"she soulfully meowed"

May an animal show you the footpath to liberation today.

“We Shall Remain” by Nathan Nun

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Landlocked in Fur

by Tukaram

I was meditating with my cat the other day
and all of a sudden she shouted,
“What happened?!”

I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged
her to say more – feeling that if she got it all out on the table
she would sleep better that night.
So I responded, “Tell me more, dear,”
and she soulfully meowed:

“Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets
whizzing here and there. I was suns in heat, hell – I was
galaxies. But now look – I am
landlocked in fur.”

To this I said, “I know exactly what you mean.”
What to say about conversation between mystics?

from Love Poems From God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West (Ladinksy, 2002)

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Creative Reflection

• Who has midwifed your journeys around life’s largest doors, the doors of birth and death?

• Who has helped you learn to say goodbye or hello?

• What do you believe is on the other side, to find, after the spirit leaves the body?

When the hospice veterinarian arrived to the house and sat on the carpet with us, Feather walked to her and licked her hand, then sat in front of her as if in anticipation, as if she knew the new friend was there to help.

My wild familiar! It was as difficult as always. It was also a good death, closing of the circle to a good life.

I spent all day brushing and stroking her, and baked a loaf of fresh apple bread; soft morsels of warm bread were her favorite treat. I fed her little balls of bread until the veterinarian did her sacred service, at which time I lay down with my cat on my chest. The vet was an angel of mercy, entirely present.

After her heartbeat stopped, we wrapped Feather in a linen sheet and brought her to the backyard where my friend and I had earlier dug a hole in the rich blackland prairie soil. I laid her in the dark earth, her shroud glowing at dusk. Red turk’s cap blossoms covered the bushes nearby, it was easy to pluck a handful of the flowers to lay on top of her.

I scattered lemon zest powder in the hole to deter other animals, and covered her bundle gently up with the mud and soil, then lemon zest powder again.

The statue over her burial site is a ceramic cat just like her, sitting on glass leaves. She is and will forever be a fluffy, feisty Maine Coon who loves to feel her long fur blow in the wind, wave her tail like a peacock and pounce in feather grass.

I thank her for being utterly herself, and for constantly batting my hand away from the cell phone and guiding my hand back to her head, where it belonged.

Rest in Prancing, Miss Feather (2004-2024)