Sunday, April 19, 2015

The Original Sacred Text and the Language It's Written In


THE ORIGINAL SACRED TEXT:  The Language “God” Really Talks
Rev. Kit Ketcham, April 19, 2015

            Over the past months, we’ve talked about the several sources of  Unitarian Universalism, which make our faith different from most other religious traditions.  Most of our wisdom sources are in writing or in stories of lives well lived.  But let’s talk a bit now about sources of wisdom as a genre and what makes a source “sacred”.
            Do you find wisdom in the Bible or other traditional sacred texts?  If not there, where do you find your wisdom?  What sources do you use?  Things your Dad or Mom used to say?  A favorite teacher or coach or other wise person?  Do you have favorite sayings that contain wisdom?  How about throwing some of those sayings out there, something that encapsulates some of your acquired wisdom?  (cong. Resp)
            We find wisdom in a lot of places.  Some of it comes out of our experiences; sometimes it is visible on bumper stickers or t-shirts.  We find it in novels, in non-fiction, in textbooks and memoirs, in a lot of different kinds of writings:  poetry, children’s books, comics.  We find it in art works, theater productions, songs and symphonies.  We find it in the Bible, the Bhagavad Gita, the Tanakh, the Koran.
            Some of these sources of wisdom are said to be divinely inspired, right out of the heart of God and written down by human beings.  Most of them are human creations; it’s a little hard to say for sure about the ones attributed to God, since scholars have realized that ancient and modern editors over the ages have altered texts here and there, either to reflect their own views or by copying a mistake made by an earlier copier.  And we’re not talking Xerox here.
            Awhile back, I came across a book entitled “The Language God Talks”, a memoir by the author Herman Wouk, a treatise on his efforts to link science and religion.  I bought it and settled in to enlighten myself.  I was especially interested in learning about the language God talks.
            One traditional take on the language God talks has been either the ancient languages of the Hebrew Scriptures or the King James Version of the Christian Bible.  Other religions see it differently:  the Koran was the voice of Allah spoken through the mouth of Mohammed; the Bhagavad Gita is the dialogue between Krishna the god and Arjuna the human on the eve of a climactic battle, laying down Hindu theology in this context.  Confucianism relies on the writings and teachings of Confucius, who set forth a nontheistic moral and philosophical code for his followers.
            But what makes a text—or any object or teaching—sacred?  Since our rational minds can’t know for sure whether God actually spoke to Moses, David, Jesu, Mohammed, and others, we have to make some assumptions about texts and other items said to be sacred.
            Somebody clearly thought that the voice in his or head was divine.  The voice offered wisdom, guidance, prophesy, or warning.  Sometimes the listener argued with the voice, as so many of the Psalms seem to do, lamenting human fate and helplessness before the chaos of human living.
            So is it the hearer of the voice, the transcriber of those words who decides if a text is sacred?  Or is it the reader of the text, the receiver of the wisdom who decides?  In our faith, where reason is such an important part of our religious practices, we want to know why something is considered sacred, not just take others’ word for it.
            I asked a friend, Dr. Donald Cooper, retired linguistics scholar, my questions about sacred texts and he answered in this way:
            The idea of a sacred text is uncertain.  Some groups of readers consider some text sacred; others approach them as historical documents or literary works…The idea of the beauty of sacred texts is also uncertain.  They are effective, but sometimes they are horrible.  When a text, for example, in the Psalms recommends the killing of the babies of one’s enemies…that is not beauty, but it gets to the heart of anyone who has ever loved a child.”
            He goes on to say that people are the ones who make texts sacred, whether they are the scribes and accountants and priests of early human history or the readers who welcomed the advent of the printing press, which made written texts available to everyone who was literate or knew someone who could read.
            Sacred writings come out of human hearts.  Were they inspired by God?  Not in a rational way of thinking perhaps, but certainly they sprang from minds and hearts overflowing with joy, with beauty, with contemplative wisdom, and also with sorrow and anger.
