China Galland writes in Longing for Darkness, about going for a long walk, and on returning home, has words written all over her left hand...
"blue-eyed grass, wild strawberry, blackberry vine, sage, lupine....
bee hives, wind in the pines along the ridge top, eucalyptus leaves....."
She goes on to explain, that "Learning natural history is a form of meditation, reciting the names of wild things, a litany. I say them now to ground myself in a world that without my grandfather will be less familiar." [p. 327].
It's an interesting idea, attractive. It is comforting, and provocative.
I can feel it at times, while riding the bike, sweet yellow clover scenting
the air, clouds banking on the western horizon, kitten scampering in young fur coat, oak leaves rustling, fireflies lifting like helicopters from the lawn, Beatrice giving her special cat yodel-call to her kitten herd, petunias blooming silent dark blue, baby Martin looking down from birdhouse balcony landing, cornfield golden-green shining at sunset, windmill crunching in the soft breeze, empty Bluebird house on electric transformer pole, speeding cars trusting U.S. 81, laughter from neighbor's twilight summer, humid air lazy, cottonwood towering, leaves rattle, gravel road stretches south, Kildare bird high-steps it across left lane.
* * *
It is Isaiah. It came to me easily, clearly, like a wedge sliding into
place. Isaiah is simply the name for this wonderful cat. Definitely he is Isaiah. It resonates naturally, and fits him, like sunlight striking the leaves of a tree.
I had given up trying for a suitable name that was him. Gentle Max was good, though never quite settled in. Thought of Thumper, yet that seemed more like a humorous aside than a real fitting name, one of identity and honor. Mainly I just let it slide, as no suitable name came that reflected his evolved past. These days, I often do not even see him, and unless I have an impression, an inner sense, I do not know if I will see him the next day. So it was a surprise, while working in the alleyway this last week end, that this biblical name flashed through my mind, tailored to his personality.
I tried it on him tonight. He wandered forth, silently, from somewhere in the grove,...he showed up when I was there with food. I petted him, and he walked, circled, looped back and forth, taking the affection, allowing his short fur to be tenderly scratched and gently ruffled. I looked at him, his strong lean neck, his muscular thin frame, his leopard like physique, his cat, cat-like eyes that seek deeply into another, yet reveals nothing of himself and his knowings. He masks his desires and needs with a strong cat gaze....searching, inquisitive, revealing nothing.
Isaiah fits him. Fits his strength, his maleness, his quiet self, his subtle borderline arrogance, his strong bold confidant self, his agile moves. In part, I think that is why we give the names we do....in part because it "seems to fit the personality," and in part because of the identity a particular name already has to us. Definite characteristics come to mind with names like Matt, Paul, Mark, or Dave. And certain energies come with Pauline, Betty, JoAnna, Karen, or Cindy.
He's an amazing cat. He wonders forth at feeding time, if he is "home."
He comes out of the leafy areas of the grove, cat-silent, meanders his way to me, and we talk some. Mainly though, it is physical touch, is affection time, and I rub his little feline form. He especially likes to be rubbed along the jawline, and behind the ears. He will move forward, accept the touch, turn, turn some more, cut a tight circle, and embrace more touching. He is a curious cat, will eat with vigor, yet, when I leave and go to a different area, I turn, only to see him sitting off to the side, looking at me. Watching. Isaiah is the only cat I know, who will be one place, and when I leave a carpentry project....leaving to go find some nails in the workbench area, or saw a board, I turn, only to see him there, having come a different route. He gazes at me, a continuation of us, as if we are partners in this endeaor, so why would I be surprised?
He did that tonight. I had fed him, and leaving the area, walked around to the small tool and storage shed to get my bicycle. It's a small building, one I don't even go into most days. I started locking my bike in there this week, as it is easier, with more room with the wide doorway. So I was taken, to come out of the building with my bicycle, only to see Isaiah there, watching, quizzative....wanting what? To play? Some attention and affection? It stirs my heart chakra, to see him at times, so adorable, so open and receptive to any attention I can give him. We had just played though, so I spoke to him, than rode my bike southwards, formulating my litany of natural history.
Returning home post sunset, he suddenly appeared again, walking among the small trees on the lane edge of the grove....he watchful, curious, looking as usual like a tiger or leopard, disguised as an ordinary small cat. The camoflauge works. I am enticed. I walk over and sit down on the old rusting water tank. He knows I am waiting, and he takes his time. He meanders around weeds as tall or moreso, than he. Isaiah looks natural in his habitat. He approaches; my touch reaches him. We slowly play and pet, his fur receptive to my hand. He looks at me, at times, as if in some way, we know each other. I wonder if he has dreams I would understand. I think about him, as we play....his coat looking more muted, now that we are in the grove, his fur blends, meets the surroudings half way. It is not like in the alleyway, where artifical setting of concrete, tile and wood, defy nature. Man-made place, - nature is denied the coloring of animal coat protection.
I thought of him, while we gently played....and how he enjoys this present moment, when the universe is still, embraced in our man and cat communique. He circles, steps with one paw on my tennis shoe, trusting me not to move my foot. He knows he is not fully on terra firma, knows as well he can handle it, this man-cat contact. I look at him, and think how in some ways he is already preparing for his future lives. I imagine him a soft very fluffy white cat, sitting on a hardwood window bench in an older home, still strong and self contained, but mellow in his life with humans, a wise cat, perhaps slightly arrogant, though loving. I think of him now, this cat who is living in the wild, of rural South Dakota farm, yet embracing my hand-touch, his accepting of a human....accepting on his terms, though accepting. And I think that maybe after this life, I will never see him again, and that in eons to come, he will be human, maybe live on a different planet, eventually, and this present moment, one little stitch, a tidey knot perhaps, in his fabric of evolution. With this little cat, I see a globe of rose, when I think planet, rose - color of love.