My heart - our current metaphor for the seat of the emotions (for some ancient cultures, it was the stomach) - as of late, has felt askew. Off. In a grate state of dis-ease. And that is a much less fractured way to put it, than that which would truly reflect what this has been feeling like. I wrote to a dear friend today, that the number of enchanted, pure, and solid things seems to disappear and decrease as we get older, either because those things fall off their pedestals, or they leave our lives, either by death or some other route.
I talked on the phone with Mom today. It began as a conversation that didn't have to do with the external circumstances of either of our lives; it was about our little cat, Pepper, who died today. I grew up with her, and when I moved out she became my Mom's cat. She was our odd, sweet, quirky, little treasure. Every time I came home she would resume her habit of following me everywhere I went around the house, and knocking my pens off my desk, or rolling over onto my homework and looking up at me with darling, mischievous eyes. I felt the only person I really had in my life to commiserate about her death properly with was, my mom. So, I cried, and she soothed, as a mother does.
What I will say, is, something, in my heart, that has felt broken and wrong for several years, now feels, not mended, but, soothed. Like there has been a few steps in the right direction, in the right way. When we got off the phone, I looked up at the sky and said a modest "thank you". What I felt like doing as I let the sensation spread from my heart to the rest of my body, was cry out loud to the heavens like a person in love wanting to declare their love to the world.
Rest in Peace little Pepper-cat.
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