Butoh

Laying on the hardened living room carpet that I love so much, the one that often catches the afternoon sun, I began to wake up from my slumber. It was afternoon and there was no sunshine this day, but still I could feel the warmth radiating under me like the sun had baked itself into this patch of house. The way my body sank into this spot, slightly indented from my daily naps, felt warm and complete.

There was no desire to move the slightest amount from this spot, and yet as I laid there, ever so slowly blinking my eyes, vibrating, only half-awake in my lazy bliss, I gazed out the window and spied something peculiar in the trees.

It was a bird. Just a bird. But it was peculiar because it wasn’t just a bird. It wasn’t the typical earth or shadow colored, twitchy thing that I was so used to seeing (and frankly, bored of). No, this was an elegant, calm, yet plumply candy colored, feastly-looking thing that sat stoically in the tree as it called me to the hole in the wall. That hole. That hole that was the threshold between my domain and the out-there. The entrance to the sunless day that housed my glowing meal.

z

This morning I woke up from one of my tsunami dreams. But luckily Sunny was there to wrap my naked body around, and soon the dream, and myself, were washed away. I’m beginning to find that true love, or something like it, often has this power.

And, as usual, I almost succeeded in the forgetting, but this time the dream kept crashing back in throughout the day - which was, in fact, ironic, because for the first time there wasn’t any crashing in the dream. No oceanic explosions. No walls of water pounding earth. Only dryness, a desert, and anticipation.

In all of my other dreams, as it goes, the water is already there. In some form or another I see it coming for me. Either as one giant wall of water racing towards me, or as a storm of waves that seem to grow deeper and higher until there is nowhere left to run. But the dream this morning was different. All of the water on the entire west coast had suddenly receded, leaving a landscape that resembled a vast, barren desert.

And I think that every person on the west coast has by now looked into tsunamis, and discovered that they start with a receding. All of the water leaves the beach and hides before a tsunami comes. It hides far away so that you can’t see what it’s doing. And what it’s doing is climbing on top of itself, creating a furious beast of an ocean, set on destruction of the other world. And in this dream, we all knew this fact very well.

But what was most strange was that it seemed like the water had been gone for quite a long time. Perhaps hours, or even days, and this had created a maddening set of opposing reactions within us all. We wondered if this was some new type of phenomena. One where the ocean just up and leaves, leaving us in peace. And at the same time we thought that maybe this was the wave we had all feared. The one that was pointless to run from. The one that would swallow the Earth.

Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately, I woke up before I could find out.

z

Laying in the grass, fatly and contently, I felt the world as full, new, and perfect. But what had happened just moments before did not feel this way. In the act of the jumping, and the clawing, and the biting: I had felt hunger, and ecstasy, and shame. All in one. (And this is not, of course, the most pleasant emotional cocktail to feel. But it is a necessary one all the same. )

And this soiree of feelings began to fizzle out after the death and the eating began. And then during the eating it was reduced to almost pure bliss, with only just a hint of regret. And then, when there was nothing left to eat but feathers, the bliss subsided slowly (as it does), and I was left with nothing but a belly full of bird and shame (so it goes).

Luckily, however, the shame of the killing is always digested quickly (much quicker than the bird itself), and I am eventually left content in a world that is shimmering and lazy. It is, after all, in my blood. I cannot help it. It is in my blood to eat birds; just like it is in my bones to get fat and sleep the day away. I was created for these things and it is not my fault. And so in the end I just enjoy my full belly. I am grateful for what the sky sends down to me to feast upon, and I think that is enough.

z

It is the evening after another day “alone”. Alone in the sense that Greg and Jenny are both still out of town, and I have no other friends except Sunny, who I can’t bear to ask to see me again. I think he loves me, but I don’t want to be needy.

Alone with my thoughts, after having exhausted my capacities to pretend that Instagram and Grindr are even slightly healthy social interaction, the events of the recent heat-wave-weekend come flooding back. I think about how on the first day I had started that story about the cat eating the bird, which seemed to come out of nowhere. I’d had a vague idea of writing a story about cats in the back of my head for a while, but I had been imagining it quite differently; as somewhat magical, perhaps even cutesy. And so this strange story which flowed out of me, almost without thought, puzzled me, and made me a bit uneasy.

