The Turning Of The Season

I’m feeling impermanence in my bones this morning.

I want to know.  Can this impermanence, this change, this progress of the seasons – as my life, as all our lives, wind down along the years – can it become so, in my mind, that change, impermanence, be neither good nor bad, but simply be?

Autumn, season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.  The soft-dying day that touches the stubble-fields with rosy hue.

This was Bugs the other day.  The contrast I noticed, thanks to impermanence, change, made this moment an especially glowing one.

Regular readers know that life with Bugs has been a rough ride at times.

I found him stray on the streets; I should say, he found me.  I had no clue; Bugs was the first mammal I have ever, in my long life, had sole care for.  He was so small his testicles hadn’t dropped.  Who knows what, back then, he had to go through?  Just to make it through another day?

In life with this little creature thereafter, I did my best to put on a cheerful face.  To make light of being mauled in the early morning hours.  From time to time, I let myself lapse into despair.  Real authentic despair.  All along, I had such wonderful help, from dear friends, colleagues, you dear readers – I got mauled anyway.  More than I may have let on.

I was just saying, to one of those friends, that it seemed at times like I was living with a snake or a spider.

So the other day, when Bugs cuddled up next to me on the play mat, just before I took that snap – aaahhh, the joy of it.  The sheer joy.  Which joy, the contrast of impermanence had made fully realized.

This morning, though, here is the view out our window.

Impermanence has a different feel today.

The ridiculous:  I hear MTV producers, of a documentary series called “True Life,” are only casting people 28 years young or younger who are struggling to live with our animals.  I guess, then, my 62-year-old life must not be true.  Not included in the real.

The sublime:  I’m thinking of many family, friends, acquaintances, who’ve passed on in this season.  Like they wanted to leave us in the glow of the softly dying day.

As another friend (still living) said the other day:  Affirm life.  While the seasons turn.

About nadbugs

Anita loves cats. This must be because she, too, has had nine lives. She’s been dancing since she could walk, she was a commercial artist and advertising producer, she earned a third-degree black belt in Aikido, she is a drummer with the Afrique Aya Dance Company, she is an attorney, and she’s a meditator and a devoted student of Nonviolent Communication. She also spent one lifetime sidelined with a devastating back injury in 1992. Since then – FELDENKRAIS METHOD® to the rescue. The FELDENKRAIS METHOD is all about dreaming concretely – thinking intelligently and independently by way of a gracious and kind physicality. The work affords all who study it a process by which to reach, with movement, into the mind and the heart, to make nine lives into one whole being.
This entry was posted in Empathy, Philosophy-Psychology, Pictures, Things Cats, Humans Do and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

18 Responses to The Turning Of The Season

  1. Anya says:

    I really needed to read a post like yours today. Don’t know why exactly, maybe it’s my aching joints, a strong feeling of mortality, or perhaps just the usual seasonal turnover blues. That is a lovely picture of Bugs.

  2. minlit says:

    Thought is relinquished
    at the great well of wisdom.
    Blossoms fall, fruit grows.

  3. minlit says:

    It IS a great picture of Bugs.
    Stripey is very similar in tendency. He is also a re-homed feral. I don’t think they ever get over the conflict of close contact.

  4. Such a beautiful, thoughtful post. I love the expression on Bugs face. It’s as if he was gazing out the window, mulling over the change of season and the impermanence of it all, and then turned to say, “Oh hi. It’s you.”

  5. I had no idea that Bugs was such a young whippersnaper… My human has a theory that the age of 4 is the magic age where crazy-making cats become “pets”. Until then, the relationship is more like a barely civil cohabitation.

    That is a great photo of Bugs. I see stillness in his eyes. He’s satisfied where he is – he isn’t yearning to be outside or anywhere else. He’s acknowledging your existence without any fear or anxiety or malice. My human says that’s the closest you can get to pure love from a young, formerly feral cat…

    • nadbugs says:

      Lordy lordy lordy. I adore this comment — and with the others here, they all finally added up to the inspiration to write a whole new post of appreciation. Then we went to the vet. So — next post will be appreciative. Unless some other disaster intervenes. In the meantime: love you Pedro. Totally. I can read this comment again and again and get yet another rush of happiness.

  6. Wazeau says:

    Let me just say how very grateful I am that I found your blog – yours, Minlit’s, Maru’s, and all the other wonderful blogs I’ve found. No matter our differences, we are not alone out there, because we’ve chosen to share our lives with these wonderful creatures. Despite maulings and insomnia and frustration. What they add to our lives is worth it.

    • nadbugs says:

      Heavens yes. So utterly true. Huge gratitude back at you, Wazzie. This little community means so much to me. It’s just wonderful how we’ve found each other.

  7. Marcy Benham says:

    Change, I always say, is the only thing in life we can count on. It’s just made life SO much easier since I figured that out and can embrace those changes. Seasonal, life, pets passing, beans passing. Savor the now.

  8. littlemiao says:

    Bugs’ expression in the first photo says so much. It pulls at my heart. You have been through so much with him.

    Your words in this post are so beautiful. You are a poet.

  9. nadbugs says:

    How totally warming to feel your presence like this, dear littlemiao. You are the chipotle in my noodles. I mean that, my life has really been improved since meeting you and I don’t just mean the food. BTW? That’s all the poetry I’m good for. The softly dying day? Rosy stubble-fields? That would be Keats. Let’s wait and see whether my reputation endures as long after my passing as his did. Smart money would be on the latter. But I have always wanted to write at least decent poetry if not like Keats the magnificent, so your noticing that is so thrilling to me. What a difficult but sublime enterprise poetry is — I love it so. The pure clean distillation of feeling. The unity between body, mind, and soul that poetry aspires to. It’s just awesome that you say what you did.

  10. typist for JhaJha, the Petite Panther says:

    Such an amazing community you have gathered here! I love you all and am so grateful for these awesome humans and their fuzzy, furry and feathered companions. Thank you!

    I wasn’t able to respond earlier because I have been out of town due to a friend’s unexpected passing. So you know how resonant I am with this post and all of these thoughtful responses.

    Carpe Diem!

    • nadbugs says:

      Oh dear, Dawn. I am sorry you’ve lost a friend untimely. I am so glad you’re here, in this amazing community — that we have gathered. I adore that it seems to have happened by itself. I am so so so glad.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s