Cleaving to Another

Inside were six

boxer puppies—two males,

four females,

and we held the

prettiest female first.

She has a white streak

that curves from her nose

to her back like the road

up the mountain.

The breeder said, “That’s Awesome Blossom.”

He was kind of corny like that.

Then we held a male that

the breeder had short-named

“Dozer,” because he puts his head

down when he approaches you,

like he’s cowering.

“He’s the shy one,” the breeder said.

This is when Jill said,

“I can’t decide. I wish we

could get two.”

The breeder jumped in real quick.

“I’ll give you a deal for two.”

So he gave us one. Two for

the price of one, plus a dollar.

And we headed home

with the two of them

in Jill’s lap. She cuddled them.

We turned the cab light on

after we were a few miles

away from the cabin.

We wanted to get a better look at our

purchase and twelve-year commitment.

We threw out names

on the ride home--

Faulkner, Abbie,

Bonnie and Clyde (that was Jill’s).

We finally decided on naming the girl Izzy,

the boy Kerouac.

 

They slept in the bed with us that night.

(Yes, I know.)

And at one point,

in her dreams, Izzy was

sucking her mother’s teat.

It was so sad.

It made me feel guilty for

separating them from their family.

But no one gets to roost

at home for their entire life.

This world is based upon

the simple principle of separation.

We separate at birth

from the womb.

We leave father and mother.

We cleave to another.

The dissertation of life

is that we fracture

on a daily basis.

We break, we lose

parts of ourselves

along the way.

And we spend the rest of our lives

trying to get back to

the teats of our mother—

that place where safety

felt like paradise.

We are Adam and Eve

banging on the door

of Paradise, wanting

back what we once had,

but it’s not there anymore,

not in the way we once

knew it. So we continue

to break apart, to get further and further

away from Paradise.

Sure, we try to recreate it here,

but this place is only the shadow

of perfection. It can’t be obtained,

no matter how hard we try.

So we dream.

We dream of rivers,

deep, dark, muddy rivers.

Our dreams become raisins

in the sun, dried up and unrealized.

But every dream must

pass through the night

before it reaches paradise.

Christ told the thief, “Today,

you will be with me in Paradise.”

And so he was, but not until

death, and death is the

enemy of this place.

So we will die, but until then

we are all stranded

in skin and bones.

There is no way

out of this body.

No holes of escape.

No lagoons of nirvana.

No route for the blood

but round and round.

Sure, we can bleed.

We can bleed until death.

Then the soul will go

somewhere. But who wants to bleed?

Who knows where the soul really goes?

I'm a seeker of grace,

knowing grace will rescue me

from this bag of skin and bones.

If I fall, if I break apart

the everlasting arms

are beneath me.

Deuteronomy 33

²⁷ The eternal God is your refuge,
       and underneath are the everlasting arms.