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One of the neibhors' cats

The wise cats

I sat in my arm­chair, opened In Love with the World – A Monk’s Jour­ney Through the Bar­dos of Liv­ing and Death. Yongey Mingyur Ripoche, a Bud­dhist monk, recounts his adven­ture in the real world.

I only read about ten pages. This morn­ing, the sky is grey, autumn is com­ing, cold is blow­ing. I hear many sirens. There’s a tragedy some­where. My neigh­bors went on a cruise on the St. Lawrence Riv­er. I take care of their cats. The elec­tric­i­ty in the house is flick­er­ing. An elec­tri­cian will come on Tues­day morning.

As I read, I see my hands on the book. The floury light of the morn­ing envelops my myopia. I don’t real­ly need my glass­es to read near. I feel good in this way, in silence, sur­round­ed by life, ques­tion­ing my sens­es as the monk Ripoche seems to do. It is said of enlight­en­ment, of wis­dom, that it is only the omnipresent expres­sion of ordi­nary life. I have a good feel­ing about it. It is also said that the wise rein­car­nate as cats. No mat­ter what the folk­lore, our life is a jour­ney into a pre­dictable win­ter. I’ve already dreamt about this sto­ry. I may be design­ing the syn­op­sis right now.

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