TALKING TO SOPHIA

early autumn trees

 

A kitten in the house has revived my spirit. It is the consciousness that matters. Kitten does not talk, but we communicate well. We have tuned to each other. She pays attention to me and I pay attention to her. We read each other's body language and eyes. Cats, like donkeys, you do not force against their will. A donkey will kick you over the moon, a cat has twenty switchblades and needles for teeth. I allow Sophia her will, read her clues. When she wants down while being held, she will make a gesture like she's ready to move. I get it, let go and she goes without being controlled. I don't want to control her. I only ask that she stay off the keyboard. I don't want to train cat out of her to make her conform to my will. I allow her catness, she allows me humanness. I treat her right and she wants to please me. I've been told in the past I have obedient cats. Cats don't obey. I treat them right, they treat me right. It looks like obedience when it is by way of the cat's will, not mine.

 

sophia meditates

 

Today, for the first time, I talked to Sophia in sentences, told her a story. I've spoken to her in phrases with her name in them, teaching her that Sophia means her, like the cat she sees in the mirror means her. She knows her name now. This evening, she was relaxing on me while I watched 2Fast, 2Furious, the second time, which I liked even better than the first time. I talked to her, using her name often, and had the feeling she's heard enough of that. The repetition was boring her. I decided to tell her the story of when I saw her the first time and she stayed in my mind for a week. She listened closely and I had a feeling she knew what I was saying. I did not want to make it too complex for her, just a couple of images. She liked being told about the first time I saw her and why I chose her, the time she was put into my hands and I held her first time. She was liking it. The time came she'd had as much as she could handle. It was stretching cat mind pretty far following human language. It wore her out. She snapped out of that mind back to napping cat mind.

 

the hay barn

 

I saw that she can, indeed, follow me talking to her. She acted like it was the thrill of the day to be talked to by the giant in human language. This her first time, I believe the more I talk to her by telling her stories her span of attention will expand. Eventually, I will read to her. The Tao Te Ching is short verses full of meaning. She is fascinated by my voice, watches my mouth while I form words. I'm reminded of Jenny watching Jack bray, closely to see how he does it, something she is unable to do. Sophia watches me talk like she is trying to figure out how my mouth makes these sounds and hers cannot. She likes to watch the monitor while I'm at the desk. A couple days ago I came upon a 20 second video of two leopards walking. I played it over and over for her. She watched it a dozen times before she looked away. She watches parts of movies. I found her watching one of the fast driving scenes, watching every move of the drivers, gear shifting, cars sliding sideways around a curve, she was in tune with it. She watched two guys in a choreographed fight. The movement held her eyes.

 

more trees of early autumn

 

A kitten seems to me the essence of the vulnerable. Sophia is so small and defenseless, she brings out the protector within me. I want to keep her safe, keep her happy, give her the freedom to develop her cat nature in relation to my human nature by her own will. It must be a good stretch for cat consciousness to connect with human consciousness. The way I see it, we only have one  evolutionary leap in consciousness between us. We humans evolved the forebrain, which the four-leggeds do not have, and that's it. Our hands can pick things up and do complex things like operate a keyboard. We can reason things out. They think, but don't have access to reason. They do figure things out, however. They lack language, too, which, alas, does not serve we humans very well. We deal in confusion. In the age of propaganda, we use words to mean the opposite of their original meaning. Even language, itself, has become a confusion for us. I remember when rendition meant Charlie Rouse doing his rendition on tenor sax of Thelonious Monk's Round Midnight. Then, one day, rendition meant torture.

sunlight in the trees

 

Returning home, yesterday, from hanging the pictures at the library, being gone four hours, I was glad to see Sophia was not acting like she'd missed me. It told me she has her own life independent of me, inner resources. It took me back to the first time I saw her, no effort to appeal to me with her eyes or vocally. She seems complete in herself. I like this in her. She won't sleep with me anymore. I probably thrashed her off the bed in the night. She sleeps close by in a good comfortable nest. I like waking and seeing her in her nest. Even when I take a nap, she will nap on her nest. Just now, she was napping half on the desktop, half on my arm, eyes closed. I told her that her back legs are marked like a zebra, her front legs like a tiger, her face like a Siberian tiger. She made a little trill with her voice, shook her head and sat up. She looked me in the eyes, then curled up on the desktop against my right arm.  

