My familiars — cat, fox, owl — sat around a dining room table, drinking whiskey and lamenting my waywardness. The cat especially was a sloppy drinker, while the owl imbibed judiciously. I regret having introduced them to one another. It was easier when I talked with them one-on-one. Now they gang up on me, staging interventions while they drink.
Today they gathered to express their concerns about my disregard toward signs and messages, about not making a conscious effort to bring my dream life into the waking hours. It’s true. I forget my dreams as soon as I turn off the alarm clock. I hardly ever look around myself for signs, directions, helpful hints. Apparently, I missed the digital sign outside a church the other day, which flashed, “Love is everything.”
The fox said that he dug a hole in the backyard, symbolizing the need to dig up the past and deal with buried pain. “That’s too subtle,” I complained. “A mole could have dug that hole.”
We joined hands and paws together at the table. I asked what I should do. The owl said that I should look up to the sky more often, that he is there and he will lift a wing to point me in the right direction. The cat said I would find her sitting atop books, urged that I read the titles and pick the one that most intrigues me. The fox recommended that I walk in the woods and listen for his swishy tail, and then follow down the path.
* * *
Morning light winks on the empty whiskey bottle and a mourning dove coos outside the window. The cat at my head purrs, stretches her back paws, yawns and goes back to sleep. I rescue myself from grief, pushing the covers back, sitting up, standing. Love is everything, I think.