Ten days with no cuddling is too much for Leonard. In that sense, it is a good thing I couldn’t stay on another week in Bangalore. He’s pouting so that I begin to wonder if he’s lost his hearing in this time. He’s ripped down the blinds in the kitchen (again), chewed the frame of the window frame in living room door, and eaten part of an instruction manual for the feet-up yoga chair. I don’t even know where he found that. When I leave for work later I will need to puppy-proof the house for the almost-seven-year-old.
He’s pouting on the couch now instead of lying in here with me.
I reread the last post from 2022 and am a bit of ashamed of the self-pity. I think I like to think of my “self” as having a center that I occasionally step away from – this resulting in bouts of narcissism, or what I would like think of as regression. But I don’t that that is a true model.
The self is sprawling, with distant and tight perspectives. There is no core of the self, no metaphysical centrum from which we grow in various directions. I think our spiritual and emotional growth has more in common with the growth of bacteria than the kinds of growth we observe in trees.
There is no true and steady center.
Maybe this is the beginning of letting go of the ego?