Success and Failure

Success is as dangerous as failure.
...Whether you go up the ladder or down it,
your position is shaky.

Chapter 13,Tao Te Ching, trs. Stephen Mitchell

My dear departed father, trained in the ways of modern men, thought that if he were perfectly vigilant, no one--people, plants, animals--would be unhappy or ill or would die earlier than he wanted. May his dear vigilance rest eternally in peace.

This is a wish for myself, too. Worry arises before the sun. I wake up and worry comes in. I am my father’s daughter in this. The notion persists that my personal vigilance will keep kitties and people and the whole world from suffering. This is the child-formed Stern God at work.

This worry-mind perplexes me. Even though I know worry is here as a servant and actually really and truly wants to rest, somehow the letting go is hanging on. I learned as a child that success is defined as clarity. You know what to do, you do it, and all is well. This, I think, is true. It’s just the definition of ”well“ that trips us up. Or the notion that the knowing comes from the mind getting into worry.

The mind gets going in circles about what-to-do, like the rabbit in Alice in Wonderland. One perplexity it has latched onto is the kitties’ health. There are three who are clearly not well in the body: Puffer Vasu, ZoZo, and Rossie. Do I go the current conventional medical route with tests and medicines from the bottle and prescription food and other fusses? Do I try to get some homeopathic into them that I determine through my reading? Do I do ”nothing“ except practice Love-is-Enough?

All this worry-talk focusses on success and failure, on lack. ”When you realize there is nothing lacking, the whole world belongs to you,“ the Tao says in Chapter 44.

In the photo above, Rossie rests with Felicity. Does he look like he wants things to be different? In the moment, he seemed very content. His eyes, though, don’t look comfortable. He is one of the four Golden ”Girls“ who all turned out to be boys. They all had eye problems as kittens. My neighbor treated them with soothing salt solution. As they grew up, the eyes cleared, and they got wilder. It’s only recently he has started coming inside and staying for more than ten minutes.

Rossie is a clown who likes to play with the spikey balls. He carries them outside, bats them around, plays with them inside. I keep a stash for him. He clearly enjoys my tossing and fetching. I think he likes my laugh and delight in the game, too.

In the last few weeks, he has taken to blinking a lot and seems to have trouble keeping his eyes open in the sun. Could be eye trouble only, could be more. I suspect it’s more. He is one of the cats I consider completely un-pettable but not wild. I think he has relaxed around me and is willing to stay in to rest and play because he is confident I’m not going to attempt petting or catching or any of that touchy-feely stuff humans like to do.

For the moment, the only clarity I have is to open the door when he wants in, open the door when he wants out, keep spikey balls stocked for play and remind him he is beloved.

Once again, over and over, I see how the cats are my teachers. I doubt very much they have much agony come up about success and failure. If there is any, it might be when illness comes and it’s clear they will be leaving the body soon, just when they were having such a good time. This is, I suspect, a natural grief. The embodiment wants its life, even when it recognizes impermanence.

Pamela refers to cats as beings of ”pure intelligence“ which is a far cry from the prevailing projection of ”dumb animal“. The ”intelligence“ of trees, flowers, weather, ecosystems, culture is a marvel that can’t be reproduced by the human mind. Up until very recently, humans recognized this and saw the beauty in partnership and cooperation. Now the prevailing attitude is knowing better, knowing more, and treating perceived lack from that point of view. Success and failure are part of the view.

Tao Te Ching also says that when you are one with the Tao, natural response follows. Again, I know this to be true, but don’t quite have it yet, as if I’m in transition to understanding fully the truth of this. The cats seem patient with my apparent lack of intelligence. They are resourceful. If more active intervention is wanted, it seems to come to my attention as a natural response.

So, as they say, I’m trying to sit back, relax, and enjoy the trip as it is. I hope, dear Papa, we can put this worry-energy to rest and just soak up the moment.

Impermanence

I’ve long had an argument with impermanence. Ridiculous, I know, but it has seemed so cold. Not warm, inviting, nurturing. In the last few years, I’ve been trying to make friends with this unfathomable-to-the-mind notion. Is it really true that the coming and going of beings, things, life is unfriendly and cold?

