any kind, when such pain or suffering is inflicted by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity.”

But . . . But, Waterboarding isn’t torture!!!

Doesn’t matter. The arguments that waterboarding is not torture, specious as they are, make no difference, because the Convention goes on to say:

“Each State Party shall undertake to prevent in any territory under its jurisdiction other acts of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment which do not amount to torture as defined in article I, when such acts are committed by or at the instigation of or with the consent or acquiescence of a public official or other person acting in an official capacity. In particular, the obligations contained in articles 10, 11, 12 and 13 shall apply with the substitution for references to torture of references to other forms of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment.”

But . . . But . . . Ticking TimeBomb!!!!

Doesn’t matter.

“No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war, internal political in stability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification of torture.”

But . . . But . . . . I was ordered to do it!!!!

Doesn’t matter.

“An order from a superior officer or a public authority may not be invoked as a justification of torture.”

We just want to move on.

Well, poor us — too bad. If we are to honor our agreements as a nation, we must investigate – because we say we will.

“Each State Party shall ensure that its competent authorities proceed to a prompt and impartial investigation, wherever there is reasonable ground to believe that an act of torture has been committed in any territory under its jurisdiction.”

I won’t even go into the clauses that state that we will give victims of torture the right to redress and adequate compensation.

Suffice it to say that it is completely clear, even if an investigation was made and the acts committed under the Bush administration were found, by the entire world, not to be torture (and pigs could fly)– the United States – my country – WE – have an obligation to investigate — promptly and impartially.

I believe that my government is currently in violation of its own laws and international treaties.

====================

So, here is my invitation to action.

Beginning this week, and continuing every week until an investigation is underway, I will write a letter to my congressional representatives, President Obama’s office, and the United Nations.

I will request from my reps that they push for investigations with every ounce of their strength. I will tell them that, if they do not, I will not vote for them again.

I will request from President Obama that he order investigations. I will tell him that, if he does not, I will not vote for him again.

I will request from the United Nations that they hold my nation accountable to the UN Convention. I will request this as a citizen of a country which I believe is currently in violation of both its own laws and its international treaties.

I will invite everyone I know to do the same.

If you’d like to join me, I’m glad to share my letters with you. I’ll be publishing them here, as well.

Hey — I’m kicking off my new Ustream comedy channel tonight (Sunday, May 10th, 2009) at 7 pm Pacific time.  To watch me do my new “Sit Down” comedy, live — visit me at my Sit Down Comedy Page — you can even heckle me via chat!

I’m nervous — but in a good way.  Tonight’s comedy topic will be:  Love and Drama.

I know.  You’re mouth is watering, isn’t it?

I hit these spaces where I don’t blog for a while, and then I don’t know how to get started again, so I’m just posting this so that I will get back on the pony, so to speak.  I’ll consider this a “blast out the plumbing” post.

As many times as it’s happened, the whys and wherefores of these bloggin hiati (that is the plural of hiatus, I’m just sure of it) completely escape me.  It isn’t that I have nothing to say — more like I have too much to say, and I don’t know where to begin.

It’s akin to biting your tongue with someone for a long time, I suppose — after a while, it just seems overwhelming to open up the topic you’ve been biting your tongue about, because the conversations you’ve had inside your head are so many, and so complex, that it seem impossible to cram them all into just the one conversation you might have with whoever you’ve been biting your tongue with.

Today, I took a retreat day — I didn’t “do” anything (although I engaged in a number of activities) — I watched a movie and I surfed the internet.  It was a curled-up-kitty kind of day here, weather-wise — cool, and drippy/rainy, and quiet.

I’m glad I took the time, but I do notice that tonight I feel kind of low-energy and drained, rather than energized and filled up.  It doesn’t feel unpleasant — just kind of slow and sleepy and lethargic — a feeling I have a hard time embracing, sometimes.

I watched hummingbirds feed outside the kitchen window, and sat on the side-porch, marveling that it was still a little light at 9 pm, despite the low clouds.  Our yard is finally looking Springish, though the past few days have been stormy and cold and very distinctly different from the days that preceded them.  I’m ready for a couple of solid weeks of sunshine and balmy temperatures.

