I now gaze upon each creature...all my relations...as entireties; a complete story, a statement, and a word in a string of words that...trillions of them to the tenth power...create a bigger story; a Uni-verse. I am at peace with most of them, though I'd like to see the Blue Jay once again harnessed to Robin's plow. Perhaps I'll live to see that. And George Bush held accountable for his foibles. I'm accountable; everyone should be.
I lieu of that, I am partly responsible for this cancer, oozing a defiant fuck-you finger at life's sperm-swim toward beauty, then fading as the daffodils, then laying itself at the altar of compost, for the next wave. My own cancers lurk in the shadows where they feel the most smug, until the chance emerges for then to storm-troop and conquer, the parasites of the Divine, ever-stupid to the fact that a parasite invariably kills its host, thus committing the most mindless suicide. Perhaps evolution will eradicate this abuse of the Universe's intent. Some of us attempt to educate those around us. Most of them don't care to listen; they're dealing with their own, cool-jeweled flaming shit-heels cancers.
I've carried this little girl for eleven years, and like everything else my inner-voice has explained to me; I don't own her.
I don't own the daffodils,
tomatoes, or the formula for compost to resurrect into life, again. I do not own water, but all of the elements I am welcome to, because I asked. Sometimes, my requests are denied, and I am confident that the Universe...and Her waters...know what they are doing. So if death isn't swift, it is because my little girl is earning her Christedness through attendant suffering. My heart-spirit the gushing wave upon her entirety, it is not cowardice to acquiesce to the Rules; it is an acceptance of them. I spent a boatload of time rebelling against them; the prodigal son has come home.
"It'll take time, I know it/ but in a while
you're gonna be mine, and I know it/ so do it in style." Donovan's song, "Sunshine Superman".
My little girl's name is Sunshine. For eleven years I've been her Superman. Kryptonite is my Achilles' Heel, even though I went skinny-dipping through that process, to be invincible. I'm not, and neither is she.
The sheepish times she tried to lie, she couldn't, successfully; her wagging tail, even now, shows her true spirit. Her four feet, agonized by a chemical her stubborn head demanded she walk in, are wretched in driftwood uselessness. She just HAD to follow me, even when I said "NO!"
But dogs follow you anywhere. Including the end of time.
Eternal friends don't keep linear dates; they embrace you in the here and now. Here and now is Eternity; if you ever see it breaking up, you know it is an I-Ching solid line, run its course, onward to be the stardust it was created to be, and then on to where the Galaxies need you. And us.
And sometimes, it needs us to die. To live. And speak the truth in actions, odors, stumbles, and acquiescence.
March 15, 1991
April 28, 2005
"She dared to ripple my pond."