For thousands of years, the human mind has been trying to sort out truth. Dear thing. How noble are its efforts, and how delightful its creativity, including its ability to help put these words into the minds of others. But in the end, the mind knows that the truth isn’t knowable through the narrow conveyance of mind. This thinking in me wants to rest from its impossible endeavor to know impermanence.

For a while, I’ve had a sense of something right behind me. Like a Great Mother. As if to say, just let your whole being fall into my arms. Just fall into vastness, impermanence, flow, the great Tao, God, and all the other words that point to what cannot be said.

In a recent conversation with Sharon, she spoke of the possibility that the cats, as a group, had come to serve in my liberation from concepts. And that, when they perceive their task is done, they might disappear as easily as they appeared. This thought isn’t new to me. I’ve wondered if they were here for just a short while. Some have left through death of form, some have disappeared and we don’t know if they are living in other neighborhoods or truly gone from the planet. And, when I find myself moving in the next year, it’s not clear if any will want to go with me.

Of course, we are all intrigued with the vision of a barn, but it is a dream that may or may not realize itself. In the meantime, my studio serves as a barn, as does the storage that has become a kitty casita. What my life will look like a year from now is a total mystery to me, and who of the cats will be with me in form is equally unclear. That they will always be with me in my heart is without doubt.

Nor do I think they showed up just for me. I suspect the pure intelligence of animals is much bigger than the focus of one person, one place, one idea. After all, I simply have the pleasure of beings who came into this world because my neighbors fed their mamas and papas. But the heart knows their presence, their comings and goings, has been the stimulant for profound letting go of grievances I’ve carried most of my life.

Another of these beautiful beings, one of the Motorcycle Gang, seems to have departed. No one has seen Kawasaki San for several weeks. He wasn’t one to get close, but he came now and then to peer from the fence and to eat the food I offer. He hung out with Beemer and Harley and Vespa. I think he had an adventuresome spirit that took him on some small walkabouts. Like Whiskas, he seems to have disappeared without drama.

Sharon wisely suggests resting in the perfection of the moment. When I do, impermanence seems friendlier. The past and the future are seen for what they are, simply concepts that have no inherent truth in them. They are of the dream world. I still don’t get impermanence, I still deeply mourn the passing of people, animals, habitats. But it is beginning to feel a little warmer. And I note I feel happier when my attention is on what is happening right now. Worry takes a holiday, grieving comes and goes with ease. I find myself reflecting on the past with gratitude instead of longing or resistance.

Kawasaki San was here, a bright and sometimes funny presence, and now he’s not. But really, he is. Just differently. I hope he had a good time. Like with all of them, I hope they know, deep in their fine cat hearts, how beloved they are.

Once again, I offer full prostrations of thanks and prayers for his well-being.

Piss in the Pantry

For the last few days, I’ve been finding piss in places I really would prefer not to find it. The pantry, the closet, my magazines (again!). Once the smell gets started, cats keep finding it no matter how well I clean.

It’s the boys. Oh-Oh, I think. I don’t know if he’s marking to prove his manhood or if he might have an infection going. I saw him and Zo-Zo in the pantry and let them be. I figured they were sniffing out the food.

Because the peeing is about six to eight inches off the floor, there is considerable clean-up to do. I’ve learned how to wash with an oxygen detergent to get the smell gone enough to satisfy my sensitive nose, but I’m sure cats aren’t fooled. Some things, though, I just toss. The sprayed pasta packages, for example, were so saturated that I didn’t want to fool with them. In the closet, a white handwoven got soaked. It went out.

My Threads magazines had gotten it before, probably from several cats, so I ordered replacements of the ones that wouldn’t air of the smell, and then put white index cards in front of them to keep track of new spraying. Indeed, the tell-tale yellow showed up. Now I’ve taped plastic across the bottom shelf of the bookcase. My guess is that the bookcase came with cat pee. I got it second hand from a house with cats. I’ve since painted it, but the smell from the magazines I kept may have attracted more activity, or the smell on the shelves comes through paint.

The barn I’ve been longing for would help. I have a strong aversion to cat piss, but in a barn it would be more tolerable.

