Fragments, and a great, big heart

It’s almost Friday, dear reader. When I publish this, it will be a happy time because it will be Friday and I’ll be on the triumphant other side of a week that has pushed me to my limits, in the best way possible. 

…Over the course of the last 20 seconds, sitting here in my wooden desk chair, my mind raced through five different transitions, thinking of what to say to you next other than, “I’m so tired and want to lie down.”

Batty is cleaning himself on the new rug I bought for $5; his ebony shape, twisted and curled so he may lick his own belly, makes a nice contrast upon the pale pinks and blues and creamy white ropes of cotton. It’s such a nice rug, I think I may order another one, and then we’ll both have more space to sit and ponder things and roll around; I on my yoga mat and he on his furry black coat.

Tonight marked the transition into a new lunar month. Elul, on the Hebrew calendar and Virgo on the Zodiac. I briefly dated a Virgo, the only reference point I have for the traits of this sign, though the depths and richness of the Hebrew months are so much more interesting to me than anything the Zodiac could offer. This is the month that feels like a “bridge of power”—you will not be the same person at the end as the one who began—over into the month that contains Rosh Hashanah, or the New Year—my absolute favorite time of year.

Batty is staring at me with his voided face (too dark in my room to make out all of his features, so that only his bright yellow eyes stand out upon the black furry circle that is his head), his perfect, pointed ears backlit by my lamp, and it’s obvious that he knows that, even though I am totally exhausted, I am doing what I love best. I love that cats know things and that they let you know that they know what they know.

But if I break my concentration to scratch my head, for instance, the act of scratching is like a permission for him to be scratched, too, as he must figure out in his head that if it’s scratching time for me, it must also be scratching time for him. My hand is already doing the scratching, so just put it over in his direction and let him get some of the action.

This is a post made of disparate fragments, much like my head but not so much like my heart, which has always felt to me like this tapestry of riches, rippling textures of colorful weave, undulating with the passage of time…

Thanks for kicking it with me this week, dear reader. Until the next, and Shabbat Shalom.