I then think about the evening that followed. About how I had been visiting Isaac out of guilt, as he had told me he had a bag (yes a whole bag) of gifts for me. “You don’t feel uncomfortable about me giving you all of these gifts, do you?” he had asked, as if he knew. “My last boyfriend told me that it made him uncomfortable, that he felt like I was expecting things in return. But he was totally making it up in his head. It just brings me such JOY to give gifts to those I cherish. Like you, my sweet, sweet prince Zander.” And then how the night continued with an onslaught of ear whispers and grandma kisses, and then ended on a lawn chair in that pitch-black yard in the boonies.

“Well, I should probably let you get some rest. Tomorrow’s your big day and you must be exhausted!” I had told him. And as I walked him back to the front door by the light on my phone, I gasped when I saw him step on the thing. That thing that was so hard to make out in the dark of night. The pale, oozing, bulging thing, that I somehow recognized instantly.

In that moment my mind had flashed back to sitting in the living room with the front door open, to hearing a round of loud, high-pitched squeaking noises. We had looked at each other when we heard the squeals, and Isaac had begun to chuckle. “There’s Isabellllle! She’s the cat of the house. You might get lucky and catch a glimpse of her at some point. She’s always playing with her toys in the dark of night. crazy cat” I remember wondering exactly what “her toys” had meant.

z

“Well you’ve really done it this time, Johnathon.” The Persian princess from next-door taunted in greeting.

“What are you talking about Penelope?”

“Why, the creature you just ate, of course.”

“What’s wrong with eating a bird? I saw you torture one and drop it on your doorstep just last week.”

“Yes, yes. A robin. This is true. And I’ll tell you I felt bad for days afterwards.”

“We’re cats, Penelope. It’s what we do.”

“Well, yes, of course. Obviously. I got over the guilt. As we do. But you…. You really don’t know what you just did?” I really did not know what I just did. And my face must have showed it. “Wow Johnathon. I mean, I knew tuxedos where daft, but you Montana tuxedos, you’re a whole other breed, aren’t you?”

I hissed.

“Hah. Point proven. Use your words old chap.”

“Just tell me what you’re talking about, you stuck up, nosey, princess bitch! How’s that for using my words!?”

At this she hissed and jumped down from the fence and back into her yard. “You’re a blight on this town and you deserve to die!” She sang as she sauntered to her kitty door. “Which you will soon, tuxedo rat!”

z

After I had said goodnight to Isaac I took out my phone again to light the way to my car. I was now more alert and keeping my eyes peeled for critters. It turned out, however, that I had no need to keep them peeled, for she was sitting there, loafing, waiting patiently for me in the driveway. She was a huge, fluffy, dirty thing, staring at me in the dark. I crouched down and stuck out my hand.

“Hey sweet thing.” I greeted her, instantly realizing the irony. “You must be Isabelle”

She timidly yet assuredly approached my hand. “Purrello.”

I stroked her head and said, using my kitty-talk voice, “Thank you for the gift Isabelle. You ferocious, wild thing you.”

At this she flopped to her side and rolled onto her back. We exchanged another minute or two of friendly rubs, and I went on my way.

z

As soon as I heard her cat door flap shut it dawned on me. Angels!

I had only heard rumors about them in Montana. In my depressed, desolate, sink hole of a hometown, most would just laugh at the rumors of colorful birds that came as messengers, perhaps guardians, to humans and their familiars. But here on the coast things were different, and I hadn’t been here long. I had completely forgotten about the possibility of such things, and my only acquaintance here, Penelope, had failed to mention them before now. But all the same I felt I was a dead cat. Or at least I certainly would be if I didn’t act. And so, for the first time since my owner had me, I squeezed through the hole in the fence and went out into the world on my own. A solution seemed unlikely, but I was curious for answers.

z

The second day of the heat wave came after a sweaty and dreamless night, and I spent most of it naked and dreading what fate had brought me. She had given me a budding relationship with a man who loved to take care of and spoil me, but with whom I was quickly realizing I was not romantically attracted to. What’s more, it was the day of the two-hour, outdoor performance that he had been working on for months. And the cherry on top of it all was that it was quite literally the hottest and most miserable day the Puget Sound had ever seen, especially for those forced to be outside. But Isaac had given me so much, and so I had no choice but to go.

When I got to the park I was relieved. Somehow the forest felt about twenty degrees cooler than the landscape where my downtown apartment sat. It was still hot, but it was manageable. “Yes, the trees gift us in so many ways.” Isaac had said.