My aversion probably explains some of my aversion to perfumes. Many companies apparently use cat urine to sustain the fragrance. I met someone whose tenant spilled Eternity perfume on a carpet and she ended up replacing the carpet. She called the company to get their advice for cleaning and they informed her there was cat urine in it. They weren’t very hopeful she could successfully remove it.

Oh-Oh seems a bit out of sorts, so perhaps I’ll take him in to have his urine checked. He’s nervous around the big boys, like Beemer and Harley. He stays out most nights these days, but I don’t think he’s curled up with others in the clan. He also looks a little lopsided to me. He seems his usual vigorous self, though. He prances through once or twice a day for strokes and any extra food that might be around.

I’m reluctant to take him to the vet for a number of reasons: the stress on him; the stress on my pocketbook; prescriptions for antibiotics or other drugs I have reservations about using; advocacy for vaccines I don’t like to have given; and the fear of another fatal illness diagnosis.

Somehow, I foolishly thought that doing the TNR thing was the extent to my involvement with these fine four-legged beings. I don’t mind, but sometimes I feel a little lonely in the decisions I need to make. Since I’m not inclined to strictly follow the conventional treatments, I have to discover for myself what I’m willing to do and not do. With Vespa, for example, I came to the conclusion that taking him to the vet would only stress and not relieve. They would advise isolation and euthanasia, as they did with Louie-Louie. On the other hand, I don’t follow alternative advice in a strict way either. I don’t serve raw food, regularly give supplements or try to find appropriate homeopathic remedies beyond a few I feel comfortable using.

If I want understanding about my choices, I won’t get it from my vets. They don’t oppose, but neither do they advocate for my hands-off policy.

In the case of Oh-Oh, I’ll do a little more research on my own, maybe try a homeopathic, do some meditation to see if any action comes to mind, and keep an eye on him. Maybe he’s just doing the boy pissing contest, which seems to be in the biology. I’ve gotten more vigilant about access to the rest of the house. I keep doors closed and stay in the studio now when I have the outside door open. I get down on my hands and knees to sniff if I have any suspicion that fragrance has been applied again. I keep plenty of Odor Be Gone, Citrasolv, and other cleaners around.

And, I’ll keep visualizing that barn. Maybe this dream will come true and the days of cleaning up cat piss from the pantry will be over.

Vespa Tiny, April 4, 2005 - October 6, 2006

Vespa, aka Tiny, was one of the motorcycle gang. He was small, sweet, and willing occasionally to be picked up. Like Chata and Thumper and Rossie, he was a recent resident at my place. Up until a week or so ago, he went back and forth to my neighbors, although I think he mostly slept here in the kitty casita. He came into the studio for some weeks and slipped under the chair cover. When it was clear he wanted to stay in overnight, I expressed concern about his knowing to use the litter. In the next day or two, he came in one afternoon and went straight to the litter box, as if to demonstrate his understanding of using a litter box.

In the last few weeks, I had a guest sleeping in the studio, so Vespa went back to the casita. Each morning he came out to sun himself, looking more and more frail. Yesterday, I set up the warmer with a new bed there, and he immediately got in it. I also had two bowls of water with flower essences: the blue with Transitions and the orange with Return to Joy. Even if he wasn’t drinking, I wanted the water with essences there as an offering.

I was surprised when he took a turn toward illness. I was confident he was going to be with us for years. These cats constantly surprise my expectations. I suspect he had FIP, like Louie-Louie did.

“Are they all going to get sick and die?” my neighbor asked me today when she came to visit Vespa’s body. She especially adored him and Sparkles, so this is a fast grief to lose both in less than two weeks.

When I review who has died of illness, I see that the number isn’t so many, probably not more than the average. Louie-Louie, Little Little Spot, Sparkles, and Vespa. Some disappeared, several we know were killed by cars, and one may have been ill.

I have had the great privilege to be with all of these beings as they passed. Bonsai, too.

Vespa’s passing today was very quiet. He had some moments of reaching and yowling, but they were brief and infrequent. The blue angel’s presence felt very soothing to me and hopefully to him too. I don’t know with certainty that the others who have passed come to help, but it seemed so to me. His last breaths were small shudders, and then gone.

