Meanwhile, my dog is feeling bad that this accident happened. I never ever punish him for such a thing, because it was my fault for not picking up on his signals that he was having problems, and he can't control it. But I do let it be known that I don't like this at all. I don't need to let this be known, because he has pretty much learnt by now to feeling sorry when he does it. He really does feel sorry. It's not related to whether or not he will get food from me, or such, duh.
So, anyway, I addressed the pile of shit. Then I took him outside. He ran a little. Came back in. Gave him a cookie. Talked to him a little about other stuff, while he was lying in the kitchen doorway. Get the picture? In no way was the big BOO BOO a topic of conversation. But, he wasn't entirely himself. And, as I talked in the kitchen, crouched down, I said, "It's OK." And what did he do, he turned his head 90 degrees to look back, out the kitchen door, at the pile of shit. I love when he gives me clear proof that he knows exactly what I am saying and meaning. Like, later in the day, I will ask him about a dog he saw when we were outside, and he will turn his head to look exactly in the direction where the dog had been, even though walls now block all vision of the outside now. For all his stubbornness and egotism, my dog has incredible spatial awareness.
After feeling bad - because of it - my dog began to hate himself, for being a dog, and so his behaviour became badder, more annoying, more doglike and uncontrollable. Defiant. He has been pulling at the cord outside. Jumping quickly into the sidewalk, taking me down with him. Not listening to my commands. Shaking his fur when he knows it would bother me or the guy downstairs. And so on. Is this not the same way that adolescent humans are, especially boys? Their self-hatred is instantly converted into testosterone and criminality, and all the glory they can make of it. It is as if they feel freed up to revel in their instinctual nastiness. Boys will be boys.
The loss of a father's love - separation - knowing one is disappointing a parent - these can all tempt the child to revert back to acting out, and being bullheadedly selfish. Even when you try to impress upon them that you really care, it is their own self-hatred, (for lack of a better term), that makes them FLOUT your overtures. What is need now is only for time to pass, in which sternness is applied, almost as if obliged, almost as in a game, until the dog or child comes around to knowing you again. He has been on an alternate track - in a an alternate universe - and until he is ready, unto himself, you are but a ghost, immaterial or threatening, and he will not delight in you until he has settled down and settled with himself, with you both out of the way and in command.
I have seen my dog act in ways that are just like a human child, suggesting how children are animal-like in many ways. This topic will have to wait until I can gather a few memories of such occasions for a later post. But, I can say a few things here. First, scientists usually use intelligence tests to compare children and animals. "A grown chimpanzee operates at the level of a 9-year-old child." But, this is wrong. We already know of times when adult chimps act much more mature than 9-year-old kids. These behaviours may not show up on such narrow tests, or they may simply confound them. But the occasions with my dog, which I alluded to at the beginning of this paragraph, are not mere displays of intelligence, but of emotional sophistication. Emotional intelligence is a more subtle, robust measure of intelligence, than, e.g., the ability to solve math equations. I mean, wtf is that?
Intelligence is what gets you and your group through another day in the jungle. That usually excludes math.
Also, kids may be like animals, but they usually use their developing neocortex, and pyramidal & spindle neorons, to reach to higher levels - levels of ethics, and planning, and compassion, and complexity. But these developments are, I believe, largely associated with emotion more than they are with what we think of as, "intelligence." So, a child who begins, "as an animal," may, if not finding proper emotion in his or her life, use his growing neocortex NOT to enrich his or her maturation, but to better facilitate his or her animalistic ways, wants and schemes. If a child were to adopt the track that my dog recently took, sparked by self-hatred, and continued it with a vengeance into adulthood, then this person would be called a, "psychopath."
(As a note to myself: I should have more to say in this area, regarding how dogs, (etc.), may act in childish ways, such as wanting what he/she wants, and so seeing only what he/she sees, differentiating how these are different from human adults - but how they are so similar to psychopaths in our society. Let's look forward to that post).
All along, we have a choice on which path to take. We have this choice every second of the day. It depends on every bit of information which comes our ways - whether or not we will "collapse" it into meaning one thing or another; as, e.g., hurtful sarcasm, or as an honest compliment. And, not only does of choice of passage depend on collapsing and associating incoming information - it also depends on how, and with whom, we associate. Is there working love there? Is the emotion productive, progressive, positive? Or, is it directly or indirectly dysfunction, derogatory, controlling? How much faith do we put in the people around us, and how much do we involve them in co-determining the paths we choose? Where do they end and you begin?