Isaac is an interpretive dancer who specializes in a dance form called Butoh, which is sometimes known as “the dance of darkness”. I had never seen Butoh before, besides some pictures and a few short video clips, so I didn’t quite know what to expect, especially with Isaac’s dramatic and eccentric nature. What resulted was basically two hours of nonstop group “dancing” to strained, whale-like noises that were accompanied by a single, scarcely beat drum. The dancers all wore black and white raggedy clothing with white face paint. Some wore dresses, others tight paints. Some were barefoot and some wore flip flops or ballet shoes. But all of them moved like zombies being electrocuted in slow motion.

The performance started with the dancers doing slow motion somersaults around (and on top of) each other in the dirt, before forming a line, slow motion walking into the woods, and then dispersing. I was finding the whole thing frankly hilarious, yet at the same time superbly interesting. I was the first to leave my “seat” in the grass and follow them.

The first dancer I found after this was an older woman, of about fifty or so, on her back in some ferns with her face distorted and her legs kicking in slow motion above her head, her dress laying limp on the forest floor. Her face was the bewildered face of a mime that had just crawled out of her mother’s womb. At one point Isaac began eating his scarf, and another dancer ate some moss. And in one, super-charged moment, a man appeared to be making sweet, slow, Earth-zombie love to a tree. I couldn’t take my eyes away. But my favorite part was when the most aged-looking dancer, who was often acting in a childlike, almost clownlike manner, came up to me with a short, fat, muddy stick, and handed it to me with an innocent smile. This dancer would later end up in the Puget sound chewing on rocks, slowly crying.

And at the end of the spectacle, after the dancers emerged from floating in the Puget sound, and the awkward clapping and the bowing had ceased, this woman slowly walked right up to me, half smiling, soaked and covered in mud, and just staring. I didn’t know what to say and so I squeaked, “Beautiful show. Thank you for that. It was really something else.”

“Well thank you.” she replied sweetly and softly. “Had you seen a Butoh performance before?”

“No, never. I had no idea what to expect”

“I see”. She smiled. “Tell me, what came up for you during the show, on the inside?”

“Oh gosh. So much.” I replied, trying to buy myself time. “Mmmmm, a lot of anguish? And torment? Yeh.. Especially on a day like this and being out in nature and all... It was kind of like you were all tortured little earth gremlins. So interesting.” I think this was the right answer. She giggled softly and smiled.

“Do you still have the stick?”

“Yes of course! I put it in my bag!” I really had put it in my bag.

“Oh good. I could tell you where the one to give it to. You can always just tell.”

And with this I felt something quite large, larger than a bug, hovering by my ear. (I almost swatted at, it but then remembered the youtube video I had just seen of the lady and the red cardinal that landed on her and wouldn’t leave. She had said it was her mother.) The stick lady gasped and the mysterious creature flew to my other ear. And then it was gone. Some of the others were staring at us now.

“Wowww. You really are a magic one.” She delighted.

“What was that?!”

“Why is was a small, yellow bird, with beautiful black stripes! It landed on the left side of your sun hat! And then flew over to the right side of it!”

With this I instantly I remembered the cats and the birds and mice, and how Sunny had just gifted me the sunhat earlier that day. And a bit confused, excited, and afraid of what it meant, I wrapped up the pleasantries and went on my way.

z

I had no idea what I was searching for as I wandered the streets, but I had to do something. From the stories I had heard, I didn’t really have a chance at living much longer. All animals that eat angels are said to be dead within days. But staying at home and slowly dying seemed much too fatalist for me, not to mention cruel to my human companion. He was a good kid, and didn’t deserve my careless death.

And so I had been carefully wandering the streets for many hours, and had found no one that would talk to me. I was looking for help, and it was as if all of the cats, raccoons, possums, and the like, could sense what was rotting inside of me. Small animals, especially cats, tend to keep to themselves when not on the prowl for food, but this was different. Each animal of similar size to myself would hear me calling to them, give me a look of disgust, and trot away. I felt more alone than I ever had, even more so than when I lived on the streets as a kitten. Finally, however, sometime past midnight, after about twelve hours of wandering, I ran into a small, white, fluffy mongrel that would begin the real journey.

When I’d first heard the dog tongue calling out to me I had ran, as any cat naturally would. However I soon realized that he wasn’t cursing at me at all (like is to be expected), and that he in fact sounded friendly, perhaps even concerned.

