There are memories right on the
surface, so close sometimes I swear I could reach out, take a step and be there
again. Over the last little while I’ve come to compare two phases of
life—elderly and newborn—not something I was planning on doing, of course. But
I’m an author—that is who I am down to the bone, more than it is my occupation.
We who are authors do three things, mostly.
First we observe life around
us, then we think about what it is we’re seeing, and then we write about
it.
Have you ever spent any time
simply watching a newborn baby? I’ve heard all sorts of things about these wee
beings. There are assertions that they really can’t see anything, in the way
that you and I see things, not in the first few days or even weeks; that’s why
their eyes move so often, why it appears their gazes just roam. And when they
stare at something? Why, it must be because something particularly bright has
caught their attention. Oh, and no, that’s not really a smile, not at all and
not yet. Of course it isn’t. It’s only gas.
But I wonder.
Have you ever spent any time
simply watching someone who’s elderly? Someone who seems to be not one hundred
percent in this world, mentally? They sit quietly, their gazes roam, not seeming
to fix on anything. But every once in a while, they stare. There are assertions
that granny is just getting old. She’s not really with us all the time, you
understand. If she were, she would certainly be responding the way we are, hip
deep in the conversation, as it were, living in the moment. She’s likely off in
her own little world, thinking about the past. Maybe she’s recalling her wedding
day, or perhaps some other important event in her life. Don’t mind her. In fact,
let’s just pretend she’s not really here.
But I wonder.
Have you ever spent any time
simply watching an older pet? Have you ever wondered what
they’re thinking? Their eyes seem to look all over, except once in a
while, when they stare, and you wonder what they’re looking at. And what do they
dream about, anyway? I know a lot of people assert that when a dog is twitching
in his sleep, he’s dreaming about “chasing a rabbit”. I would argue that a lot
of dogs who’ve only ever been urban dwellers likely don’t even know what the
heck a rabbit is.
But I wonder.
I wonder, because in those
eyes—the eyes of the newborn, the eyes of the elderly and the eyes of an older
pet I see something more than nothing. Is there a connection between this life,
and the next? Is there a portal between times? Could there be a level of
existence and thought and communication that we’re not even aware of?
Maybe babies really do see
fairies and ghosts, because no one has told them yet that they can’t. Maybe the
elderly really are able to visit the past in a more literal sense than we mean
when we say they’re back there. And maybe, our pets bond with us on a level we
don’t even know exists. Maybe there’s a point in life, near the beginning and
near the end, when communication with our four footed friends is completely
normal, natural and yes, psychic.
Can you imagine a park bench of
ethereal proportions? The newborn, the elderly woman or man, and the pet, all
sitting side-by-side-by-side, watching the world that is in progress around
them—separate from it and yet a part of it—as they share thoughts and words of
wisdom.
What would that conversation be
like? If we could manage to break through that barrier that separates the
spiritual from the physical, what words could they offer us as encouragement,
words we could hang onto that would serve us for all the days of our
lives?
The baby might express a sense
of infinite wonder. He might tell us how vast the beauty and the hope and the
possibilities really are, and how enormous and miraculous life realized truly
is. The baby might urge us to always keep a sense of that wonder close to our
hearts, for times when life becomes difficult.
The elderly might caution us to
not be in so much of a hurry, because at the end of the day, everything happened
in but an instant—here, and then gone so, so fast. Slow down, they might
say. Slow down and cherish every single moment, of every single day, and never
lose sight that it’s the little things that make a life worth living.
And the dog? Well, the dog
might tell us that no matter how busy we are, or how important all the stuff in
our lives may seem, it’s crucial that we don’t ever forget one thing: we should
never forget the importance of play.
Love,
Morgan
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