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Odd thoughts

Cyclic things

Today's meditation is on rhytmic and cyclic and repetitive things.

The cats will be the first to complain when the rhythm of the day is disrupted... visitors, sleeping in toolate or not going to bed on time. Cats know, sleeping for 18 or 20 hours and waking for that handful of minutes and knowing that it's the proper moment to eat or snuggle and purr or torment the other cat.

Somehow, I the human managed not to get this sense of rhythm. I sleep at the wrong times. I eat too much, or too little, all at once instead of in the quiet small regular steps across the day. My body suffers from this unharmonious jangle - my blood is too sweet, I carry around 60, no, 80 pounds of food-for-later and I find that I do too little moving and heaving heavy things around. Adapted for a world where I would be hefting a deer carcase or roaming many miles to get food and building materials, the rhythms of this life do not agree with the rhythms my heredity dictates.

This will kill me before the proper time in the cycle, if I am not careful. It already took my mate. She had the same hard time with small meals of primitive food. She had the same maladaptation as I to the rhythm of famine and feast and the prolonged feast, prompted by the dischord in her heart and mind nurtured by the jarring chaos of the heart which was her childhood legacy, given unwished-for by the elder women in her life, one with harsh stabbing fearful hands and one whose love was given only to her abject and properly grateful supplicants.

Somehow her body took on the dischord, fell out of rhythm with the moon, and her blood also grew too sweet, and the meddling of the tone-deaf conductors brought the sweetness down without considering or knowing that by making one beat louder, that other more subtle rhythms were no longer in harmony.

Perhaps her song was intended to have that stumble in its music, so to make it more poignant, but then it ended in a snarl of missed beats, sharp and bitter-sour notes, resolved back for just a moment before ending, and with the expectation still unresolved ... our rhythms, our music, was intertwined for so long that it's unclear what me-alone should be.

2/23/06 six weeks.