Fuzzy

Fuzzy dog math

Fuzzy dog math, or…the world as I see it.

I’m typing in the dark, so relaxing, so soothing, listening to the fan circulate air under my desk.   It’s close to dawn, skies turning from slightly lighter black, than what surrounds me, to a mid-greyness.  It means I don’t have much time until light ruins my day.

You fear whether it’s day or night.

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Fear is an emotion.  Darkness is the absence of a type of stimulus that detracts from my ability to think.

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And yet you feel more, your senses are heightened in the dark.

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Tell that to the furniture I ran into when I was at my son’s home.

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What did you sense while you walked out of a bedroom, into the hallway, down the stairs, past a couch and the mattress your son slept on in the living room, and walked toward the kitchen to make a cup of tea in darkness?

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Contentment, happy munchkin, a family filled with love.  My presence as an outsider vibrated uncertainty, an emotion that has no place in a 3-person cocoon.

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You chose to be there only 3 days.

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And those 3 days were packed with a focus mostly on the Munchkin, an 8-year-old with the energy of a hadron collider.  I was there only 3 days because I wanted her to know how much I love her, wanted her to be the center of my universe…but I also want to live, and do it all over again another day.  If I had that kind of exercise twice a week, I’d be climbing Mt. Everest in a year.

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You came to me for a reason.  You know what that reason is.

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The contrast between what I felt at my son’s home and what I feel in my own home is like watching the quiet of a sunrise followed by the intensity of a thunderstorm as I transition from physical education class and into world events.

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You know the answer.  It’s on the tip of your mind, waiting to fall into an emotional abyss.

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It’s nothing I haven’t said a million times:  Something isn’t right.

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Look at the layers of life.  Every spirit is, was, and ever will be.  Every spirit lives whole lives and yet all happens not in time but in IS. 

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That sounds like word salad.  I shouldn’t be surprised that my inner voice is a bit whacked out.

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Have you tried explaining calculus to a dog?

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We’ve been over this before.  I can’t understand calculus, how am I going to explain it to anyone else?

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You have the potential to understand it, with a great deal of tutoring.  Your dog, in her present state, cannot.

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Look…the world is wrapped in a cocoon.    Well, not all of the world, only the people who can’t see what’s coming.

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If you are existing in layers between, and your spirit is, was, and always will be, what would it matter that your species dies off and another takes its place?

 

If I’m in pain, the last thing I’m thinking about is, “This doesn’t matter.”  If the world erupts in a war no one can win except for people living in underground cities, I’m not going to be thinking, “it doesn’t matter” as my family is turned into toast.   

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 This is a surface issue.  Get to the depth of it. You have to admit why you’re so uncertain.  You can’t work through it if you won’t admit it.

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No matter where I go, chaos seems to follow.  No matter how hard I try, someone finds fault.  Once, when I could get in a car and travel anywhere I wanted to go, I didn’t care how people felt about me.

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That’s not entirely true.  You have always loved your family deeply.

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They have their families, their routines.  I have become to them as my mother was to me.  “There.”  It means that knowing she was alive gave me comfort, but I sure as hell didn’t want to live with her.

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Nor do you want to live with your children.

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My granddaughter listens to what her parents say about her grandmother,  just as my children listened to my opinions about my mother and my mother-in-law.  

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Children listen, and they internalize how they will treat their parents when they are adults.

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My sister and I couldn’t stand being around our parents for more than a few days, especially our mother. Why?  Because the old adage is true:  Once a mother, always a mother.  She didn’t have to say anything to exude the “mother” presence.  When my mother visited, resentments boiled to the surface, and I found myself spewing puffs of steam and splatters of repressed anger at her at every chance.  As young adults, we have a myopic view of family, and vow never to raise our children the way we were raised.  How were we to know that underneath the trappings of age was an ageless spirit?

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The sun has risen.  Your thoughts are starting to scatter.

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If what you say is true, my spirit is in so many places at once, how could I be anything less than scattered?

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Think on what you’ve written and we’ll talk again.

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You must’ve been a teacher in another life.

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In more ways than one.