I began the day cleaning up after incontinent cats. (Feh.)
Then going over the month's expenses with wonderful Mary, where I found I had been billed twice for one book, with only indirect recourse available.
Lunch with a group who were discussing the benefits of psilocybin to ease the experience of death.
So I come home and ask, ¿how can I ease the experience of grave illness sliding towards death for my sweet cat who is skinnier every day? Yes, Jacob B suggested that it is our responsibility to help our domesticated animals exit; but I have not yet become convinced that she wants to GO. She still persists in meowing for food, even though it goes right through her. Right now, she is stretched out on the towel on the heating pad on the little sofa next to me, fast asleep. When she feels too warm, she will leap (she still leaps beautifully!) onto the wooden island, and her little towel-lined box.
How do I know when she is thinking "Enough, already"?
How do we know it for ourselves? When does schlepping around a failing body ask too much of us? How do we make our wishes clear if we are perhaps not clear ourselves? And for all of us who choreograph our future demise in great, sensible and even poetic detail, and think we're clear, we must remember to include an "I-changed-my-mind!" clause, just in case.
Meanwhile, I sent off the description for the weekend I will lead next month at The Abode of the Message, in New Lebanon, NY.
I did such things for years before working with Zalman, then of course for years with him.
And then not.
Now it feels like an entirely new venture, as if I had never done such a thing before.
What ever made me think that I could simply slide back into
doing what I used to do
being who I used to be
B.Z.? (=before Zalman)