...we've buried her already, in the country, where we can visit her, and we know where she is, and she is safe and not suffering. She will always be our good girl, and we miss her so much, and we love her greatly. She is our feather in the wind, though the tides have caused the flame to dim...
"All of My Love" - Led Zeppelin
Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light
To chase a feather in the wind
Within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight
There moves a thread that has no end.
For many hours and days that pass ever soon
The tides have caused the flame to dim
At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom
Is this to end or just begin?
* Chorus: All of my love, all of my love, all of my love to you, now. (repeat)
The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again
One voice is clear above the din
Proud Arianne, one word, my will to sustain
For me, the cloth once more to spin
Chorus
Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time
His is the force that lies within
Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find
He is a feather in the wind Robert Plant wrote this song after the death of his son Karac in 1977.
7.01.2010
6.29.2010
back into the fray...
...we thought Lu had been granted a reprieve; vet said it was likely an upper respiratory virus. He was waiting until he got her bloodwork back today to confirm the diagnosis. We thought she was out of the woods. But...
...it's not a virus. They think it's something in Lulu's brain, a parasite, but they don't have the facilities to deal with her situation. They will have to tap her cerebral/spinal fluid and run tests, which our vet can't do. He's referring us to the vet school down at LSU.
I'm looking at pet insurance policies.
I'm numb, but I'm getting close to the edge. It's not far away.
can't get you off my mind, it's only you I think about
I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what's happening to her. Helplessness is a terrible place, a terrible thing. I hope she's not in pain, hope she's not suffering.
She's my good girl. Always and forever.
...it's not a virus. They think it's something in Lulu's brain, a parasite, but they don't have the facilities to deal with her situation. They will have to tap her cerebral/spinal fluid and run tests, which our vet can't do. He's referring us to the vet school down at LSU.
I'm looking at pet insurance policies.
I'm numb, but I'm getting close to the edge. It's not far away.
can't get you off my mind, it's only you I think about
I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know what's happening to her. Helplessness is a terrible place, a terrible thing. I hope she's not in pain, hope she's not suffering.
She's my good girl. Always and forever.
6.28.2010
it's only you I think about
I have no biological children, only fur babies - four cats: twins Stewart and Lulu, Fran, and Hesh. We've had the twins for seven years, since they were kittens; Fran and Hesh were rescued from the same woman, about a year apart. Fran was nearly dead when we rescued her, and we didn't think she'd make it through the night. We were up with her all night, medicating, feeding, bathing, watching. We were rewarded with her survival. Hesh was rescued before the woman could do the damage to him that she'd done to Fran. The twins were adopted from our landlady, a woman who took good care of the them until they were old enough to be weaned.
These are our children. We are not likely to have children, and we've accepted that. We dote on the cats; they are our children. We spoil them, we love them, we pet them, we punish them, we nurse them, we clean up after them. They are the only children we are likely to ever have, and that's certainly okay with us.
__________________________________________
We know several people who have lost children. My parents lost their first child, a son named Greg, to SIDS. My aunt miscarried two babies. My husband's parents lost their first child, a son named Michael; he was stillborn. My best friend's sister was killed in a car wreck when she was 15. We have friends who lost their first son, a boy named Collin, to SIDS. I had a school friend lose her son, Montgomery, recently. My cousin H's brother and his wife lost their first child (which has made H understandably paranoid about her own child, born earlier this month). These people lost so much with the death of one child, and I can't imagine their grief...
...but I'm afraid I'm about to experience it. My cats are my children, and one of them, Lulu, is so very sick, perhaps in renal failure. She's gotten so sick so fast, gone down so fast, it's hard to understand. It's hard to understand why she got so sick, how she got so sick. We've wiped out our bank account and maxed out a credit card taking her to the vet and to an emergency animal clinic. And we took her back to the vet this morning; she's there now, having tests run. We are hoping for the best, but I'm a realist, and I'm afraid I'm expecting the worst.
It's true that cats can survive renal failure and live for many years afterward. It requires a special diet and managed care. I'd be willing to do that, just to have her well again. Just to have her a little while longer. She's my good girl. She is, to all extents and purposes, my daughter.
Losing any one of my cats will be like losing child. No: losing any one of my cats WILL BE losing a child. Some folks might scoff at that, but it's how I feel, and I won't apologize for it.
If the worst comes, my folks have said we can bury Lulu at the country house. I won't have her cremated and her ashes scattered. I want to know where she is, so I can visit her. She's my good girl, now and always.
