I thought Philander was his growl, low threatening, as he protected his yard. Squirrels, raccoons, humans stay away.
His bark warned that my bite maims, lames, destroys. The gate remained locked for good reason. My friend, his owner, claimed he was as docile
as a newborn pup when he wasn’t acting as Guard Dog for his sacred territory—the yard. I would have preferred capturing a wolverine with my bare hands
to greeting him. From a distance. He remained outside to minimize my wheezing, to facing my allergic reactions. Occasionally, his old beagle friend, Lady, sneaked inside.
She was nearly blind, gentle. I grew fond of her. Not him. Then one day, I saw the back gate wide open. Two white cans stood on the mantle inside. Ashes.
Lady had died. I didn’t know Philander had been her daily protector. He had gently held her ear in his mouth and guided
her arthritic wobble down the stairs into his yard. In his grief, he had gnawed at his own limbs
until they bled, festered. He had stopped eating and followed her.
Now the friends remain inside two white cans. Unchangeable, identical. Gone. I mourn without ever having known either fellow creature.
There is a wisdom of the head and a wisdom of the heart. Charles Dickens I HAVE NO IDEA
I have no idea why the two-lettered word me is a lifetime challenge.
I have no idea why pale, sun-sensitive flesh is deemed superior when smooth, dark skin has obvious innate beauty.
I have no idea why greed captures many when the human spirit offers warmth in any season.
I have no idea why wisdom arrives with advanced age as the body weakens.
I have no idea why time reaches through weighty errors and trial, then discovers purpose inside common wrinkles. I do know waiting for storms to end avoids rainbows.
There are two days in the year that we can not do anything, yesterday and tomorrow . Mahatma Gandhi
After the Bomb Blast Where is the cameraman’s face, as he zooms in on the hungry bleeding child? Is the small boy frightened of a creature carrying a camera? Does that person bring bread and bandages?
Then the camera moves to the next atrocity and delivers sensationalist stories for the 6 o’clock news?
On the other side of the screen viewers chew carryout pizza and wait for the next commercial to get more beer from the refrigerator.
Where is the cameraman’s face? A minute-long film can’t tell the full story. Somehow, may the captured moment ignite help and not more hunger and pain.
“It`s not how old you are, it`s how you are old.” ― Jules Renard Old People
Old People, Look at the present and savor it because each Day may not be Perfect, but if it’s not Enveloped in pain, it’s okay. Old folk, celebrate the Persons in your lives who Love because it alone makes Existence worthwhile. Love back~
“We make a lot of detours, but we're always heading for the same destination” ― Paulo Coelho
Lost—Again
The directional app on my phone remains mute, while the road twists and my mind twists with it into lost places I’ve been.
Memories explode bully-style inside my brain synapses, creating panic. No sound, but an arrow on my screen says turn left at the next corner. I remember
the shop with the worn yellow sign. And space in my head and heart opens. I know to move through uncertainty. Celebrate my detours. Consider
the possibility that others hide pain behind strange, sour, surly behavior. May peace be made from pieces, one imperfect turn at a time.
Originally published in For a Better World 2020 reprinted previous blog
terrypetersen 