A Deep River Year
January 22, 2014
It snowed again last night, and this morning required boots and gloves and shovels. And, of course, time to go outside and make it passable for us who must get back into the world again. Inside the warm house, afterwards, there was waiting for me hot coffee and a crossword puzzle, and Ming, one of our two Siamese cats. He loves to jump up onto the table, square in the middle of the open newspaper, and rub against me until I offer a luxurious massage of his ears and belly.
Ming is the darker of the two cats we rescued from an animal shelter several years ago. We went there with the idea of possibly adopting one Siamese cat, but the shelter supervisor confessed that there were actually two of them that had come in together. “It would be a shame to split them up,” he added, “though of course you could just take the one if you want.” Of course, we came home with two. Sushi, the more timid of the two, hid out around the house for over a year, coming out only at night to eat. I thought for a while she had slipped out the back door when it had been left ajar. Ming has always been more social, and he always seeks out my attention when I am trying to do something else.
Yet these cats bring a certain Zen-like presence into the home. Often I find them sharing a sunspot on the living room floor, or curled up together on the warm cable TV box, or purring in stereo as they languorously lay braided together on top of the radiator while the snow flies outside. I have heard it said that cats are mysterious and spiritual creatures who may, from time to time, leave their bodies via astral projection while they seem to be sleeping. I think it’s more likely that they just know how to be content in the present moment. No worries, no plans, no fears. Just this moment to be warm.
The Zen of Cats
They seek some warm place,
Perhaps just a small halo of sun
To be their simple solace.
Entwined, they are one,
Comforted by each other’s
Familiar deep-throated rumble.
They are centered, serene,
Content to be creatures
Who have found their place,
Even as the world goes off to work,
Or worries itself to wakefulness,
Or scours the pestilent streets
For food and kindness,
Or waits for love to warm it through.
This is what I wish
Sometimes:
To stretch out, silent enough
To hear my own heart,
To be warm inside for a while,
And, like a cat,
To just be.
--Timothy Haut, January 22, 2014
January 22, 2014
It snowed again last night, and this morning required boots and gloves and shovels. And, of course, time to go outside and make it passable for us who must get back into the world again. Inside the warm house, afterwards, there was waiting for me hot coffee and a crossword puzzle, and Ming, one of our two Siamese cats. He loves to jump up onto the table, square in the middle of the open newspaper, and rub against me until I offer a luxurious massage of his ears and belly.
Ming is the darker of the two cats we rescued from an animal shelter several years ago. We went there with the idea of possibly adopting one Siamese cat, but the shelter supervisor confessed that there were actually two of them that had come in together. “It would be a shame to split them up,” he added, “though of course you could just take the one if you want.” Of course, we came home with two. Sushi, the more timid of the two, hid out around the house for over a year, coming out only at night to eat. I thought for a while she had slipped out the back door when it had been left ajar. Ming has always been more social, and he always seeks out my attention when I am trying to do something else.
Yet these cats bring a certain Zen-like presence into the home. Often I find them sharing a sunspot on the living room floor, or curled up together on the warm cable TV box, or purring in stereo as they languorously lay braided together on top of the radiator while the snow flies outside. I have heard it said that cats are mysterious and spiritual creatures who may, from time to time, leave their bodies via astral projection while they seem to be sleeping. I think it’s more likely that they just know how to be content in the present moment. No worries, no plans, no fears. Just this moment to be warm.
The Zen of Cats
They seek some warm place,
Perhaps just a small halo of sun
To be their simple solace.
Entwined, they are one,
Comforted by each other’s
Familiar deep-throated rumble.
They are centered, serene,
Content to be creatures
Who have found their place,
Even as the world goes off to work,
Or worries itself to wakefulness,
Or scours the pestilent streets
For food and kindness,
Or waits for love to warm it through.
This is what I wish
Sometimes:
To stretch out, silent enough
To hear my own heart,
To be warm inside for a while,
And, like a cat,
To just be.
--Timothy Haut, January 22, 2014
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