Thursday, August 30, 2007

... unravelled? no, not quite!

Thursday, August 30, 2007
Dante graciously acknowledged my need to write this post ... and so, here's another interlude from the Dante series ...

Not quite, but almost. Unravelled, I mean. I stemmed the tide, by my simple awareness of its existence, I stemmed the tide of emotion that threatened to drown me right there, in the cafe. Here's what happened ...

I stopped at my favourite cafe on my way to school late this morning. I met a woman who had her dog tied up just at the cafe's entrance, near an old wooden bench that had a skirting around it, to prevent anyone from seeing underneath. I remembered thinking to myself that I, when my dog lived, would have decided against leaving him anywhere like that, for fear that another would take him. And ... wouldn't that just serve me right, for leaving such a prized gem out there, for anyone to take.

I digress ... the woman ... in the smoking room, she talked about her very mischievous dog ~ the same sort as Trout ~ to whom our beloved she/k9/chickory belongs. She told us how her dog liked to get into her clothes - particularly the underwear, and wear it like a hat on her head, and prance about the house. She told spoke of the challenges of raising such a dog ~ one so smart ... that conventional training methods (most of which involve manipulation of the power-dynamic) simply have no efficacy on such a clever creature. And how ... she, as a dog owner, felt so unprepared for such. The dog required constant engaging ... so smart, that dog.

And then ... the lady left the smoke room. Completely coincidentally, I left shortly thereafter. And just as I stopped to fuss with my change purse, etc., prior to exiting the cafe, I heard this lady scream. She screamed a scream that got everyone's attention. She screamed a scream that moved me so much, to call it any emotion would merely diminish what she screamed in that scream. I felt the torment of all the souls in hell, in her scream. Why she screamed really has little bearing to the story. Briefly, I'll just say, she thought her dog had gotten stolen, when in fact, she did not see him cowering under the skirted bench.

The point I want to make? My acute reaction to that scream. I knew immediately ~ her dog went missing ~ what triggered the scream. I knew that despair, that anguish. I caught myself, on the precipice of sanity. For a moment. Until I remembered ... THINK. What's going on? What was going on? My heart raced, my core shook, and I could not grasp the coins I sought to count in my change purse. I felt a tidal wave building ... of what emotion I cannot name. Something .... which my brain threatened to manifest as tears. Why? Why did I feel this way? No reason, really. And just that very thought process allowed me to experience the feelings I'd apparently channeled, without immersing myself in them ... without drowning in them. I did not cry. I did not suppress the urge to cry. I disarmed it.

And so, shaken, but not stirred ... like a dry martini I walked myself out of that place. And contemplated the lesson. I feel my feelings. They do not feel me.