Now, my Caninese isn’t perfect, but my years on the street in Montana had taught me a lot, and one of the things I had picked up was a proficient understanding of the strange, though rather simple, canine language. “Friend! Friend! Friend! Friend!” is what I eventually realized he had been hollering at me, and so hesitantly, with not much to lose, I stopped running.

In mere moments the beast was upon me, sniffing and licking and nudging at every crevice of my arched, trembling body. And then at last the creature stopped, gave me a good stare, sat down in front of me, and said something of this nature:

“True. True. True! Cat good boy. Dog knows. Also cat lost! Dog Harley. Cat!?”

“Cat Johnny. Cat good. Cat lost.” I replied. Harley gave me a slow, understanding nod. “Cat eat angel. Cat know not. Cat scared.” Another slow nod. “Dog know. Dog feel. Dog sad.” And with this the most insane thing happened. This creature, this DOG began licking my FACE. This was, as you may guess, the first time I had experienced such a thing. And after the initial, expected reaction (pure terror), I began feeling something I hadn’t experienced since I was a baby.

I felt complete, udder, perfect, unadulterated, love.

z

I drove home in the oven of the world feeling exhausted, entertained, and intrigued. I had never seen anything like this performance, and was quite sure I never would. It really was simultaneously the funniest and most interesting thing I had ever seen. And so I was going home to cool off, decompress, and process the evening.

Isaac had invited me to the after party, and I had told him that I was going to go home and rest and shower a bit, and then see how I was feeling. In reality, however, I had almost no desire or plans to go. “I don’t know how you guys keep going!” I had said. And I had meant it, they had been practicing for six hours in the one-hundred-plus-degree weather that day and the previous day. How could they have energy to party and sing karaoke still?!

When I got home I took a long, cold shower, and then ate a late dinner of watermelon and toast with peanut butter (this was all I could bring myself to cook and eat on this strange, sweltering day). Afterwards I called Greg and he came across the hall to see me.

“That was the craziest, funniest thing I have ever seen. You have to see the pictures and videos I took.”

“Okayyyy?” He replied with less enthusiasm than I had hoped for.

“Ok here we go, this is a good one.” I said as I pulled up one of the more comical videos. In the video I panned from right to left on the forest trail, showing the performers in their various areas, in their own little worlds. The video ended on the woman on her back in the ferns, and a hysterical, knee slapping laugh exploded from me. Greg wasn’t amused.

“You’re rude.”

“Oh come on… Really? You can’t tell me this isn’t pretty ridiculous and funny.”

“I dunno. They’re just doing their thing, right? That’s what Butoh’s about, isn’t it?” Greg is pretty much the nicest, most socially correct person you will ever meet. He also knew Isaac before I did, and was familiar with him as “The Butoh Guy” at school, and so he knew much more about it than I did. Yet I still didn’t think the humor could be denied. So I played him another video, with the same respective reactions from us both.

“I mean, its like the most ridiculous Portlandia sketch! You can’t deny it!”

“I guess… kind of… You’re still rude.”

“Really?! Don’t take everything so seriously! It’s okay to laugh at things sometimes Greg!”

“Well you wouldn’t like it if people were laughing at your art, would you?”

Fuck. He had me there. “Yeh, that’s true… But I also wouldn’t do anything like that… Unless it was meant to be funny. Do you think it was meant to be funny?”

“I highly doubt that.” Greg replied. And with that I let it go and changed the subject.

z

And so it was that Harley won me over, and I agreed to follow him to the house where he lived. It was one of the bigger, older houses in the neighborhood, and I could tell from the backyard scattered with junk and toys that this dog belonged to a family with numerous children. And amongst the rubble was a plastic pale used for building sandcastles, and in it was some foul-smelling, greenish water collected from the previous week’s rains.

“Cat drink this?” I protested.

“Dog drink. Dog good. Dog fetch food. Stay.” He replied before racing off towards the doggie door.

I was delirious from thirst, and so I drank up what I could stomach from the pale and waited for Harley to return. He was gone for what must have been thirty minutes, and I had started to get uneasy in these strangers’ backyard and had almost bolted. But just as I was about to take off, Harley darted out of the doggie door towards me. When he reached me he dropped four bits of slobbery dog kibble from his mouth.

“Cat eat this?” I moaned once again.

