I have Sunday rituals.

Let Livvy out, make tea with home-made cashew milk, feed Livvy, snuggle back into bed, watch SUNDAY MORNING, feel fine about most everything.

Yesterday, there I was propped up with my mountain of pillows

All placed just so..

I let myself settle in and my arm naturally fell just to the side of Livvy who was leaning the length of her body against me at my hip.

I saw the curve of my wrist meet where her neck gets thinner.

My forearm resting softly against her lithe back;

No space between us.

I turned off the TV and watched what was unfolding

But an innocent bystander (of which there are few in my bedroom) would likely have seen nothing.

But I did:

Stress-free breathing emanating from Trust. Mine slowing to meet hers.

Her continual hyper-awareness of my location and wellbeing put on pause for a few moments.

Fur- fawn-colored and healthy looking.

I thought about my own fur.. I have so little and shave it off so not to appear wild.

We don’t need ours so much anymore and want it GONE. NOW.

Once, I let my underarm hair grow all the way out as an experiment. I DID feel wild! And something in me liked it.
I could smell myself and it was rather sweet.

I quickly shaved it clean after the experiment to avoid being embarrassed should I have to go to the hospital (pathetic in-grained fear from childhood warnings but these days a niggling thought).

I miss my wildness. I feel privileged to live with Livvy as she reminds me of my best self. Over and over she reminds me of my innocent heart.

With fur.

That was my church yesterday.


5 Responses to “Church”

  1. Barbara McDaniel on June 23rd, 2014

    I love you sweet one
    Soft brave wild and informed
    You have a beautiful voice ????

  2. Barbara McDaniel on June 23rd, 2014

    How did those get there

  3. Jane on June 23rd, 2014

    Animal church – I so relate to that.

  4. Rita Kindl Myers on June 23rd, 2014

    To honor the wild and our natural instincts, check out the music of tanya tagak:

  5. nancy ungar on June 23rd, 2014

    In Europe, women don’t shave their underarms. When one of my art students came into class with hair freshly dyed a vivid blue, I complimented her on it. With a big grin, she then lifted her bare arms and turned to the class to display two very fulsome blue bushes. I thought to myself, “Ah, we’re finally catching up to Europe!” Sometimes I miss teaching.

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