Sunday, 9 March 2008

Wrestling Silently

In the bath reading I listened to the cats at play on the landing, the sort of play that shifts from friendly to deadly on the turn of a paw. Today it was done silently. When I say silent, all I really mean is that the sound of a rugby scrum on the wood only came from the paw swipes and tumbling, the foul language was being held in check. Perhaps ( as I didn't see it) this was some sort of judo.

I have wondered about this since. One of my cats was definitely the model for the cat in Shrek ( apart from colour) big sad pleading eyes and claws that can eviscerate small mammals - and humans when she is stating "Right I am really very annoyed now" - in one smooth swift and unexpectedly vicious moment. When they are silent is it worse, or not? Is it serious practice play so they have to concentrate or are they both so angry and tight lipped they can't speak?

They are not going to tell me. Certainly not right now, one of them is snoring and the other is watching me type so closely that her nose is resting on my little finger

When she is being this cute she wants something....

Saturday, 8 March 2008

The Invitation

Sometime ago I came across this poem/verse/writing - I don't recall how or who, though several of my friends know of it, I dont know how it slipped between us all. I read it and recognised it deeply. It is the start of a book which was a very personal account of someone who was coming to terms with "stuff" as we all do and she wrote almost as a stream of consciousness what she wanted.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for
and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon...
I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like the company you keep
in the empty moments.

The Invitation. Oriah Mountain Dreamer

If I had to sum it all up the poem speaks to me of two things only, Integrity and Commitment. And is brave enough to say that integrity sometimes means having to break with something because it is no longer right, it's not blind as loyalty can be.

It is scary as the BIG STUFF in life can be even when thrilling.

They know they are at the centre of the universe

So, another day another blog. The sun is shining over my valley outside, the fruit is quietly rotting in the bowl and my head is in about 5 places. Down from the 25 yesterday and the 50 the evening before, this is restful.

If I can just get to 4, I'll get out of bed and feed them.

That's selfish isn't it? They have a permanent supply available to them and successfully operate the "buffet snacking when they are hungry" approach. What they really appreciate is the ritual of me calling them to something fresh and placing it in front of them. I am rewarded with the odd flick upward of a tail, or a nudge of acknowledgement, well done chatelaine you are doing what you are here for. Then the heads go down to eat and each are lost in their universe and I no longer exist.

Independent, fierce, brave and undemanding, capable of deep affection and loyalty, always thinking and always always ready for mischief. What better real companions could you ask for?

We orbit eachother, the pull of warmth for gravity ensuring connection with a lot of independence.