These are our children. We are not likely to have children, and we've accepted that. We dote on the cats; they are our children. We spoil them, we love them, we pet them, we punish them, we nurse them, we clean up after them. They are the only children we are likely to ever have, and that's certainly okay with us.
__________________________________________
We know several people who have lost children. My parents lost their first child, a son named Greg, to SIDS. My aunt miscarried two babies. My husband's parents lost their first child, a son named Michael; he was stillborn. My best friend's sister was killed in a car wreck when she was 15. We have friends who lost their first son, a boy named Collin, to SIDS. I had a school friend lose her son, Montgomery, recently. My cousin H's brother and his wife lost their first child (which has made H understandably paranoid about her own child, born earlier this month). These people lost so much with the death of one child, and I can't imagine their grief...
...but I'm afraid I'm about to experience it. My cats are my children, and one of them, Lulu, is so very sick, perhaps in renal failure. She's gotten so sick so fast, gone down so fast, it's hard to understand. It's hard to understand why she got so sick, how she got so sick. We've wiped out our bank account and maxed out a credit card taking her to the vet and to an emergency animal clinic. And we took her back to the vet this morning; she's there now, having tests run. We are hoping for the best, but I'm a realist, and I'm afraid I'm expecting the worst.
It's true that cats can survive renal failure and live for many years afterward. It requires a special diet and managed care. I'd be willing to do that, just to have her well again. Just to have her a little while longer. She's my good girl. She is, to all extents and purposes, my daughter.
Losing any one of my cats will be like losing child. No: losing any one of my cats WILL BE losing a child. Some folks might scoff at that, but it's how I feel, and I won't apologize for it.
If the worst comes, my folks have said we can bury Lulu at the country house. I won't have her cremated and her ashes scattered. I want to know where she is, so I can visit her. She's my good girl, now and always.
6.21.2010
...I will wait for you right here...
...circle in the sand...
...and you complete the heart of me...
Two things complete the circuit that keeps me running: the Captain and the City. Yes, I often question this unprovoked and unreasonable attachment to the City Beneath the Sea, this unaccountable love affair...but even recognizing, intellectually, that I cannot account for it does not diminish its power. And I hear the Voice of the City in most things, so she is ever with me...
It seems like all I ever talk about on here is my preoccupation with the City, or my reliance on the Captain, or my restlessness. I want that to change...
...but not today. Today I'm going to feel every misfired nerve, every inch of muscle and joint that aches and burns, every slowly drawn breath (slow, to avoid hurting the ribs), every stabbing sensation that pierces my ears, every pulse that radiates from my sinuses and rocks through my jaws and teeth, every step taken that resounds through the bones and joints like an alarm, every letter and word typed that feels like it's shattering my left hand, every lightning bolt that thunders down my spine...
...and I'm going to be grateful for every one, because I am alive and could still get out of bed this morning, despite the hurricane of pain slamming into this body; I am alive, and my life is pretty good - there is money, there is shelter, food, kitties, friends, family, love - and though it's hotter than hell, somehow fitting for the Summer Solstice, it's still a gorgeous day. This flare-up will pass, just like the other ones, and this virus or flu or whatever it is haunting me will go away, and I'll have weeks and weeks of feeling nominally normal, like I did before last week. This flare-up is not the end of the world, no matter how much pain I'm in, and it will pass.
Today I will not accomplish much, that's okay. I won't feel guilt about it. I'll accept that it's a fact of the disorder. Tonight I will have dinner with friends, perhaps hang out for a little while, then go home, do some reasonable house cleaning, and rest. I will maintain my house, and my soul.
...and you complete the heart of me...
Two things complete the circuit that keeps me running: the Captain and the City. Yes, I often question this unprovoked and unreasonable attachment to the City Beneath the Sea, this unaccountable love affair...but even recognizing, intellectually, that I cannot account for it does not diminish its power. And I hear the Voice of the City in most things, so she is ever with me...
It seems like all I ever talk about on here is my preoccupation with the City, or my reliance on the Captain, or my restlessness. I want that to change...
...but not today. Today I'm going to feel every misfired nerve, every inch of muscle and joint that aches and burns, every slowly drawn breath (slow, to avoid hurting the ribs), every stabbing sensation that pierces my ears, every pulse that radiates from my sinuses and rocks through my jaws and teeth, every step taken that resounds through the bones and joints like an alarm, every letter and word typed that feels like it's shattering my left hand, every lightning bolt that thunders down my spine...
