more on coldness

The universe itself is a very cold place, only three degrees above Absolute Zero, when all atomic motion ceases. This despite the millions of thermoneuclear reactors (stars) in the sky. So, in a way, the pockets of warmth on planet earth are extraordinarily unusual, miracles I would say. Cherish them.

coldness

I know some of you actually LIKE it, but I despise coldness. I never want to see another piece of ice, not even in drinks. Remember, Dante encased Satan, in hell, in a block of ice. Hell is cold, not hot. The idea of being stranded on Pluto is just about the worst fate I can imagine. And if you want a wonderful poem about just how awful coldness is, read Edward Arlington Robinson's "New England." He captures it perfectly, and contrast icy New England to the "lyric yeast" of tropical climates. Give me a tropical island ANY DAY. I'll take hurricanes as the price to pay. But there was a great sign today. I stepped out on the porch this morning (fifteen degrees, natch) and saw a splendid young faun right beside the porch steps. She looked at me, I her, for quite a while, then she silently, daintily skipped away. I believe in omens and signs and synchronicities and come from a long line of superstitious women . . . so that faun, it was as if in a dream.

A note on the previous blog: aborignal peoples regarded (and still regard)animals as sacred, whereas we relegate them to the status of "pets." I have spent many years studying and practicing shamanism, the original religion, and when in a shamanic trance, animals appear to you. Shamans call this altered state of consciousness "the other world." These animals are guardian spirits, helpers, allies. We "moderns" have lost this perspective, though we still love our pets. But perhaps it's time we return to the wisdom of animals. It can't hurt, can it? (and if you're interested in shamanism, the best place to turn is Mircia Eliade, who wrote countless books on the subject, the best called simply, SHAMANISM.

What I'm Trying to Learn from my Dog

Daisy is an eight-year-old Golden Lab whom I declare the best dog in the world ever (move over Marley, and even my childhood pooch, Spottie). She is noble, compassionate, wise, devoted and gentle (though rambunctious when young). She has served as a watchdog, baby sitter, friend and source of happiness for nearly a decade. But she is getting old. She now has arthritis and has trouble lifting herself up to go outside. She has infections in both ears and her mouth that seem antibiotic resistant. The vet says she is in terrible pain. She is on new, sterner antibiotics, prednisone and special diet food. But Daisy never complains and rarely cries out in pain. She is always happy to see any of us, and the tail goes flapping. An iota of a treat, a piece of muffin or whatever, delights her. She gently paws at any one of us when she needs a hug or pat or affection. She likes to like by the gas stove in the back room where it's warm during these wretched Arctic days. No one goes unscathed, true, and we tend to bewail our fates -- as I have been lately because my lower back is out again. I too, in the past, have been on prednisone to stop inflamation in the lower back. But Daisy never complains, attempts to carry on as usual; she never fails in her loyalty, she never snaps or snarls, she never seems in a bad mood, though sometimes it's obvious she's hurting and maybe sad. And that is precisely what I hope to learn and put into practice from my beautiful, wise and wonderful dog, Daisy. God bless Daisy

On hiatus, I'll be back.