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| Photograph by Elliott Erwitt, New York City 1953 |
We cannot attain the presence of God because we're already totally in the presence of God.
What's absent is awareness.
David G. Benner
In a previous post (Klein Kaper) Matilda wrote about the new arrival in the household, the kitten named Patat (Patat being Afrikaans for sweet potato and commonly used as a term of endearment especially where children are concerned). Lately he is often called Tappet as well (Tappet is an English word used in Afrikaans to describe a person somewhat rough around the edges. For some reason “tappet” just does not have a similar meaning in English).
Since Matilda introduced him he has grown quite a bit and has become bolder to the point where you can even say that he has an attitude. It is absolutely clear that his ordeal in the engine compartment of the car has left no long lasting emotional scars.
It has been an adjustment having him around. Matilda’s recent visit to Pretoria and me holding the fort here at home provides the ideal setting to demonstrate my point.
On the particular morning under discussion I planned to finish some projects in the workshop and with that done, write a bit:
On my way out for the first item on my list, I make sure that Patat has enough food and water and that the litter box is in place. OK. Close all the necessary doors. He mustn’t bother our other cat, Mily, too much and should not venture outside where he’ll probably experience an unpleasant introduction to the dogs. Done. I’m ready for the workshop.
When I return I discover that he has converted one of the big pot plants into a toilet. Without finesse he has strewn soil in all directions over magazines and furniture. While I am cleaning that up he climbs onto the dining room table and shows a keen interest in a teacup. I dart into the kitchen to get the kitten discipline enhancer, an old laundry stain removal bottle with a handy spray action filled with clean water. A few well aimed squirts and he is back on the floor again.
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| Photograph by George Angus |
Where was I? Oh, the pot plant soil.
Now he is running with stiff legs, a curved back and flat ears sideways across Mily’s face. She is so disgusted, she almost chokes. She needs fresh air. I drop everything to open the front door and let her out.
Back in the dining room he is hanging from the table cloth. A few squirts with the bottle. It gives me an opportunity to pick up the soil. He starts climbing up the curtains in the living room. Squirt with the bottle. I arrange a couple of old magazines around the stem of the pot plant to deter him from any future ablutionary thoughts in that area.
I should probably think of making myself something to eat.
Where is he? He is too quiet. Not to worry, he is playing with a leaf on the floor. He should be disciplined, but I don’t want to dampen his spirit. He must be allowed to explore. Am I too harsh in applying the spray? He starts to sharpen his claws on one of the coaches. Squirt with the bottle.
Mily announces from the front door that she wants to come in. She needs my attention as well. First put him in the kitchen so that I can tend to her and give her some breathing space. Open the door for her. Reminder: I must give her teeth medication this evening.
I forgot about my food in the microwave! I storm into the kitchen, he slips out, pounces on Mily’s fluffy tail……
Nothing much came from my planned writing session. I was busy. And my meditation session is scheduled very early, before daybreak and the start of his very active day.
But gradually (rapidly actually!) he is getting bigger and slowing down a bit. He learns what he may and may not do. And even though he is still fascinated by moving pens and the corners of pages, what he actually loves best is to be close to you. He is settling into a routine where, after quite an active session, he falls asleep in the crook of my arm while I am writing. Realistically speaking, him disturbing our neat programs will last only a few weeks.
He causes me to think lately about human mothers and babies. A newborn human baby requires much more attention and it takes years before she can apply for a home loan of her own. In the meantime and over a long period – in a manner of speaking – you have to pick up soil, squirt with the bottle, discover personality traits, work gently with a young spirit, let her fall asleep in the crook of your arm and see to it that her favourite pen is close by. You won’t get much to writing and will have to squeeze meditation into very thin spaces if you get to it at all.
Is the contemplative life then at all suited for the child-rearing period, or do you have to wait for middle age or even retirement to venture in that direction?
Matilda and I often talk about this topic.
We truly believe that contemplation can enrich all phases of our lives. And although it may come more easily to those who have completed their ego-constructs of early life, it would be foolish to associate it with near death, or closer to death then, experiences.
On a daily basis we discover the truth of two of our favourite quotes:
“What’s in the way IS the way."
Mary O’Malley
"God comes to us disguised as our lives.”
Paula D’Arcy
It is applicable to all periods and situations. Should we reserve the contemplative life only for the great silences and an almost monastic peace and quiet, we once again fall into the trap of living dualistic lives and totally miss the point. It can and must be cultivated everywhere and we must be creative in the process. Every experience and life phase is a teacher waiting to be honoured. Through contemplation we find that every nuisance, discomfort and limitation is in actual fact the awkward wrappings of some of life’s greatest gifts. It will be a great loss to discard the gift because the wrapping irritates us.
I wish I was younger when I discovered that.
In the meantime I am learning and trying to look at the world through little blue eyes in a small ginger head and to meditate accordingly.
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| Photograph by George Angus |
George
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