Grasping Your Reach

With no hope of ever catching a bird, let alone going outside, Precious is nimbleness itself following the birds’ every move.


Joined by her cadre of our “inside” cats, she, more than the rest avidly follows the birds’ movement. Pressing her nose so many times against the window she has to raise her head a bit to see through.
I am reminded of¬†Robert Browning’s oft-quoted, “Ah, but a man’s [cat’s] reach should exceed his grasp or what’s a heaven for?”
She is indeed in heaven, in joy, in thrall. When I am about to take her off my lap – perhaps a dog has barked, doorbell rung, some “must” to get up – I pet her and hold her as I make my move to leave. There is never a moment she is not reeling in the enjoyment of my touch, ¬†pushing into me for more, jumping from me when it’s over. She is never out of pleasure’s reach. Like the Zen story of the man chased off a cliff, sees a ripe strawberry, plucks it to his mouth as he plunges to his death. Each moment embraced. Each moment aware of possibility.
Every day I thank Precious and her cohorts for showing me – whether I’m paying attention or not – that the way to joy is joy.

Thank you.
Rest is joy and that abounds as well.

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