's 3:18 a.m.
Was
in bed, lights out, at 10:45 p.m., fulfilling this week's key pledge - asleep
at a wiser, healthier, more wholeness-aspiring hour.
And
here I am. Writing a blog entry at 3:20 a.m.
Awoke
around 2:45 a.m. Don't know if it was toothache or a kitty litter box
that needs attention or the fact that Sky (who usually sleeps tucked next to or
near me) was nowhere to be sensed. But something awoke me.
As
mentioned, no Sky. Sky is & maybe always will be a traumatized kitty.
As a kitten, he was put in the care of a young boy. The boy
probably didn't intend to torture the wee small creature, but he did. And
in spite of all the love that Leslie gave him, all the love that we do, he's remained
deeply suspicious of life itself & everything, everyone in it. But
the one thing that he's done from the time he first allowed himself to leave
the safety of the darkness under the master bedroom bed has been to sleep with
me.
At
one time, plastered between my body & the back of the den couch (where I
sleep due to breathing problems if I don't sleep at least partially
sitting up), then later right ON me, which has progressed to right next to me,
to curled up at my legs, to finally a bit away from me. But in the wee
small hours of this morning, he wasn't next to me or near me or even atop the
end of the couch. Assumed he was with John (as he's sometimes bold enough
to be, on the rare night), but turned on the light, just to check around.
And
there he was, on the next cushion over, sound asleep, his arms flung over the
edge of the cushion - total slumbers. And asleep right next to him was
Rennie. Sky was sleeping right next to another cat. That was an
amazing sight to see & filled me with a deep sense of homecoming - it might
not seem like much, but it's what I've hoped for ever since we took over Sky's
care over three years ago.
There
I was, about 30 minutes ago - sitting in a room that is fragrant in ways you
really don't want, in the middle of the night, happy as all get out because two
cats are sleeping right next to each other.
Seeing
that progression in inner confidence gives me a tremendous sense of reward, if
that's even the right word. What I've hoped for - a more confident, at-rest-in-his-fur
kitty - is one more step closer. That is the sort of thing that fills my
heart with happiness.
Much
like decorating cookies on Sunday at the New Church Day Craft Fair, where I
turned a kid's activity into an opportunity to encourage all ages to have
confidence in their choices, to know what they truly wanted & to make the
most of being allowed to choose what they wanted, rather than what they felt
was allowed.
So,
one little boy chose all little purple candies, when everyone else had chosen
an assortment. One young girl took all four of the few red M&Ms.
And every child who wondered out loud if it was okay to do something was
asked, "Who's cookie is it?" and each came up with the answer - often
immediately - "Mine." Whatever they wanted to do with their
cookie was okay, as long as it took 12 candies, no more.
Sometimes,
none. One little girl, around 7 years old, admitted to wanting only the
gold icing without any of the candies I was using it to anchor. She
dropped her voice & admitted that what she really & truly wanted to do
was just criss cross her cookie crown with piped icing. Will always
remember her sense of happiness as she stood next to me, her hands next to mine
on the piping bag, and slish-slashed her way back & forth across the cookie
with golden butter cream. It was the sort of moment that's always given
me the greatest sense of spiritual homecoming.
The
cookie decorating event was over in less than an hour. Ran out of cookie
crowns. Two of the boys who'd decorated cookies stopped by. A girl
who'd decorated one at the start of the fair was carefully loading up two mini
baking cups with unused candies. The boys stood in from of me, their eyes
fairly dancing over the remaining little purple, red, orange & green gumdrops.
They asked if they could have some & their eyes flew open as I
told them to take them all. As they divided them up on the two little
plates, I leaned across the table to share some wise old woman advice -
"Always ask. The answer might be 'No' but you'll never get a
'Yes" if you don't ask. Always ask."
There
I was, trying to get back to sleep, and what I'm wide awake thinking about is
the kitty peacefully slumbering at my feet, now curled up right next to Rennie,
and empowering kids through cookie decorating.. That sense of whatever it is I
feel has always been the reward I've sought in all I do. And that's
wonderful. But it's time to expand my rewards system to include a similar
sense of deep homecoming when I've done something tangible, like not only
working on the kitchen on a Monday, but getting it spic & span clean; like
not only getting a laptop, but setting it up for actual use & using it to
make a success of an awesome business idea.
Rewards
are important.
It
dawned on me, stretched out in the dark on the couch, unable to get back to
sleep, that the reason I always felt like Mim & Peter personified the
"right" way to be wasn't because they were held up as exemplars
of best living practices but because it seemed that whatever it was that they did were behaviors my parents rewarded with praise & admiration (at least, that's what I heard).
It wasn't what my parents said, but the intangible ways they seemed to reward Peter & Mim that drew me to conclude that the two of them got it right while I chronically got
it wrong. (worth a posting all by itself, since peter & mim seem to have experienced things the other way around - maybe none of us were rewarded & all of us felt unrewardable!)
To
only apparently seem to digress - it's never made sense to me when others have
ease my frustrations over throwing all sorts of obstacles into the path of
doing things that would serve my interests, without any detriment to others.
In most case, with benefits to others. "Don't beat yourself up
over it - it's human nature." It's human nature to SEE what calls
out to be done, to SEE the next best step to getting to a better, wiser way of
living, then NOT doing anything to make it so? It's human nature to see
the Promised Land & content yourself with wandering around instead of
figuring out how to get across the Jordan and DOING it?
That's
perverted human nature. And we are capable of better. We are put
here to do better.
And
I don't digress, because what we do in our lives is directly tied to our
concept of rewards. It was many years ago that I first heard the concept that
the reason we do things that hold us back is because we get some sense of
reward from it. Until we figure out what the reward is, acknowledge then
reconfigure it, we're going to keep living in a messy house or blowing our
chances to develop prosperous income streams or messing up relationships.
I
tolerate an aromatic house (not in the way people want - in the way that keeps
us from having friends over) because of the reward I get seeing a small tuxedo
kitty sleeping curled up next to a fluffy marmalade tabby.
I
grew up with a funky sense that the most important rewards would always be
beyond my reach, because I could never hope to be even close to Peter & Mim
in what I could do. Turns out, that's right. I never could be like
Peter & Mim and what they appear to process as rewards isn't what I do.
But that's NOT wrong, doesn't make me chronically, hopelessly off kilter
- it just makes me me.
Took
me until the wee small hours of a Tuesday morning - now 4:14 a.m. - to realize
that a key (perhaps THE key) to moving past my apparent human nature to my
genuine spiritual on is by first overhauling my rewards system.
It's
all well & good to experience deep happiness in Sky's progress. What
I need to move to is encouraging, nurturing in myself deep happiness in having
a spic & span kitchen every Monday, in getting the front yard looking good
every Tuesday, in setting up & using the laptop that I purchased five
months ago, in making a personal & prosperity-creating success of Cyber Access for
the Technically Timid.
We
do what we feel rewarded by. Always has been, always will be. To
change my life, change the reward system in which it's rooted.