Maybe tomorrow.

Well, I must say, I feel a bit better just having written this post — nothing spectacular or deep or noteworthy, but at least I’ve moved something through that sluggish pipe.

See you tomorrow, then.

Early this morning, our kitty, Little, passed away.  It wasn’t entirely unexpected — she was 16 and her health had been kind of dicey for the last year — but it was pretty quick.  She started showing signs of respiratory difficulty yesterday, and by 3:52 this morning, she was gone.

I feel all sorts of things — here are a few, in no particular order of importance:  sad (I will miss her furry little physical form), relieved (I’m glad that her death was relatively easeful and quick), surprised (I hadn’t noticed, until she was gone, how many times a day I think of her), and disoriented — my life was arranged around her in ways I wasn’t always completely aware of, and her absence rearranges me.

The day felt long and strange, as has often been the case when I’ve dealt with the death of someone very close.  We buried her in the backyard by mid morning, under the pine tree near the back fence.  I had tears off and on the day before, but didn’t feel particularly tearful or sad as we buried her — more removed from my normal day-to-day reality, and grateful that she had been with me, and glad that her passage had been swift and as easeful as might be hoped for.

My Beloved and I had both talked to Little for many months about this.  Whenever we had the sense that she might be getting ready to move on, we had taken the time to communicate to her that it was OK with us that she go when she was ready, and that we preferred that she choose to go in a way that was easeful for all of us.

In the past few years, she’s been slow and creaky, sleeping a lot, but seeming to enjoy her meals and her “greenies” (teeth-cleaning treats that she loved).  My relationship had changed with her during this time.  There was a time when we were very tight with one another — but for me, over the past couple of years, it was as if her spirit was leaving slowly — she seemed less interested in interacting, and more interested in just being.

My attitudes and ideas about living with animals (I just can’t bring myself to think of it as “owning” them) have changed over the years, and I worked with Little pretty much on the basis of communicating with her directly before making decisions like vet visits, etc. — she was an excellent communicator for most of her life, willing to work with a system of physical signals that we had agreed upon, and she was remarkably consistent — if I asked her if she “wanted to go the vet”, she’d nearly always respond with the sign for “no”, but if I remembered myself and asked the question “Do you need to go the vet”, she’d ‘fess up and indicate “yes”, if that was the case.

Not that I always bowed to her wishes — there were times when I became the “owner”/”mom” and made decisions that were comfortable for me, no matter what she said — but usually, we were in concord on these things.

She stopped communicating clearly with me a while back — maybe as long as eight or nine months ago.  I wasn’t really sure whether this was because she had bonded more closely with my Beloved (who did the lion’s share of care and feeding, by mutual agreement), or if Little was experiencing some kind of “old kitty dementia’ — but in truth, I have what some would call “odd” ideas about dementia, too — ideas which were formed during the decade I worked with elder humans.  My experience was that what many people called dementia seemed to me to simply be people traveling and experiencing in other realms while still being in their bodies — so even if Little was experiencing dementia, I didn’t think of that as “bad” or “unhealthful” — she was just operating at a different level of consciousness, perhaps.

Strange thing, though — yesterday, when she started looking like she was well and truly “sick”, I didn’t consider rushing her off to the vet (which is something I might have done, with previous animal companions).  I think we had all been knowing this was coming for a while, and I was willing to be with her during her process. If she had lasted longer, I might have chosen differently, but as it was, I was content to hang out with her and see what happened.  She looked uncomfortable, but not particularly pained, and as my Beloved says, cats can look really, really miserable to us, and then rally in miraculous ways (Beloved was a vet tech earlier in this incarnation, and is wise in the ways of such things — she nursed two kittens through distemper which they were not supposed to survive).

