Yesterday’s walk was nice, but my feet hurt all night—as did my hands and arms from all of the work I have been doing. I have twice seen a cat that looks like Moondance, my cat from when I was in high school, a muted ginger. My father talked me into leaving him behind when we moved to the city. He convinced me that a half-feral cat would do better in the familiar wild rather than being transported to a city apartment. This argument made sense, but it did not in any way change the fact that I—that we—were abandoning him. Or the fact that I depend upon others to stay alive. Or that he did. I think of all the animals that I have abandoned over the course of my life time. How I have abandoned parts of myself. My Self. And I sit here in front of this white page, in the midst of a planet-wide pandemic and everything from the past rises up and mixes with the present. Then is Now. Fucking Past. I suppose that I should let it rise up and let it dissipate like smoke rising up to the heavens—a sacrificial offering. This, Universe, this is what you wanted to feel, to know, to experience. Here is the dream that I have lived. The story is encoded in my tears, blood, bone, and sweat. My aching heart. My broken teeth. The scars. The healed-over places that begin to bleed again for mysterious reasons. When you call me home, this little shard of shattered You, all will be One again and for all time. Sometimes, I could do with some reminders. Please send me a sign, a signal, a rainbow. God’s promise. Your kiss, your thumbprint on my third eye, to seal the holiness into this tired body.