And these damn neighbours!
Dogs are thought to give unconditional love, although they can sometimes be grumpy, (and so forth!) I think I know why dogs get can get grumpy. They see what fun other dogs or people are having outside; or they think of the pheasants they once chased but are not chasing now, or they remember their parents, etc. It comes down to them realizing that your control is keeping them from forking off and living that dog's life which they so wildly crave to have. It usually gets triggered by outside stimuli - but sometimes by memories. It is worst in the Spring. If your relationship is going well, this may serve to thwart it, or not. If so, it is because the dog, (or child), does not see your control as a bad thing, meaning he/she trusts you.
Like children, dogs want to jump and play, and see Spot run. If you have to get on with cooking, or something, and the dog wants to play, he gets grumpy, resentful, and yearns to break away. Like a child, the dog does not see all the reasons for your control and your stupid morality, because they generally cannot see further than their own noses, in some regards. If distracted, they may lose their trust that you know what you're doing, and that it will benefit them soon enough. They lose patience, dismiss your future, and want to go on some different path. The dog, (or child), is more likely to do this if experiencing self-disappointment following some imaginary falling-out with you - the loss of a father's or mother's love - self-hatred - skipping back onto that backwards, jungle track.
When outside, out front, I have to keep my big dog from charging off our little hilled area, down to the sidewalk, where he reaches the, "end of his rope." The leash quickly becomes very taut. One of these days, a tiny little rusted spot on that line may crack, and he may zoom towards a cat across the street, and end up breaking the leash, getting hit by a car.
But, he sees my forced control, my morality, of, "don't pull!", as an annoying thing. A thing in the way of what little freedom he has. If he loses trust in me, and converts his self-hatred into revved up defiance for freedom, he could get himself killed. He thinks that far off fields are greener, and yes, there are limitations to him, being here. But he gets the best food of any dog around, and he knows I care about him, and talk with him, and need him. He knows I am sick. He knows all these things until he smells a rabbit. Or the urine of you-know-what. That is the jungle talk of the devil taking over, demanding that he fight to survive here and now. A lot of emotion gets invested in that smelling of a rabbit.
"No regrets, Coyote!"
As I said, my dog has switched into a dogged, defiant attitude ever since Dump #2. So, I have been having to tug him back, chide him, be stern - while the time passes, and it eventually becomes water under the bridge. Meanwhile, neighbours a few houses down stand in a straight line, staring at me, complaining about me, and my dog. Normally, there is nothing at all, "to complain about." But, boy, when they see a chance, they take it. They once called the cops of me abusing my dog, when I was just forcefully pushing his big stubborn butt down. But, they have no idea of what is going on. Like those Libyans I wrote about, If something is in their line of sight, then they think they own it, even if it is owned by someone else.
Ownership means the right to make choices and steward as the area requires. But some people habitually steal, in more ways than one. These people are acting as children, or animals, who do not recognise the control or morality of someone else, such as a dog's owner/master. Rule by law. The main reason I have to control my dog is to placate all these damn neighbours, inlcuding the crazy guy downstairs. I mind my own business, but they jump into buggering about mine. Why? They've got a ticket to do so by the instant claim of, "abuse." As if they are judges. Just as the people who blame or abuse me because of CFS are somehow all professional doctors somehow.
This is not rule of law, this is rule of the jungle. It is to the socialising advantage of the children-neighbours to identify something to blame, and use that as an excuse to gossip and complain about some renewed enemy. As soon as they do this, vandalism follows in the night. Sure enough, the next time I went out with my dog, there was two mini instances of vandalism, in broad daylight. Anyway, by disregarding respect and trust, these people take the same defiant track as my dog, self-loathing turned into hating an enemy, because the immediate payoff in the jungle goes to THE MAJORITY. They stood their quite visibly, in a line, IN THEIR GROUP.
It's how G.W.Bush got us to invade Iraq. Animal logic. Forget about what's real or right or wrong.
When a dog, (or child), loses trust, he/she comes to see your control as something bad. So, they run to others. They test you. They contradict, for its own sake. Down with your authority! (Based on lots of ignorance, and hatred of his/her/their own ignorance). However, both dogs and children NEED authority to partly control their lives. Eventually, they can be brought back to you, unless you are damaging them for life, or something. And, so, it will all be looked back upon as something of a game. Water under the bridge.