My Beloved and I watched and waited through the day yesterday, not 100% sure whether this was passage time, or just a bout of illness for Little, but both of us feeling that this was probably passage time.  I sat with Little off and on through the day, and had some time with her laying on the floor next to her, her paw on my hand, eye to eye, in that strange energy that seems to come around when the gates between the worlds are opening and closing.

It feels strange to be both sad and relieved, yet I think that’s probably a common feeling for people around death, even though it’s not something that’s talked about much.

I remember an elder client of mine back in the 80s whose husband passed away — I sat with her in their apartment as people stopped in to pay their respects and offer condolences, and after they had all gone, she and I sat in silence, staring at one another across her kitchen table.

I’ll never forget what I saw in her eyes:  Relief.  Relief mingled with sadness, and the odd, empty feeling of “what now?” — but relief, nonetheless.  Her husband’s illness had worn on her — she was pushing 90, frail herself, and it had been a long time since her relationship to him had been anything more than caretaker.

I felt sad that the cultural mores that she felt bound to wouldn’t permit her to speak of this forthrightly, and that I seemed to be bound by social conventions that kept me from finding a way to help her bring it forth — I think these things keep us from really being honest about the complexity of feelings we have around death — it prevents us from telling the whole story — and that story is important, I believe.

And when I think of those common, unspoken feelings that we suppress, I think — for what?  Do we fear that we’ll be thought callous, or unfeeling, because our feelings are complex and don’t fit the narrative of what we’re “supposed” to feel, when death comes close to us?

In the spirit of bringing forth these complicated conversations –  here is a piece of the story of Little’s passing that I noticed I had a hesitation about sharing (even though I know it doesn’t make “sense” that I would not share it):

When my Beloved awoke, moments before Little took her last breath, I was snoring away — I slept through it, and my Beloved came into the room where Little was just as she breathed her last, — then she came in to wake me.

“My love,” she said softly.  And I slept on.  “My love?”  Then she touched my hand and I roused and she said:  “She’s gone.”

I took a deep breath and said:  “I’m glad.”  That was my genuine first response.

I was glad that she had slipped away easily, after only one day of illness.  It is the kind of death I want for myself.  I wasn’t glad that Little was gone from my life, but knowing that she would go eventually, and soon, I was glad that it had gone this way, instead of through a long and difficult struggle.

We talked about her passing, and we both expressed relief.  There would be tears later, but right then, I felt relieved.

It may be complete projection on my part, but it seemed to me that her last year had been one of restriction and boredom — her hips had gotten bad and she couldn’t really get around much — and if it had been me, I don’t think I would have wanted to hang around for that.  I’m glad that she passed out of her body so easily, and that I felt complete with her.  It was a fine death, I think.

I noticed my own internal struggles with all of this — not huge, but there — the constant comparison between what I did feel and what I was “supposed” to feel.  I wasn’t shattered or grief-stricken.  I was simply sad, and relieved, and even those, not all the time.  The day went by and I would have strange, stunned moments where I would think:  “She’s not here anymore.  How odd”, and I would think what this would mean in terms of small and large changes in my life — travel plans that would be easier, because there would be no need for a caretaker, and the weirdness of not having an animal sharing the house with us, which has not been the case most of my adult life.

Sometimes, I would cringe internally as I thought “In some ways, this will be easier” — as if that were unworthy, or negated the fact that I would miss her — but the fact is, I thought these things, and felt these things, and they are as real as the tears that have come and gone over the past couple of days.  The truth is, I feel more glad than sad, more relieved than grieved — and in truth, I hope that’s how people feel when I transition out of my body, which I will — someday.

So these are my musings on the passage of Little the cat — who came, I firmly believe, to guide and companion me during the years I was healing from abuse, and to delight me with her own peculiar self.

I said earlier today that I had been prepared for her death, but not for her absence.  My Beloved later commented that she thought maybe the reverse of that was sometimes true for pregnat mothers — that they were prepared for the birth, but not the presence.  Funny, that.

Here is a little slideshow of the beautiful Ms. Little Petunia.  May she frolic where there are endlessly entertaining mice who don’t mind being caught at all, amidst acres of catnip.