Tuxedo Cat

The tuxedo cat living on my porch is still playing hard to get. I’m still not sure what to call him/her. Each day I place a cup of food in the porcelain bowel, fill up a small water dish, say good morning or good night, and close the door behind me. I’ve tried for months to cut down the distance between us. It’s half of what it was over the summer. He/she even walked by me the other day, quickly, but still, its progress. A few moments ago I was sitting on my porch and chatting with the Tuxedo cat. He/she is beautiful, mysterious, dark, like the ideal image of the Woman I’ve yet to meet, but dream about. I can’t help but see the symbolism between this wandering feral and my life with others – close enough to feel, far enough away to evade. The cat stares at me with these curious eyes, it’s waiting for me to present myself differently. It’s drowning in its own history, mentally PTSD to death by past trauma. It wants so badly to engage, to speak to me, to come in my fold and get the healing it needs. But it isn’t the right time yet. It doesn’t flow all the way yet. In many ways I gauge my own progress with the distance between the porch cat and me. He/she is a measure of where I am in patience with myself, like a daily exercise of mediation, and willingness to wait. Symbolism, so much of it right in my face, hovering, stirring, revealing, and protecting my major zone of safety, home. It’s empowering to see the connection between a homeless animal and my own existence. The types of lines and connections that can be drawn suggest awareness growing, a progress moving, stirring, and power within this space. It’s giving me wisdom to see, and hear, to be turned down enough to explore whats behind things.  Or maybe it’s just a cat that wants food, and nothing more? Who knows, but if you can learn something, even from the short moments with a stranger cat, why not see the connections? I see you.

I read online a few helpful tips to cope with stressful thoughts. One of the more entertaining ones was to place yourself in a circle, then place those you love and those that make you feel good in that circle. Then make another circle, place the next row of people in your life, those that are close but not inside yet. After you make these circles, draw another one, and inside that circle put the things giving you a hard time. Picture this circle far away from you, way out; so far away the visions cannot see. My experience with this has helped. I see myself inside a circle, my kids, mom, my closest friends, Grandma, others in my life. We are in the Valley. In the distance is a mountain in a storm. When I see the negative circle, its hovering near the mountain, watching me, waiting, stalking my experience. In my vision I realize it isn’t far enough away from me. I have to physically burry this circle; go on a trek to destroy it. I am carrying it toward the mountain. There’s a heavy storm, clouds rolling by, lightning, dark, so dark. I walk to the left in the foothills, past the point of where I can look back and see the circle that protects me. We enter the woods, its wet, the ground soggy, just before the final winter. I find a place under a dead tree, digging a hole about 6 ft deep, and placing the circle inside – Covering it up with dirt, the silhouettes inside stay still, not moving, not fighting for life, just staring through the glass, frozen in its own misery, a corpse of shallow films. I place my foot on the ground where it’s buried; taking in the space between what is still living, and the death of the past. Then I run, and run, and run back to my people, taking my place in the 1stcircle.

I’m laughing right now reading over this before posting it. Writing is such a gift to enjoy; it can take you anywhere if you give it time to breathe inside of you. Not for anyone or anything, just good honest expression, free from challenges, free from any limitations if you allow it to be the mechanism to learn the most about whom you are, a flowing choreography of being, living your life. Nothing else is happening. That’s comforting.

I think there’s a reason I haven’t named this cat.

 

 

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