Fluff, Les élus

Face your cat: Lessons from the animal world

What I noticed about my cat is that when she fears something or someone, she never gives them her back. When she’s afraid, she turns around to face exactly what scares her, always keeping her eyes on it with unwavering attention and vigilance. Sometimes in her watchfulness, you can see that she’s ready to pounce. In other times, she can’t be more relaxed. When what she fears moves away, she immediately lies on her side and even sometimes falls into a slumber.

I think cats take the saying “Face your fears” a bit too literally. But what I love about that is the fact that the confrontation doesn’t always have to be tense. More often than not it’s cool and effortless.

Listening to: Pirate Jenny, Nina Simone
Mood: sleepy, relaxed, light
Wants from the universe: more weight loss, dark chocolate 70% Cocoa, nice sandals, a good trip next weekend, blissful sleep and a raise. Also Happiness. Unconditional.

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Buffers, Les élus

Do I come from a star?

I was reading through some of the posts on Evolver.net and http://www.realitysandwich.com, and this post reminded me of an old dream: discovering that I really don’t belong to this world, for some reason or another. Or at least that I don’t belong to the mundane version of it, which I’m living through right now.

Looking over my fantasies, whether that I discover that I’m a witch and get that long-awaited letter from Hogwarts, or to be hand-picked for a special league of chosen people (a select few who have access to the truth or who know better) like Neo and his buddies in the Matrix, or the fellowship of the ring in Middle Earth, or Alain Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen or the Watchmen, it was always about not being part of this life and not subscribing to this version of reality. Or not doing what other people are doing.

Perhaps it’s about wanting to discover a special talent, or a reason for living (an answer to the ages-old classic “why are we here?”).

But mostly, it’s also about being re-assured that my inability to adapt is shared by others, that there’s a reason for it; that I’m not anti-social, or a self-hating human, but that in fact I’m one of those few who were born different and shall live and die different, and who know something that others don’t. And of course, it all goes down to the chronic feeling of loneliness, which is bound to kill me some of those days if I don’t kill it. And to the conviction I’m always misunderstood, even by those closest to me.

The websites I was checking were all about changing the world, that “we are those we’ve been waiting for”, about sustainability, open-source economy, taking the human species to the next level, evolving our consciousness and connecting with nature. One of them is a social networking website that connects people who are part of this unified consciousness project. I didn’t understand many of the terms juggled between members, and I secretly smiled at groups carrying names like awakening the Divine Feminine.

Some of the members on it reminded me of a theatre professor that my sister loves to death. I remembered him because of his unique personal philosophy and unconventional religious beliefs. That professor, probably an atheist, believes that he’s among this unique breed of human beings who have migrated to Earth from another planet long ago for some mysterious reason, who are scattered across the Earth and who carry some sort of outer-planetary wisdom, and an invisible mark that they only can recognize. He’s not kidding. This breed is different, and they have the ability to know each other instantly, and the joy of meeting each other is incomparable, since their minds and their consciousness are enlightened, more evolved that regular Earthlings. He’s an artist, a dramatist, so this could all be symbolic, or not. If he believes he’s an alien, fine, as long as he doesn’t look down upon commons such as I (but he probably does anyway, and you know what? it doesn’t matter). The professor also believes that “his people” will come, from beneath the stars, to take him back one day, and then he’ll be at peace (Death?). It’s very poetic, and a wild thought sometimes crosses my mind, “perhaps I’m one of those aliens too. Perhaps that’s why I’m lonely. I haven’t found the others, my brethren, my people. Perhaps they will come back for me too.”

It’s a very condescending way of looking at the rest of the human race.

But tell me, have you never felt it too?

This feeling of exaltedness that comes with being lonely and being unable to fit in (on a global level), with being restless, with wanting to travel all the time in your head or physically through leaving the familiar places behind and treading where most people haven’t gone; this feeling of transcendence that comes with losing attachments, with thinking spiritually and philosophically about everything including your closest relationships, even your religion; with retreating and (as a friend recently put it), being an “observer of humanity” from a distance and only “occasionally socializing with humans.”

Do I come from a star?

I wish. It would explain a lot. It would re-assure me that there must be something out there to return to, to long for. Perhaps that’s why I love looking at the sky, perhaps when I do my mind wanders and my heart feels trapped not in wonder and not because I’m in awe by what the universe hides. Perhaps I’m simply home sick.

If you can relate, perhaps you come from a star too. Perhaps you’re one of us.

Listening to Gregorian’s take on My Immortal
Mood: indescribable

Buffers, Les élus, Travel Writing

Loving all that lives …

… in nature. And it even has a scientific name: the “biophilia hypothesis” which says that there is an “an instinctive bond between human beings and other living systems,” between man and nature. According to wikipedia, it’s Edward O. Wilson who introduced and popularized the hypothesis in his book entitled Biophilia – meaning “love of life” or “love of living system” and it’s Erich Fromm who first used it to describe the psychological orientation towards all that is alive and vital.

And the ‘philia’ is not only towards nature, as in forests, the desert, or parks or but also towards the weather, wind and rain, and animals (I’m thinking that means all animals so I imagine the philia cannot to be properly adopted by people who like “dogs but not cats” or “cats. I hate dogs”, or “red squirrels not grey because grey eats whatever and disturbs this or that food cycle” to the end of those silly arguments).

I was thinking that’s a good explanation for why some of us long to the desert, or develop this urgency or need to climb a mountain and stand on top, or feel called to go to a forest and hide beneath its thick, winding trees or get momentarily lost in snow. And no wonder why people who respond to those calls from the stars, the desert or the raw Earth feel different, energized, empowered and special – as if they were chosen to go there, as a fellow traveller has eloquently put it during a recent hiking trip in Sinai. But it looks like everyone is called, through this invisible umbilical cord that ties us to Mother Earth, but few respond.

Tree hugger talk, I know. But the question that comes to mind is why many of us fail to recognize this tie with nature and the animal world, a tie that seems to be born with us. What blinds us? What distracts us, and then what calls us back? Why have we lost the ability to connect on that level? To stand in the Sahara and breathe in the silence, instead of being intimidated by it, instead of standing on a mountain and shouting “Is there any body out there?” Is it a coincidence that the Little Prince has found his salvation, the clarity to recognize his destiny, in the desert, all alone with the emptiness, a fox and snake to guide him, and the promise of a well -water- nearby? I’ve asked that question before in my post Man, the friend of Silence but so far I have not found an answer.

Is it only in nature that we can find ourselves, the Truth? Or is it when we’re alone in nature? Is connecting to the Earth and being alone, perhaps even lonely, conditions for appreciation of life, of others, for recognition of our fault, failures and shortcomings, and for recognition of what is important and what is really of consequence?

Why is it painful to be alone and away then sometimes?
Why does silence intimidate?
Why does the desert at night, the endless dunes of sand, or the tall-as-sky mountains scare and awe us?
Why does the sea inspire fear and mistrust, why does it hold a type of treacherous beauty and uncertainty?
Why does the Sahara, instead of opening our eyes to the beauty of our inner space, stir up memories of things that never will be?
Why does the rain make us sad, and the snow makes us lonely?
Is it city life that corrupted us as such?
Have we moved so far from the sea that we don’t recognize it any more?
That we don’t know how to love it?

Listening to Une Chanson Pour Tout Dire, Eli et Papillon
and Maybe Findland, Snow and Voices
Mood: Grateful, Calm, and longing for the desert during wintertime