...and I'm going to be grateful for every one, because I am alive and could still get out of bed this morning, despite the hurricane of pain slamming into this body; I am alive, and my life is pretty good - there is money, there is shelter, food, kitties, friends, family, love - and though it's hotter than hell, somehow fitting for the Summer Solstice, it's still a gorgeous day. This flare-up will pass, just like the other ones, and this virus or flu or whatever it is haunting me will go away, and I'll have weeks and weeks of feeling nominally normal, like I did before last week. This flare-up is not the end of the world, no matter how much pain I'm in, and it will pass.
Today I will not accomplish much, that's okay. I won't feel guilt about it. I'll accept that it's a fact of the disorder. Tonight I will have dinner with friends, perhaps hang out for a little while, then go home, do some reasonable house cleaning, and rest. I will maintain my house, and my soul.
5.25.2010
...i might have known what you would find...
....under the milky way tonight....
i went Home this weekend. i didn't know i'd be going Home, and i was only there briefly, but it was sweeter than i can say. it had been some time since i'd been there, and it is always the way i remember it, but somehow better. i never seem to idealize the Holy City, never seem to remember her better than she is; she is always better than i remember.
before the Holy City, all things fall away. within the Holy City, all is right, all is clear, everything in its place. all the bullshit, the anger, the longing, the guilt, the confusion, the emptiness: they pass away in the face in the Holy City. they disappear: perhaps in absolution, perhaps in euphoria. it doesn't really matter where or why - it means peace. and i have little known peace, so that i know it when i find it, where i find it. i remember the places that offer this, and remember them vividly and always with deep, undiminishing love and longing.
we did the touristy things, but somehow those are the things i find most purifying: parking near the River, catching a bite at Cafe du Monde, then wandering the Market, just wandering the City. we drove around after that, and we saw places none of us could recall ever seeing - suburban parts of the City, unknown neighborhoods in the shadow of the City, between the interstate and Lake Pontchartrain (which is holy, but not my holy lake: Maurepas).
we followed the old highway, through the swamps, before rejoining I-55, and that, too, was purifying, consecrated. i love the swamps outside the City as much as the City and recognize that it is from the swamps that the City rose, and that one day the swamps will take the City back. this does not make me sad; it is a matter of course. it rose; it blooms; it will whither; it will die. and the swamps and the lakes and the rivers have made this all possible; they deserve their due.
words leave me, when i try to describe what my City means to me, when i try to convey the holiness of the City, the spirit that infuses my own when i am Home. it bypasses mania, it bypasses melancholia, it bypasses everything, goes to the heart of me...all that is good and right and focused and efficient and compassionate and beneficent is accessed and brought to the fore; all those things which are not good and wrong and unfocused and destructive and angry and selfish dissipate.
it calls me even now, to come back, to stay. would that i could, would that i could...
i went Home this weekend. i didn't know i'd be going Home, and i was only there briefly, but it was sweeter than i can say. it had been some time since i'd been there, and it is always the way i remember it, but somehow better. i never seem to idealize the Holy City, never seem to remember her better than she is; she is always better than i remember.
before the Holy City, all things fall away. within the Holy City, all is right, all is clear, everything in its place. all the bullshit, the anger, the longing, the guilt, the confusion, the emptiness: they pass away in the face in the Holy City. they disappear: perhaps in absolution, perhaps in euphoria. it doesn't really matter where or why - it means peace. and i have little known peace, so that i know it when i find it, where i find it. i remember the places that offer this, and remember them vividly and always with deep, undiminishing love and longing.
we did the touristy things, but somehow those are the things i find most purifying: parking near the River, catching a bite at Cafe du Monde, then wandering the Market, just wandering the City. we drove around after that, and we saw places none of us could recall ever seeing - suburban parts of the City, unknown neighborhoods in the shadow of the City, between the interstate and Lake Pontchartrain (which is holy, but not my holy lake: Maurepas).
we followed the old highway, through the swamps, before rejoining I-55, and that, too, was purifying, consecrated. i love the swamps outside the City as much as the City and recognize that it is from the swamps that the City rose, and that one day the swamps will take the City back. this does not make me sad; it is a matter of course. it rose; it blooms; it will whither; it will die. and the swamps and the lakes and the rivers have made this all possible; they deserve their due.
words leave me, when i try to describe what my City means to me, when i try to convey the holiness of the City, the spirit that infuses my own when i am Home. it bypasses mania, it bypasses melancholia, it bypasses everything, goes to the heart of me...all that is good and right and focused and efficient and compassionate and beneficent is accessed and brought to the fore; all those things which are not good and wrong and unfocused and destructive and angry and selfish dissipate.
it calls me even now, to come back, to stay. would that i could, would that i could...
