Holes...

In trying to make life a little happier for the dog, I’ve left the screen door open so that she can lay in the sun, yet come in when she wants. It seems that this may be too much freedom for one young, mostly lab, big, black dog. I recognize that dogs often have an instinct to dig. I read once, a humorous explanation, of why Labradors so desperately need to dig. The story states something like it’s due to many generations of selective breeding to be truffle-hunters for the royal family… it was much funnier in the original. I often regret not keeping a copy filed somewhere. Given my love for the Lab, I face the instinct often, and find myself needing to laugh about holes in the yard.

I also have instincts too unruly to control… although, unlike the dog, I do know better. I find mind and my body twisting and collapsing back upon themselves as I channel the energy from these misled instincts into something more productive. At times like this even meditation doesn’t help to convince my being to simply let go. Rather than a time for centering, for healing, and for renewal it becomes quiet time for my heart and mind to wage war against my sanity, with constant dialog and practice runs of what I might say. Most of the time I win the little battles, I don’t say what I’d like to say, knowing that the words would be unwelcome in the hearer’s world. I don’t take the action that I’m created to take, but simply walk away. Other moments find me wound too tight, a tired old towel from the locker room floor, used to soak up the mess from too many footprints tracking water from the shower, thrown down and stepped on, then twisted and wrung to rid me of any sense. It’s in these moments that I say things I shouldn’t say, and find myself alone with the dog.