For thirty years, I have begun my morning meditation by lighting a candle and spreading decks of medicine and angel cards around me in a circle. When resting, these cards live in a purple silk Chinese bag along with hand-written letters from my mother; snail mails form my daughter, Nina; theater programs of my daughter, Melanie; an exquisite old Klimt address book presented to me by both girls with personal inscriptions in their young handwriting; and bits of notes and memorabilia that I felt were sacred and needed to travel with me rather than be in storage for this gypsy chapter.
One week ago while house and cat sitting, my daughter, Nina, came to visit from New York and needed to work while she was here. This meant that she inhabited the study where my treasures lay and my morning ritual was on hold for four days. During these four days one of the cats (or both) chose to use my treasure bag as a peeing place. Every corner of the bag was drenched and stenched and unsalvageable.
This event took my mind and soul down tunnels, into fire, out into the land of peace and quiet and back into sorrow. The lessons were many and deep.
The good news is that feelings are real, cats can’t tell you ‘why’ and so one is left to either conjure up conjectures or let them all go, the sun still rises, and now there is room for another bag and new treasures if I so choose.
And yes, feelings are real.