5.19.2010
...hello, I've waited here for you...
....everlong...
...out of her head she sang...
It's been a long time since the soul/mind complex was thrust into the furnace of mania, made malleable, unpredictable, in fierce currents and unimaginable heat. Yet it's another day in the blue: the melancholia persists, unabated. It has been weeks and weeks, it seems, since it came, and it has not departed. I embrace them both, mania and melancholia, though it gives me little pleasure; self-awareness become a two-way mirror in a dark room.
The technical term for this profound emotionally charged state is dysphoric mania. And it is its own kind of heaven/hell dichotomous complex - seemingly limitless mental power; uneven physical stamina; unpredictable emotional and psychological reserves; the sense that I can accomplish whatever I put my mind to; the sense that I will fail at whatever I attempt. Hopelessness; restlessness; euphoria; despair; hope; agitation; anger. Can't seem to ride an even sea; it's all storms and tidal waves.
...down with me....
I have dreams, which I enjoy, but I wish did not affect me. I wish I could enjoy them like art, like a story: an encapsulated experience that has little or no potential. Like looking at "The Last Supper" - it is what it is. It will not change. One may look at it and enjoy it, and that's that. It cannot hurt one, nor physically take any action. A dream, on the other hand, can motivate, can encourage desire and longing, can make one reckless and productive, can promote hard work and unmitigated disappointment.
I don't know how to slow the complex down, and I feel helpless to mitigate the effects of this mood.
...out of her head she sang...
It's been a long time since the soul/mind complex was thrust into the furnace of mania, made malleable, unpredictable, in fierce currents and unimaginable heat. Yet it's another day in the blue: the melancholia persists, unabated. It has been weeks and weeks, it seems, since it came, and it has not departed. I embrace them both, mania and melancholia, though it gives me little pleasure; self-awareness become a two-way mirror in a dark room.
The technical term for this profound emotionally charged state is dysphoric mania. And it is its own kind of heaven/hell dichotomous complex - seemingly limitless mental power; uneven physical stamina; unpredictable emotional and psychological reserves; the sense that I can accomplish whatever I put my mind to; the sense that I will fail at whatever I attempt. Hopelessness; restlessness; euphoria; despair; hope; agitation; anger. Can't seem to ride an even sea; it's all storms and tidal waves.
...down with me....
I have dreams, which I enjoy, but I wish did not affect me. I wish I could enjoy them like art, like a story: an encapsulated experience that has little or no potential. Like looking at "The Last Supper" - it is what it is. It will not change. One may look at it and enjoy it, and that's that. It cannot hurt one, nor physically take any action. A dream, on the other hand, can motivate, can encourage desire and longing, can make one reckless and productive, can promote hard work and unmitigated disappointment.
I don't know how to slow the complex down, and I feel helpless to mitigate the effects of this mood.
5.17.2010
I might try my secrets to reveal
....if I didn't feel like burning them all, like so many letters from a boyfriend long gone and disappeared into a traditional marriage and three kids, subsumed in the embarrassment that the American dream can be...
Will is simply not enough to make things happen the way I need or want them to happen. Oh, and I have a will that, when applied, is rarely defeated. But alas - I cannot bend the world to *my* will. It's probably a good thing that I cannot, but there are times when I wish I could, through sheer force of will, make things happen the way that I envision. Then perhaps I could affect the happiness, the overall quality of life, for those that I love.
...for you are a magnet, and I am steel...
What is this soul good for, besides burning and longing, restlessness and sleeplessness and a pathless passion that does not understand God or the universe, much less fulfillment? I don't know what to do with this vision, with this spirit: these fires never stop. I do not ask why I am on earth; I ask - what purpose might I serve?
....I am a woman who's lost in her song...
...you are a woman who's lost in your song....
Will is simply not enough to make things happen the way I need or want them to happen. Oh, and I have a will that, when applied, is rarely defeated. But alas - I cannot bend the world to *my* will. It's probably a good thing that I cannot, but there are times when I wish I could, through sheer force of will, make things happen the way that I envision. Then perhaps I could affect the happiness, the overall quality of life, for those that I love.
...for you are a magnet, and I am steel...
What is this soul good for, besides burning and longing, restlessness and sleeplessness and a pathless passion that does not understand God or the universe, much less fulfillment? I don't know what to do with this vision, with this spirit: these fires never stop. I do not ask why I am on earth; I ask - what purpose might I serve?
....I am a woman who's lost in her song...
...you are a woman who's lost in your song....
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