Between then and now, I have been thinking. Well, not exactly thinking. Whatever it’s called that’s going on when thoughts run to catch trains that never stop.
It isn’t even monkey mind: that busy hopping popping mind that can be stilled with breathing, meditation and a few good yoga poses.
This time of not a thought in my head, of not a thought I can catch and chew on is not too unpleasant. But less of an emphasis on thinking means there’s a huge internal imbalance. It means experiencing the world through feeling more than through thought. And that, if I could think it, is worrisome. Feeling first? Me? Without processing through thought and reason to reach alignment and balance? That’s just not on.
Except for now.
Parker Poodle sleeping in his bed is whimpering. He’s been doing that so much more since little red poodle passed away. And it’s hard to move quickly to comfort him, clunking along in crutches. By the time I get to the bedroom door he is awake, his brown eyes open looking at me up from his hand-made bed tucked in a corner, wagging his tail, thumping out a rhythm that I could dance to, if I could dance right now.
So I get close to where he is, place my crutches against the wall and lower myself to sit with him, rub his big chest and massage over his heart. He tries to purr because he was raised with kittens but his purr is a low, low rolling grrrrrrrr and I just cuddle up to his shaggy self, happy that he isn’t whimpering in his sleep. Tears well.
Curiously, being broken and restricted in my movements, with my life being on hold like my gym membership, has not created more thought time. It has instead given prominence to my physical, feeling self in ways I could not have predicted. The many systems of my body can not work together seamlessly as they once did. The broken part impedes everything. The parts that hold that broken part, and other parts that have to do things differently, take detours and use tools that hurt other body parts. And all of this, each detour, each tool is navigated, negotiated by sheer, raw physicality and raw, unfiltered feeling. Not thought. It’s possible this lack of balance and symmetry hurts all my parts.
You will say: this is temporary, this time of broken-ness. I know it. A short season of no thought. Thoughts stored til they can be planted. Like seeds. Or a winter of thought hibernation. A bear of thoughts sleeping somewhere in a cave. I am of bear clan. There is naught to do but go through it.
PS: I need some thoughts. If you find any in your travels, at a train station, by the road, in a restaurant, please send me some with glue so that they’ll stick.