 

photos by tj worthington

 

 

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GENTLENESS WORKS

jenny chews a carrot

 

The chill of winter creeps in the open door after sunset. It approaches in the gloaming. The gloaming is the time of day between sunset and dark. No distinct shadows, the entire sky the source of light. The clouds change colors, make a slow light show in the sky. I looked up gloaming in the dictionary and found it to be Old English from the word glom for twilight, akin to Old English glowan, to glow. This is what I like about the gloaming, it's glowing quality. I looked at synonyms and found most of them had to do with dark and shadows, shade. Not my association at all. I had to think about it and remember the latter part of the gloaming fades into dark, but it is a short time. The glowing sky appeals to me about the gloaming. Outside that time of day, a pink cloud will catch my eye and I'll think, the gloaming. Edgar Allan Poe liked the sound of murmur. I like gloaming. It has a similar feel, less French, more English. The g's at both ends are very soft.

 

jack chews a carrot

 

I continue to feel sorrow over the family of sister's boy. Inside myself, I see no constructive purpose in hitting a child, despite all the justifications. The kids I've seen grow up who were never hit by parents have no anger in them as adults. They're gentle, sensitive, intelligent people with unlimited potential. One went through Berkeley's PhD program. Another is in Philadelphia doing her internship with two more years to go. Two of the most balanced, intelligent people I know. Others I know whose parents vented their frustrations on them, calling it discipline, have high blood pressure from anger, an out of balance life full of conflict drama. I have raised several dogs and cats without hitting them or scolding them. They were more obedient than obedience training could accomplish. I treat them right and they want to please me. Kids want to please parents that treat them right, and kids want to annoy parents that don't treat them right. It's karma. You get what you give. It's also a basic law of physics, action > reaction. 

jenny's Cleopatra eye

I never hit, scold or talk down to my donkey friends. I feed them snacks, talk to them in a friendly way, touch them gently with no intent to control. They regard me the same. I have no concern about either one of them kicking me. They would not kick me, because I am only gentle with them, because I am their friend. I have disproven everyone who has told me the donkeys will kick me, I need to carry a stick. Maybe with donkeys I don't know, but not my donkey friends. I would be hesitant around a donkey I don't know. They're fast. They react quick as a cat. With a donkey I don't know, I'd approach it with arms down at my sides, not moving them. I'd want some carrots. Without carrots, I'd talk to the donkey. I have found with animals I don't know that they listen when I tell them they have beautiful eyes, beautiful fur, beautiful ears, beautiful nose. Donkey Jenny melts when I tell her she has beautiful Cleopatra eyes. They are groomers. They're vain about their appearance. I tell them they're beautiful, that I adore their eyes, their smooth fur, their tails. I become for them a human who notices them as they want to be seen. They don't forget. Next time I see them, we know each other.

 

caterpillar's eye

 

The four-leggeds seldom meet a human who connects with them as conscious beings. They want this connection so desperately that when they get it, they cherish it. It's how I instantly become friends with dogs and cats I meet. Years ago, one day walking in the woods on a snowy day, a tan and white pit bull came bounding through the trees at me, barking furiously. I had no gun, no stick. Against a dog, I was totally defenseless. By then I knew dogs well enough not to be anxious. Dog stopped about ten feet away, to check me out, smell, measure and weigh me, assess whether I was a threat or a friendly. I spoke to the dog. How you doin, dog? Told him I liked his colors, said he looked like a big, powerful dog. Dog walked toward me. I didn't move. I let the dog sniff legs and feet, hands. I talked, told him I was impressed by how fast he could run. Next, he was asking me to pet him. I pet him some, talked some more and the dog proceeded to walk with me. Some new people moved into a house nearby, dog was out exploring its new territory. The dog and I were friends from then on.

