The Other Half of the Pax Team
Here's a bit of writing from Jay (written about a year ago) that I discovered yesterday and thought I'd share:
A Quiet Walk
Gleefully, the dog pulls me along our usual route. I know better now than to resist. The most I hope for is not having to disentangle him from a tree. Go around! Other way! He’s surprisingly good about that, about taking my advice into account.
I let him decide where we will stop, what fascinates the nose today: where a fish has died and left its delectable essence, where a deer passed during the night, where another dog has urinated. I wish I could see the olfactory map inside his head.
I search for interesting rocks, watch for bicycles (so as to avoid turning the leash into a trip cord) and runners (so as to avoid them being chased after) and other dogs (mine never fails to menace). The chatter inside my head is pleasant; I may even voice a word or two aloud, startling myself.
As we walk the trail, I wonder if the dead can hear me think. Since they are free of the body, where else must they live but in the mind? I try to speak to my grandfather with my thoughts. I don’t want to bother him, just to say hello. I picture him standing by a tree, his head bristling with dark hair, as I imagine it to have been in his youth. He smiles at me and half-winks, and I smile back.
I have begun to understand that the transcendent must co-exist with the banal, because the banal never goes away. When it is time for Rocky and me to return home, to call out, "Where’s Lynn?!" and watch him run up to find my wife, who will laugh with me and share with me the joys and sorrows of the day, who will tell Rocky what a fine master he has, I most likely will not remember that I exchanged glances with GP today, or that the world has begun to reveal its secrets to me.
I will recount other details of our walk: the tree that fell across the trail in the last storm, thoughts concerning my parents’ soon-to-come declining years, whether or not I may have exposed my skin to a poisonous plant. I will find out how my wife’s day has been going and whether she is up for a movie later. I will regret that the weekend is coming to an end.
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A Quiet Walk
Gleefully, the dog pulls me along our usual route. I know better now than to resist. The most I hope for is not having to disentangle him from a tree. Go around! Other way! He’s surprisingly good about that, about taking my advice into account.
I let him decide where we will stop, what fascinates the nose today: where a fish has died and left its delectable essence, where a deer passed during the night, where another dog has urinated. I wish I could see the olfactory map inside his head.
I search for interesting rocks, watch for bicycles (so as to avoid turning the leash into a trip cord) and runners (so as to avoid them being chased after) and other dogs (mine never fails to menace). The chatter inside my head is pleasant; I may even voice a word or two aloud, startling myself.
As we walk the trail, I wonder if the dead can hear me think. Since they are free of the body, where else must they live but in the mind? I try to speak to my grandfather with my thoughts. I don’t want to bother him, just to say hello. I picture him standing by a tree, his head bristling with dark hair, as I imagine it to have been in his youth. He smiles at me and half-winks, and I smile back.
I have begun to understand that the transcendent must co-exist with the banal, because the banal never goes away. When it is time for Rocky and me to return home, to call out, "Where’s Lynn?!" and watch him run up to find my wife, who will laugh with me and share with me the joys and sorrows of the day, who will tell Rocky what a fine master he has, I most likely will not remember that I exchanged glances with GP today, or that the world has begun to reveal its secrets to me.
I will recount other details of our walk: the tree that fell across the trail in the last storm, thoughts concerning my parents’ soon-to-come declining years, whether or not I may have exposed my skin to a poisonous plant. I will find out how my wife’s day has been going and whether she is up for a movie later. I will regret that the weekend is coming to an end.
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posted by Anonymous at
11:04 AM
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