“Dog eat? Dog good!” He insisted. And so, as I was also starving, I nibbled at the sour, dog flavored morsels until there was nothing but a few crumbs left on the concrete sidewalk.

“Cat thank dog. Cat good. But cat die still. When, cat know not. But cat die.”

And with this Harley let out a whimper and cocked his head to the side as he stared at me. And I finally knew the meaning of puppy dog eyes. “Oh! Stay!” He replied at last before once again darting towards the house, leaving me alone amongst the backyard rubble.

He had been away for about ten minutes when I decided to lay down in the grass under the back porch. The sun was going down and I was spent from my day of wandering. In no time at all I was fast asleep.

z

Greg had, bless his heart, succeeded in making me feel bad about the mocking of the show, and so, after he had left for his own apartment around ten o’clock, I began doing some research on Butoh. I learned that Butoh had grown out of the bombing and devastation of WWII Japan as a way for some of its people to embody their pain, therefore bringing it to the surface in order for it to be released. I also learned of its defiance against containment and societal pressures to appear beautiful, polished, and composed. I learned how Butoh was striving to bring the pain and darkness that was festering in the depths of the collective unconscious and causing immense suffering, both for humankind and the Earth, into our awareness so that it may be acknowledged and transmuted. And I learned that I was a bit of an insensitive asshole.

Perhaps I should actually go to this party and see what these people are all about, I thought to myself. After all, I try to pride myself on being openminded and curious, so I figured I was dropping the ball a bit on this one. However I wasn’t completely convinced. And I realized that after all of my researching it was now almost midnight, and that these overworked, overcooked souls were probably starting to burn out even more. I tried calling and texting Isaac with no answer. I wasn’t sure if it was due to the party ending, or the fact that it was being held slightly out of town and perhaps there was bad reception.

And so I did what I do when I’m in a conflicting situation. I grabbed the ornately ornamented wooden brick I have stowed away on my bookshelf, pried it’s tightly shut compartment open, and took out my tarot deck. The Tarot of the White Cats is the name of the deck, and though it might sound kitschy, I assure you it is quite a beautiful deck. All of the images closely resemble the original Rider-Waite deck, but the artwork is more lush, more detailed, and with cats in that medieval clothing instead of humans.

Because I was in a hurry, I decided to only draw two cards; one for my fate if I went, and one for my fate if I stayed home. I began to loosely shuffle the deck, and as soon as I started, exactly two cards fell from it and onto bed. I placed them in front of me side by side. I decided the first card would be the “if I hermited” card. I flipped it over to reveal the sun card, which is usually a good sign, but this time it was upside down. This signified being out of touch with one’s inner child and true nature. And then I flipped over the “if I go” card, and saw I had been delt the ace of wands: the card which shows a hand emerging from a cloud, perhaps from the heavens, holding a “wand” that very much resembles a stick from the earth - leaves still sprouting from its humble, yet potently magic body.

z

The feeling of whiskers on whiskers, along with a wet nose in my eye, woke me up slowly. I groggily opened my eyes a saw a huge, fat, white cat loafing in the grass, staring at me, just inches away from my face. Usually this would startle me and cause an instant ‘swat, jump, hiss’ reaction, but my body was feeling simultaneously drained and heavy as a bag of cement. I also instantly noticed the full moon, and a sky filled with stars, shining just behind the mystery cat’s head. And they were radiating, slightly pulsing, in a way I had never seen before. The cat spoke.

“Don’t be afraid friend. I’m Ernie. I’m Harley’s friend, his brother in this house. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. The daughter of the house keeps me shut away with her all evening. I could feel something was different tonight, but I didn’t know of you until just minutes ago. I hope I’m not too late.”

Too late? What did he mean? Oh yes… death. I thought for a moment and replied, “It sure feels as if you are.” The world now felt like it was subtly heating up from the inside out.

“Yes. I won’t lie. I can feel your energy, and it doesn’t feel good. But I think there is still hope.”

“Have you ever known someone who ate an angel, Ernie?” I wasn’t convinced.

“I have not.”

“Then how would you know if there is hope?”

“There is always hope if you want there to be hope. That is the nature of hope.”