 

jenny's beautiful nose

 

 

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THE AFRICAN WILD ASS

jack

It is Friday night and I failed to drive to Woodlawn to hear Greg Cornett make music. I wanted to go, had heard him before, wanted to enjoy his music and stories again. For some odd reason, probably like not eating all day and not eating much yesterday, I felt slow and sluggish today wanting to sleep. Took a nap, woke up at the time I'd need to be leaving, still felt tired, didn't want to drive for an hour. I dragged myself up, picked up a couple of carrots from the refrigerator for Donkey Jack and walked out into the field with carrots and brush, forcing myself into some kind of motion. I chose not to call him today. I walked out into the meadow. I guessed he was in his shaded place among the rhododendron where he can see all the meadow. I hadn't walked more than a hundred feet when I saw him galloping toward me like a horse, somewhat hesitant, ears straight up, uncertain from maybe fifty yards if the figure he saw was who he thought it was. I called his name, Donkey Jack, and he set out in full gallop. It was beautiful to see his legs running like a horse. I'd never thought about a donkey's grace, but they have grace. Jack has the grace of a horse, the grace of a dog, the grace of one of God's creatures. What we humans call grace amongst ourselves is but a studied imitation of the natural grace in animals outside the reach of the human mind.

I've lived with dogs and cats and worked with cows, at first struck by the grace I saw in all my experiences with animals. I see the same grace in dogs that I see in cats, it just looks different. Studying grace in the animals, I see it all the more in the ones that live wild and never see a human except from hiding. I maintain it is our forebrain that messed up our human grace. To get it back, it seems we have to transcend the forebrain. A dancer, a musician, an artist has to leave mind and fall in with the flow. I suspect it is the ability to leave mind during the dance that makes the difference between the lead dancer in a New York company and the lead dancer in a provincial company. That ability to leave mind and follow the flow is where artistry enters, grace. Great dancers, great fiddlers study their art form to the point of transcending thought and that's where they find grace. In musicians, it's where they find music. I was not anticipating seeing grace in Donkey Jack's gallop. It reminded me that, of course, a donkey has grace. I felt that thrill inside when I hear Scott Freeman go off with his mandolin into some music that is the essence of grace. Seeing Jack's legs running toward me, all four legs in perfect sync with each other, brought to mind a one-second scene in the movie Gladiator showing the knees of the general's white horse. The editor and/or director saw the grace in that one second moment of moving horse knees. It worked.

Jack's ears sticking straight up above his long horse face looked almost as long as his face. It was somewhat comical, a horse with rabbit ears. He slowed down as he approached me and was walking when he reached out with his nose for a sniff to confirm the visual and auditory with the third sense. I've seen in all the animals I've known the need to verify one sense by another. When I called to Jack, it was to verify by sound what he was pretty sure he saw. When he got that verification, the hesitation fell away from him. It was heartwarming to see Jack running to greet me. I like to believe the carrots he believed I had for him were only half the motivation to run. I saw he is knowing me now, sees me as someone to run toward instead of away from. Yesterday when I was with him, the dogs next door were at the gate, Jolene and Martha. They came running through the gate actually wanting to meet this new horse that appeared to be friendly. Jack stepped back behind me. I saw they scared him. So I flung my arms and hollered, "Git!" They ducked back to the other side of the gate. I made the physical gesture to show Jack it's easy to turn them away. Jack is new here, not yet sure about all the animals that pass through this area by day and night. I talked with Jack about the dogs. I told him they live nearby and he will see them often. They are not threatening, but I advised him to keep them out of the meadow. Jack doesn't know it yet, but he will have a baby donkey, his own baby, gamboling about the meadow in near future.

