It’s been three months since my last post, and much has transpired in that time. From coming to terms with my unproductive routine and burdened self-image to becoming a first-time pet mom. It was a very reluctant acquiescence after two years of convincing that I agreed to get a pup home. When he jumped out of the basket into my kids’ arms for the first time, I practically ran out of the room. And now he is a 24/7 part of my life. It’s been quite a marathon of poops, pees, and exhaustion, but a totally worthy one because my pup has taught me things I might have never learned otherwise.
After my previous post in which I acknowledged my anxious state of mind and tried to resolve it, I did feel a difference. And as if by the laws of the universe or by serendipity, I came across the same message from several learned and wiser sources, whether it was reading Neale Donald Walsch, watching Arundhati Roy or Peepal Baba, or hearing an ordinary seeker sharing his life story. Each one reiterated a common thought that a state of love and joy is enough in life irrespective of its genesis. There is nothing else to achieve or need to.
But reading or hearing wisdom doesn’t help the same way as realizing it through your own experience. And so, it seems my furry ball Biscoff made his way into my life for this very reason. Ever since he’s come home, I have done little except run behind him from 6 a.m. until his bedtime. In the pockets of his naps, I attempt to fit in every necessary chore, work, or assignment. By the end of the day, I am drained trying to keep pace with schedules, routines, food, exams, housework, and more. However, I have had no semblance of my own routine. I am also aware that nothing about what I did or have to do is uncommon or extraordinary. Most parents and pet parents juggle the same way or in more demanding ways.
However, what is extraordinary is what Biscoff has done to me and for me in a short span of time. Before him, I remember getting grouchy in the mornings when I had to skip my yoga, meditation, or gardening routine. But these days, I seldom do any of those because Biscoff finds my lap to snuggle in with his chew stick. With his paws on my feet and my fingers petting him, he dozes off, and the world seems sufficient. He reminds me each day that nothing works better for your body and mind than a moment of shared love.
There have been days when I have given up reading, writing, and cooking entirely because he wants me to sit beside him. We’ve all given up a lot of things, several times because circumstances demanded it. But for me, the difference is that now I am able to do it without fretting. I am untroubled with spending that hour with him instead of being able to work on my book. I am comfortable being ‘unproductive’ and accomplishing nothing in my day if it means that. But then I ask myself, Is there anything more creative and fruitful than the exchange of love and kindness?
In the scattered restive moments of the day, I have often wondered why we, as a society, are so consumed with being productive and effective. And why have we so blatantly distorted its definition and concept? We have snuffed out our own lives while chasing that skewed definition.
However, sitting by his side doesn’t imply that I am slouching on a couch of complacency, revelling in a directionless life. I really want to write my book; I want to meditate every day and brainstorm the best ideas for my literary club. I want to do everything I love and need to do. But he’s forced me to practice accepting the flow of things instead of resisting it all the time. Because in that flow there is an unobstructed rhythm of life, an unhindered joy, and a freedom from attachment to ideas and habits.
The effervescence of our benign bond whispers that there is a season for everything, and perhaps this is my moment to look after him and binge on his affection while he smothers me. Maybe it is your time to take care of your ailing family member, maybe it is time to let yourself heal, maybe it is time to raise your child, maybe it is time to work on your dream, or maybe it is time to just sit and hear the rustling leaves.
With Biscoff by my heel, I now understand Khalil Gibran’s Nirvana,
“Yes, there is a nirvana.
It is in leading your sheep to a green pasture,
And in putting your child to sleep,
And in writing the last line of your poem.”