I was somehow managing to get a bit annoyed now, despite my deathly state. “And what good does hoping do? I wonder if I had hoped to be born on the street? Or to be born with a respiratory defect?” I suddenly realized I was wheezing slightly. “Or to end up accidentally eating an angel? I don’t know if I buy that hope does anything, Earnie. If an angel was sent to my yard, and this angel, which is supposed to be wise and powerful and good, couldn’t even stop me from devouring them, from damning the lives of myself and my companion, what do you think hope will do? For all I know, both angels and hope are evil things. Wolves in sheep’s clothing.” I could feel the emotion in me starting to bubble up into my throat, making me even more winded as I spoke. “Despite all of my efforts to be a good cat, to give the humans all of my love, the angels have fated me many curses in my life. And now they have disguised themselves and tricked me into death… I used to believe in such things as hope and the goodness of angels,” tears were clouding my eyes now, and snot was running from my nostrils, “but forgive me if I cannot stand to lie to myself any longer, friend. I am coming to terms with the fact that I am going into death alone. And at least I will be able to say I died with some honor, no longer a fool.”

By the end of my speech I was out completely out of breath and tears streaked my face. The world felt sweltering and buzzing, like the inside of microwave oven. I was laying on my side with my arms stretched out and my chin on the ground. I’m sure I was a pathetic site, and Earnie seemed to be staring at me with pity. His eyes were round and glistening.

“Oh my friend, don’t waste your energy with such thoughts and condemnation. I can feel you are a good cat, and if you do die, you don’t deserve to die that way.” With this, the big round bear got to his feet, walked around me, and slowly laid down behind me. He then shifted so that his belly was up against my back with one arm draped across my shoulder. I believe the humans call this ‘spooning’. “Now just relax, and try to feel protected. I am here with you, no matter what happens. I hope that will give you just a little hope, at least.”

And then he began to purr. A big, rolling, ocean seashore kind of purr. I had somehow, in my pain, forgotten about purring. It vibrated and calmed my whole being from the inside out, and soon I felt the faintest of purrs also coming from deep inside of me, joining in the song. And though I was still heavy, wheezing, and burning up in pain, my mind started to go blank, and no sadness or fear remained. In the arms of this stranger I felt, for the second time in one day, complete love and also peace. I basked in it as I watched the stars and moon shining and vibrating along with us. But it didn’t last for long. My eyes soon became heavier and heavier. And I slowly slipped away.

z

At midnight I texted Isaac, “Hey! Sorry it took me so long to pull it together. I finally got my night owl energy surge and I think I’m gonna head down now! Is the party still goin or is everyone checking out? Are people tired from the heatwave and the rehearsals?” But I didn’t wait for a reply. The tarot had told me that a playful adventure awaited me, so I walked the two blocks to my car, got in, rolled down the windows, and let the refreshing, cool, nighttime breeze waft over me as I drove across town.

I was about halfway there when I received his text, “Hey night owl. Party is starting to wind down. But people are still here!” Uh-oh. Being the stranger at a dying party is usually not the most fun or comfortable situation. I briefly thought about turning around, but I trusted the guidance of the tarot, so I kept on. The area that my phone guided me too ended up being slightly out of town, on roads that were paved, but with no streetlights or sidewalks. Only trees, bushes, and ferns were visible from the road.

When I reached my destination I could see nothing but a line of cars parked on the left side of the road. I slowly rolled by, eyes and ears searching for life, but could only see the dark forest and a dirt covered path leading from the road. I pulled over and dialed Isaac and it rang until I got the voicemail, so I decided to cruise around these backroads until he called me back. After about ten minutes I had circled back to the party address, and was parked in line with the other cars. I began to write out a message to Isaac, asking him how to get to this mystery party from the road, when I received a text from him. “The exhaustion has finally kicked in and it has hit me like a ton of bricks. I’m saying my goodbyes now. Thanks again for coming to the performance today.”

I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed in the man who had been showering me in gifts and kind words. Why didn’t he call me back? I had driven all the way out here for nothing? And then I became a bit disappointed in the tarot, which I usually had so much faith in, which had promised me magic and adventure for my inner child. Well, perhaps I was just meant to go on a drive. It’s beautiful and peaceful and refreshing out here, after all, especially after the hellishly hot day! I thought to myself. And so I started up my car again and began to cruise around the backroads, keeping my eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, as I was hoping to help manifest the tarot’s promise.