But. What is gaming, after all, prey tell?
I heard something on Moth Radio Hour recently, regarding a dying relative, fighting to stay alive, "Until Sunday," for the sake of his child. I'm going to start discussing that, by discussing this:
CFS - is real. Sometimes, I cannot rouse myself from bed, for any reason....
But, sometimes I can. While resting, and in pain, I can jump from my bed and respond to whatever. It only means that my illness will only be worsened, and I will have to rest and recover even longer in bed afterwards. Maybe even for another day or so. That's because the illness, evoked by exertion and stress, is cumulative. The harder I push, the harder I am pushed back, and so I must either push harder, or collapse. If I don't forever pace myself, and avoid stress, I become conquered by endless collapse. And it ain't no fun at all. In fact, it is unbelievable. Many have chosen suicide over this.
My CFS is a giant weight on me, pulling me backwards like a rubber rope. It is the rock of Sisyphus. It is the endless stalling out Zeno's Arrow. Once I slip in the wrong direction, and it keeps getting amplified, say, by the tiny amount of caffeine in decaf green tea, I get stuck in it, and it gets worse and worse - more and more negative and painful, pulling me back harder and harder. Unless I rest and come out of it, anything else in my life will simply add to its accumulation. It is like I have chosen the path of the BAD, like my dog, and cannot be helped, not even by my normal self, in bringing myself back to something resembling health. Only rest, and the passage of time, and the knowledge that I am in a safe, quiet environment, may bring me back.
Sometimes, when it is not too bad, it can be amazing. I can transition from extreme pain and fatigue if I simply am finally able to get a few minutes of sleep and dream. It is like I am a diver in the ocean, going down, down, under more and more pressure, my lungs ready to burst open for want of air. Then, I finally touch the ocean floor, and rise back up, and then - I am awake and alive again! Really! On the other hand, it is not always as easy as this - it is more generally impossible. But, this example does serve to show one thing: I backtracked down my wrong way, touched bottom, and then came up the right way!
Do you ever experience swallowing something, and it goes down the wrong way? (My curse is extra-firm tofu, followed by water. It might even be a specific brand). You try to wash it down with water, but it pardoxically only gets worse. Your throat and chest become deeply painful - more and more, with the more water you try to drink! The only solution is to stop drinking that water, and WAIT. Right? What 'til your body is allowed to reset back to the norm. Then, the food stops going down the BAD path, and returns to going down the GOOD path.
My illness is like this. But, it is also an absurd example of existence itself. My illness is intoxicated with some kind of pathogen/s which amplifies my sensitivities and injury and so on. But, really, it is a big stupid example of how life contains in it its own drag - its own entropy - its own, "germ of death." We all know, that, if we did not sleep, and allow that diver to touch bottom every night, we would be dead after a few weeks. That is because we must constantly contend with the rising pull of this germ of death, inside us - a part of our life itself.
Every night. Every morning. We choose the path of LIFE.
In dreams, we dump all that tangled tofu protein. And find a way through the water.
Taoists know that everything contains, within itself, its own opposite. As I have said, irony, and double paradox, are inherent throughout existence. A mouse cannot confront a cat unless that mouse has configured within its mind and heart the very image and emotion of CAT! When we become addicted to some drug we love, like caffeine, it is because that drug is a POISON to our system; (caffeine is a pesticide). When we go to war with an enemy, or fight a sibling, it is because we hate that we see ourselves in them. Particle is wave, wave is particle. Matter is energy, energy is matter. Again: It is all how we CHOOSE to collapse the information we receive, towards our own/social future/s.
The passive, (Yin), is in the active, (Yang). Vice versa. Both. And neither.
You try to sleep - something awakes you.
You stay awake too long - you fall asleep.
Through trauma and harm, you learn to love.
Through a life of ease, you shall be killed.
The germ of death infects us all, as we sleep, as we live. It is the grain of sand becoming now the pearl of our life. It is the annoying buzz that motivates us to get up and move forward, or succumb. In dreams, it comes back to haunt us, rearranging our memories and expectations, allowing us to rise coherently again.
And, the germ of life continues on through and after death. Both and neither. They are two side of a flipping coin, both weighting the other, both flying.