I talk to Jack. I've learned by now from knowing so many four-leggeds along the way that they understand us when we talk to them. They don't understand the words, but they are picking up the meaning telepathically. When I talk to Jack I have the feeling he gets it. When I tell him I am happy to have him for my new friend, that I'm looking forward to knowing him, that I love this chance to have a donkey friend, he yawns when I talk to him like that. Same as a dog does and same as a cat does. I see Jack an intelligent being with a personality that I am gradually becoming acquainted with. I like his temperament. After feeding him the two carrots and brushing him with a brush and my hands, I find he prefers to feel my hands run over his hair. The brush seems to bother him, yet he likes it too. But I can tell he'd rather feel my hand run over his back than the brush. He likes the brush, but prefers the hand. After I'd brushed and rubbed him good, he started rubbing up against me sideways, kind of like he'd do to another donkey that was his friend. I felt like it was his way of petting me back. He doesn't have hands and can't hold a brush. He was rubbing up against me with the side of his belly. At first I was a little bit alarmed, not sure what was up, then I got it that he was rubbing me in return, that it was a familiar, friendly gesture, a donkey's way of saying, I like you too. That was all it amounted to, a familiar bump, a wordless, Hey, how you doin? I remembered the dance from the 70s, the bump.

I'm still not fully at ease with a four-legged that I know can kick the shit out of me in a second and bite really hard. I'm standing next to this thing that does not have to do what I say. The donkey has all the advantage. Without a weapon, I wouldn't have a chance against Jack. I had to stand there trusting my knowledge of animal mind that after a week of bringing him carrots, petting him, talking to him, brushing him, he's not going to do anything untoward. The bumping and pressing himself against me was just donkey to donkey. At one point he put a front foot on top of my foot, consciously, knowing that was my foot under his foot, and stood there. It didn't hurt at all. It was about the weight of a child's foot. I didn't tell him to get off my foot. It struck me funny. He looked like he had a smile on his face while he stood on my foot. I took it as another form of contact like bumping. Dogs show each other their weight by bumping, and I wondered if Jack was showing me his size, his weight. I bumped him back and showed him my weight. I assumed that was what he wanted and it seemed like it was. He just wanted to get a feel for my weight and give me a feel for his weight. It wasn't aggressive. It was simply familiar and friendly. We humans shake hands, donkeys bump. Jack is so gentle that he takes the last chunk of carrot from my fingers with his lips instead of his teeth.

I sat down on the ground and he looked at me a bit puzzled about what I was going to do. I just sat. I talked to him, told him his hair is the same color of a dove. He grazed some grass in front of me, gradually grazing a circle all the way around me. He wasn't eating the grass like a lawnmower, but just pulling at a horse-nettle leaf, plucking some blades of grass, not really hungry, but doesn't know what else to do while the human is sitting on the ground. Jack comfortably grazed as I talked to him. The very first thing old man Tom Pruitt told me about working with cows, Talk to them. They like being talked to. I find it applies to all the domestic four-leggeds. I see Donkey Jack likes hearing human talk, too. I told him today that he is an Equus africanus asinus, an African horse, aka an African wild ass. I can see him paying attention, close attention like he's seeing the telepathic images of my words and thoughts in his mind's eye. Anyway, that's what I suppose. He knows the sound I call him and will learn more words as time goes by.  I've seen so much evidence by now that the four-leggeds connect with each other telepathically, just like they do with us, it seems obvious to me. Only difference, we don't get it. We call donkeys brute beasts of burden. I'm curious to know this donkey. Been checking out websites about donkeys for whatever information I can find. there comes a point real soon where there just isn't any more. I decided to let Jack teach me about donkey mind. I felt it was significant in the beginning of getting to know each other that he felt free enough today to bump without being interpreted aggressive.

 

 

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