I drove straight on cooper point road and soon was much farther than I had ever been on it. I realized I had never been to this “cooper point”, and didn’t even know if it existed. Soon I passed a large country club, which was for some reason quite disturbing in the pitch-black night created by the large trees that abounded in the area. I felt out of place, and like somebody might stop my car at any minute for daring to creep around in the dark in the domain of the rich and powerful. Once I passed the country club I didn’t dare to go much further and so I turned around, quickly sped past the forbidden zone one more time, and turned down a strange road about a quarter mile past its end. I had a feeling it would take me back into town, and so I quickly plugged in my address into my dying phones navigation app. I saw that it indeed would take me home IF I took the correct turns.

The road was, again, pitch black and mostly forest, with the occasional dark home close enough to the road to see. It was intensely quiet and still (as someone had recently stolen the stereo from my car) and I was forced to drive very slowly due to the winding, meandering nature of the road. Once again fear crept in. I was all alone on a strange road in the middle of the night, windows down in the eighty-degree weather (lemon car = no AC), and driving quite slow.. slow enough for a beast or troubled soul to jump into my car and end me! I was aware it was a ridiculous fear, but that didn’t help me much, especially when I saw that my phone was at one percent.

I quickly opened up the turn-by-turn instructions and tried to memorize them. There were about six turns left until I would be on a familiar road. I had gone through them only twice when my phone shut off. Great, not only am I not sure how to get back, but if something does happen to me out here, I’ll have no way to call for help!

And so I crept along through the forested road. I remembered the first three turns for sure. Left on Wallace, Right on Elm, Left on Peach. But the last three were fuzzy, and I relied on a combination of memory fuzz and fear induced intuition, which in the end served me well, as I was spit out on the hill in the northwest corner of town. My initial reaction to this was gratitude, which then quickly turned to disappointment for the state of my journey. Was the tarot actually wrong? Had I always been making up its validity? Or did it just flat out lie to me?

But just then, almost as if on cue, I saw it. The moon. The full moon. The full moon just barely risen above the horizon. And it was huge. The huge, close, full moon was glowing with an orangeness that I had never seen. It was more orange than you would likely believe. The huge, close, full, orange moon, was surrounded by an even larger, more unbelievable, magenta-ass aura, which radiated three times the length of the moon in all directions.

And so I was relieved and ecstatic, and my hunt for a good place to sit and watch the moon began. I knew that it had to be on a hill somewhere without obstructions. In the first place I checked, the steep hill overlooking the bridge to downtown, there was a large building downtown right in the way, plus there seemed to be nowhere reasonable to hang out.

I drove around for about ten more minutes and thought to myself, Why aren’t there more parks in the world? You’d think people would want a park on a hill to see the views? Why aren’t such things a priority in our hum-drum society?

And, of course, that’s when I saw it. This tiny little park (if you could call it that) between the two roundabouts on the hill. It perfectly sat overlooking the Puget Sound and downtown. It was something that I had seen out of the corner of my eye probably a thousand times, but had never really seen. Before this moment, in my mind, it had been characterized as “trees, bushes, boring sculpture?” But I had also somehow never even really seen this sculpture before. I had never really seen this row of seven oars, extending upwards into the night, pointing to the sky. I had never really seen this piece of art which seemed to perfectly connect the sound, the earth, and the moon. I had never really seen this “boring sculpture”.

And so I quickly parked my car in a nearby bus lane and walked to the gift. And when I arrived I was filled with even more delight. This place to be, though technically small in size, was designed in such a way that its layers carved into the small hill, its meandering paths through archways and bushes, its sweeping view of the Puget Sound, all felt monumental and wonderous - and I felt like Alice, beholding a hidden kingdom in a tiny corner of the world.

I walked down the pathway that wound to the left and then to the right, under an archway and through a tiny tunnel made of hedges and trees, only to be spat out roughly fifteen feet below from where I started. But it was also there that I discovered the perfect place to view this miracle: on the bench connected to the oars. From there there was a perfect opening in the trees where the moon rested in the middle. And below the moon stood a flickering lamppost (almost the same color as that of the moon) and I felt as if I were Lucy, and I had just stepped into Narnia.

Sitting on the bench, in the glow of it all, I took out the boozy seltzer and menthol cigarettes that I had hoped to consume with those strangers. I cracked open the seltzer, lit up a cigarette, and looked over my right shoulder. One final surprise.

In the distance, at the end of the winding pathway, stood a little shadowy cat, frozen in mid-prance, just watching me.