This morning I checked in the casita but he wasn’t there. I thought he might have gone under the pallets that serve as a floor. I shone a flashlight but didn’t see him. I decided to wait before tearing up the floor. My neighbors hadn’t seen him either. When I did my meditation on him earlier, the energy seemed big, smooth, and warm, so I wondered if he had already passed over. I put on music especially for him.

Later, while working in my studio, I glanced up to see him staggering toward the water bowl outside. He looked like he had just come out of one of the little condos. I opened the door and he staggered in and tried to crawl up under the sheet on the chair. I lifted him and then went to get plastic and prepare the warmer for him in case he preferred that. He wanted to stay under the sheet. Later, after he passed dark urine, I found him on floor. I replaced plastic and fresh bedding and put him under the sheet again with just head and paws out. His time was near.

So I sat, sang, talked with him. There was nothing I would rather do.

Yesterday I opened Stephen Mitchell’s version of the Tao Te Ching to Chapter 23.

“If you open yourself to the Tao,
you are at one with the Tao
and you can embody it completely.
...If you open yourself to loss,
you are at one with loss
and you can accept it completely.”

I think these are equivalent. In the search for joy we must pass through loss. I suspect ultimately this is the gift these cats are offering me. Joy. Presence and joy.

Stephen Mitchell’s only comment on Chapter 23 is “Trust the intelligence of the body.” Cats know this.

Vespa seemed sad the last few weeks. I wonder if he regretted leaving so soon. In the last week, he seemed to have accepted his dying and was more at peace. Of the cats who have died, he strikes me as the one most likely to try embodiment again soon. He said through Sharon that he wanted to be big and brawny. Now, he is immensely big. He is his true natural strength.

I asked Sharon if he was okay about my blogging about him. “If it helps cats,” he replied. I don’t know if this helps cats, but I do know cats help me, and that seems sufficient reason to publicly honor this gorgeous and delightful being who so generously graced my patio and studio for spring and summer.

Another beautiful spirit set free to light the sky with his rainbow body. Blessed be.

Wildness

"Prowling his own quiet backyard or asleep by the fire, he is still only a whisker away from the wilds." Jean Burden




My friend Jorge says I have a farm now. All these cats, and the care they need, is like having a small animal farm, he says.

I see his point. When I was young and raising bummer lambs, the first thing I did in the morning was to mix their lamb chow and feed them with a bottle. One year, there were over twenty. It took considerable finesse to be sure they each got their fill. Their need for attentive care is similar to my attention to the cats.

The cats are old enough to wait until I’ve had my tea and meditation. Besides, they have at least one other option and, I suspect, more than that. I think Oh-Oh knows of several cat-friendly houses where he is likely to get a handout.

The difference from a farm, though, is that cats aren’t seen as particularly useful. On a farm, they likely would be left to fend for themselves by catching mice. If they weren’t good hunters, they would starve to death. No rabies shots, no spay and neuter, no doctoring, and no petting. They would truly be wild, just like the barn cats I caught sight of when I was growing up.

In the city, what use are they? People accuse them of killing songbirds and leaving poop and making yowling noises that disturbs sleep. This group certainly leaves poop, but rarely catch birds and rarely yowl. In fact, they are noticeably quiet. I think it’s a survival strategy. But from a are-they-useful standpoint, it’s hard to see why anyone would spend time and money to care for their needs.

“What about all the starving children in the world?” someone asked me.

“Yes,” I respond. “I’ve wondered about that too. All I can say for sure is that these cats showed up on my doorstep and I responded. I keep hearing ‘yes’ to including them in my life, to listening and following what they show me.”

One of things they show me is how they are “only a whisker away from the wilds" and I feel much gratitude for that. Wildness is shrinking and I fear it diminishes our human creativity and ability to respond with broad and deep intelligence to the world.

Recently I had an image of great lioness lying in tall grass watching her habitat being chewed up by giant machines. I felt the grief, the wonder, the mystery of witnessing the end of conditions that serve lions. Like Ishi, the last of her tribe.

Ishi came down out of the mountains and lived with great and deep intelligence in San Francisco. I don’t think he lost his wildness. We had much to learn from him, his people, the lions. I suspect wildness is in our genes. I am glad for the daily reminder of the beauty of the wild that I see so clearly in the cat colony. Gentle, fierce, playful, restful, eager to learn, wholehearted, and only “a whisker away”.