Thursday, November 19, 2009

Parallax Cats

In the middle of the night 2 cats yowled right outside the window and I woke up alarmed, listening to the strange sounds feeling one moment terrified and in the next sincerely amused by the fluctuations in their screeches. I wished I could just feel either terrified or amused, it was tiring to keep switching between the two reactions, there was something exhausting about being unable to rest in either view. The same sort of thing happened when I cuddled with my daughter on the couch, one minute feeling incredible tenderness and the next wondering what mischief she'd be up to when back in full drive mode. Something bothered me greatly about the slippage from one view to the next. I suppose its just how things are. Like this cat I held at the animal shelter, and who I'd adopt if not for allergies. One minute she cuddled in my arms, stretching her neck back to nuzzle her forehead against my chest, her long thin arms reaching up towards me. The next minute she had my hand in her teeth, with barely any pressure but enough that I could feel the sharpness.

I feel like I'm watching things spin, something like a revolving door, where one moment there's welcome and the next, divergence. Where one morning the sun shines crystal clear, seeming to illuminate all things as they emerge in their distinctly luminous orders, and the next morning, there's gloom, dissolution and too much tragedy.

I'm tired of the switching. If there is a parallax axe, what would it be? Something like *naked awareness* I imagine. Very, very naked awareness. And perhaps the purring of cats.

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