“Hello friend.” I called in half whisper, half shout. “Come watch the moon with me! Tsk tsk tsk tsk!”

But the cat continued his trot and disappeared behind some bushes, and I went back to my cigarette and moon gazing with a smile. Half a cigarette later the cat appeared on the path on the other side of the bushes. Slowly she sauntered towards me, and when she got close I reached one hand down, careful to hold my cigarette up with the other. She stopped briefly, stared at me with her huge, nighttime cat eyes, and then rubbed herself against my hand. I could feel that her fur was full of dirt.

She then stopped again, sat down, stared at me for a few moments, and then spoke. I swear to god she did. I am the writer of this story and I promise this is true. I heard her voice, though her mouth did not move. She said, “Are you bird, or are you cat?”

I was, of course, astonished to hear this voice that seemed to come from this cat. The words I had heard felt a bit like my own thoughts, a bit like a dream, and I wondered if I had imagined them. And so I replied, out loud, “Did you just say something kitty?”

The cat then jumped up onto the bench and sat down beside me. “I said, are you bird, or are you cat?”

I hadn’t imagined it. Or I had, and I was now a crazy person. Either way this was now my reality. So I took a deep breath, as if to say, ok talking cat, I accept you, and then replied, “I’m neither. I’m a human.”

“Hmmmmm.” She replied. “It really is quite a strange night.” She lied down, her head resting against my leg. “See that moon? Its so warm tonight, like the sun, yet somehow less bright, colder than it usually is. And this aura around it is also warm and cold. I just don’t know how to feel. I didn’t know how to feel about you, either, but somehow you comforted me when I saw you. And I still don’t know what to feel about you… but for some reason I’m drawn to you, and I accept your peculiar energy.” She stopped and cleaned her face a bit. I had no idea what to say. “I don’t think you’re exactly correct about being human,” she continued, “but I think you’re mostly right about not being a cat and not being a bird. And I think I’m happy that you aren’t.”

“And what are you?” I asked without a thought.

She giggled. “I’m not so sure myself anymore.” She replied. “Well anyways, thank you for coming Zander. There’s something calling to me in the bushes over there now, though, so I’ll be off. Was so lovely to meet you.” And in an instant she was up and trotting back the same way she had come.

I sat there stunned for a moment or two, and then realized I couldn’t just let this talking cat run out of my life. No, not so soon at least. And so I got up and followed her on the path around the bushes. I walked slowly as to not spook her, she was still a cat, after all.

When I came around the bushes that had been blocking my site of the path, I found her crouched in front of a dense thicket at the edge of the park. She appeared to be stalking something. I didn’t want to ruin her pursuit, so I gently crouched down about five feet away from her. Yet even though I did this carefully and slowly, she started chirping. The kind of chirping you might hear a housecat do as they watch a squirrel from the living room window. “Whatcha got there friend?” I whispered quietly. Just a quick glance at me, and more chirping. I stood up and didn’t move for a minute or two. Still she said nothing. Had I imagined it all?

I went and sat down on the bench with the oars again, where I lit up another cigarette and opened another seltzer. I finished both as I watched the moon, trying to enjoy its beauty. I wanted this rare moment to not be tainted by thinking about the crazy thing that had just happened, but my efforts were not very successful. When I was done with my cigarette I stood up and walked back over to the thicket where the cat remained, still crouched, and intently staring into the thicket.

“I know you’ve found something that’s very enticing for you, but I’d love to chat some more. I’ve never been able to chat with a cat before.” Nothing. Not even a chirp. And so I turned around, went to my car, drove home, and went to bed.

x

I was walking through the woods. I had never been there before and I was with someone. I knew the someone was walking beside me, though I couldn’t quite see them. We were meandering through a beautiful, lush, late spring forest, and the sun beamed through the branches of the trees. I had no idea how I had gotten there or where I was going. But I was enjoying the journey nonetheless.

We came to a grove of trees where the sun seemed to shine down through the branches even more. I was feeling like I had never been in such a beautiful place, yet I had been there a hundred times before. I saw the light reflect off of something in the bushes and so I went over to it. When I parted the thicket I saw a sky blue plastic hand mirror laying in its branches. I saw myself in the mirror, and I saw that I was beautiful. And then I saw everything else in the mirror, and I saw that everything else was also beautiful. And I woke up smiling, knowing what I was, and knowing what I was meant to do.