In psychology, it could be the chance of a meal, versus the chance of being eaten - or, it could be a superstition either way. When we tamper with trust we have been growing in our lives, as did my dog recently, our whole boat gets rocked and off-kilter. So, we have divied our trust down to the magic of currency. But, for all the numbers that economists throw around, and all the emotion behind our associated politics, it is all still this simple, omnipresent flip of the coin. Life in death. Death in life. Yin in Yang. Spinning anon.
We keep turning in our living graves, every night, working towards getting it all to go down the right way. Over and over. But, existence pays its toll, and mortality trolls where life has forgone. With age, the weight of time, the pull of enttropy, gets stronger and stronger. Before we die, it seems all we have been doing, lately, has been going down the wrong way. Imagine yourself at death's door, and all you want is that easy, simple life back, feeling that all you need to is to take a little dive and touch bottom. Then all will be refreshed. But, the dive is too deep, now. And you are not granted, neither by your genes nor by the universe around you, any sufficient duration of absolute peace or pause. You step to dive and suddenly something cold has gripped some part of you again, too soon.
You're like a ship now, over water, crashing forth with one holy cargo called the breath of life. Sail on, I say!
Do not go gently into that good night.
But find peace when you do.
Listen to the Moth Radio Hour selection: The Right To Bear Your Soul
(Please note that I am not absolutely sure this is the correct podcast. It should be about a guy who's policeman father is dying of cancer, but fights to stay alive until his son passes an exam to become a policeman. If this the link I posted is incorrect, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!)
Witness how the father lurches from the grip of death to speak to his son. After he tells his son he will wait until Sunday to die, the father collapses into near death with pneumonia or pleurisy. The effort of his talk has exhausted him, and yet he fights on, collapsed, determined to die on Sunday. Really, it is not so much that he has disappeared from our real world. It is that he has now forgone all communication and connection, in order to focus on the one task at hand: To reach for as much absolute peace as he can find - just enough to keep him alive for another few days, despite all the suffering this brings.
After the exhaustion of the talk, and now in his very bad state, he is making one last, heroic effort to take the path of LIFE. But to do so, he must ignore everything else. This is how I deal with my CFS. I must take refuge in my bed, shut of all the lights, plug my ears, and breath. And wait. And find as much peace as I can. And, hopefully, touch bottom and rise again. So it will be when the hour of death comes around, and we, fully cursed now by the germ of death, make one last dive, to bring up that pearl of life once more, and carry it forth to newer lands.
But, instead, perhaps, somewhat as in dreams, we track backwards, and travel some way where we are children again. And then infants trapped in the agony of birth. Perhaps, now, the bad way has become the best way. And, only so, can I imagine that we come out the other end, still clasping that germ of life, but now in some vastly different existence or universe. We cannot say what happened before the, "Big Bang," or what lies beyond our universe. So, we cannot say what is before life or after death. It is all superlative - above us all - too beneath us - to even allow us any true step here, for here our time has ceased, or sleeps to rise.
Everyone is a separate universe. Everyone is making their own stupid choices. In some regards, they are beyond our universe and time. Even as we move through time and this world, we should remember that our judgments of them should never be god-endorsed. If they are, then we only hasten our demise, by hating the enemy in them, who is us.
I was once called to the side of a dying loved one. But I delayed my decision, for I was in a bad relapse of CFS. Time crept on a little. I then decided I could not travel to see her. She lingered, surely waiting for me. I wrote her a loving, final little letter. I asked someone to read it to her, which he did. After no response, I asked that a different person read it to her, (again). This was what happened. After my loving farewell was read, my dear one then died. And I was not there. But, a few magical things happened after that, rife with a physical emotion that fully commanded me.
What is the Art of Dying?
It is the art of living - living for love.
And leaving - leaving with grace.
We will never see the lost ones again, but seeing was never believing.
We were first born into this world blind, but sparked by the light of our own divine emotion, which forever haunts this universe, and never ends.
"Isn't life wonderful?"
There'll come a time when all of us must leave here
Then nothing sister Mary can do
Will keep me here with you
As nothing in this life that I've been trying
Could equal or surpass the art of dying
Do you believe me?
There'll come a time when all your hopes are fading
When things that seemed so very plain
Become an awful pain
Searching for the truth among the lying
And answered when you've learned the art of dying
But you're still with me
But if you want it
Then you must find it
But when you have it
There'll be no need for it
There'll come a time when most of us return here
Brought back by our desire to be
A perfect entity
Living through a million years of crying
Until you've realized the Art of Dying
Do you believe me?
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