Mack Zen Garden

I had a Zen garden once, until the kitties dug in the sand. That was the end of that!

Lately, Mack has been my kittyZen garden. His fur sometimes substitutes for sand, and my fingers are the rake. Luckily, petting Mack is now part of my daily duties -- I must pet him so he's calm when I administer his feedings. He almost never objects to anything when he's purring.

After over 10 years, it had been easy to take for granted the soothing, mindless activity of petting my cats ... until recent weeks. The good news is that petting Mack is a different experience now, compared to even a week ago, when I could feel every bone so sharply beneath his skin, I thought I might cut myself. Running my hands along his back brought to mind a stegosaurus. From the bones at the back of his head to his shoulder blades and ribs, the edges were so sharp -- and he seemed so brittle and stiff -- I was afraid I'd break him if I wasn't careful.

This morning, when I picked him off the floor next to the heat register, he dripped from my hands like warm taffy. I wondered if he was made of plastic -- so pliable and limp when warm, yet so stiff and brittle when he was cold and sick.

Now, there is some viscosity, a cushion, and his skin moves smoothly over his bones without threatening to poke through. My mind can wander, through the garden of my gratitude for Mack's continuously improving health, his presence -- and that of his brothers -- in my life ... and on to a wilderness of thoughts and feelings ranging from appreciation for a peaceful, sunny, quiet afternoon at home, to whether my life has made any significant difference in the world, and whether I am content to simply do small things to the best of my ability.

I have spent years wondering, working to discern my true purpose in this world, in order to live mindfully, on purpose, and make whatever difference here that only I am able to make.

I'm almost resigned to the idea that this is it: doing what I can, where I can, as well as I am able ... with enormous gratitude for all the abundance of blessings in my life.

I thought there might be more.

"I had done all She had given me to do," says Morgaine near the end of her life, in The Mists of Avalon. "It was I, in my pride, who thought it should have been more."

Perhaps, this is enough.