            According to the Teaching Company, which offers a course entitled “Life Lessons from the Great Books”, a great book is one whose focus is on great themes such as love, courage, and true patriotism; it is composed in a noble language; it has the ability to speak to readers across the ages; and it speaks to readers as individuals, not as groups.
            Categories of great books, by their reckoning, are these:  the unconquerable human spirit, youth and old age, romance and love, adventure and courage, laughter and irony, and the true meaning of patriotism
            Books and authors mentioned are such things as these:  the gospel of John, The Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky, works by Albert Schweitzer, Shakespeare, Homer, even the journals of Lewis and Clark.
            Here, in humanly-produced texts, are some of the predominant lessons of human living:  where wisdom can be found in life’s experiences, the meaning of evil, suffering, and death, reverence for all life, the idea that great strength can contribute to great evil when pushed too far, the ideas that undergird true patriotism and democracy, that war brings devastation, yes, but also an opportunity for wisdom and redemption.
            What is the difference between these books and the body of texts that are generally considered sacred today?  I note that traditional sacred texts focus on lessons learned from God , rather than human experience.  But we UUs are apt to name texts which are human products, rather than so-called divinely inspired works.
            I often ask my UU colleagues for their thoughts when I’m preparing a sermon, and when I threw my questions out to them, I got a variety of answers.  Somebody mentioned Moby Dick and the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  Another mentioned Darwin’s Origin of Species and Emerson’s Essays.
            And another colleague warned me thus:  “The caution that I would offer about our approach (to naming our own sacred texts) is that there’s a danger of naming “sacred” any text that seems to confirm our existin biases.  A text that only reassures us that our perspective is the “right” one is a dangerous thing.”
            Remember when the Kansas State Board of Education, several years ago, was deciding to include the Biblical story of creation in the science curriculum of Kansas schools?  This alarmed a lot of people, not just in Kansas, as it seem to be the very antithesis of science education and there was a great deal of outcry.
            Among those protesting this decision (which was eventually revoked) was Concerned Citizen Bobby Henderson, who complained that if Creationism and Intelligent Design were to become part of the Kansas school curriculum, he wanted his own Deity and Creation story to be included as well.
            Henderson wrote an impassioned letter to the Kansas Board of Education, describing his Deity, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and the wonders of its creation, all performed by the Monster with his Holy Noodly Appendages.
            Since that time, a cult of Flying Spaghetti Monster followers has sprung up and has issued some sacred texts of its own, notably the “Eight Things I’d Really Rather You Didn’t Do” statement.  Many of the eight things are in language not fit for the pulpit, but I will quote you one of them so you can get the picture:
            6.  I’d really rather you didn’t build Multimillion-dollar churches; temples/mosques/shrines to my Noodly Goodness when the money could be better spent (take your pick)  A.  Ending poverty; B. Curing disease; C. Living in Peace, Loving with passion, and Lowering the Cost of Cable.  I might be a Complex Carbohydrate Omniscient Being but I enjoy the Simple Things in Life.  I ought to know, I AM the Creator.
            So speaks the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  And his Complex Carbohydrate Omniscient Being states ideas that have been lobbed at religious extravagance for millennia:  don’t be holier-than-thou; don’t use religious language to subjugate and oppress people; don’t judge others; treat women equally; don’t take advantage of people sexually; get over yourself; and be careful when you do unto others if you have odd urges.
            If you’re interested in the Flying Spaghetti Monster and think his Noodly Goodness might be right up your alley, you can google him easily on your favorite device.
            So are the “”8 things I’d really rather you didn’t do” a sacred text?  I guess I wouldn’t call them that, because they are a deliberate spoof, but then you think of Jonathan Swift’s satirical work “A Modest Proposal”, in which he suggested in 1729 that impoverished Irish parents sell their children to rich folks for culinary purposes; this, he claimed with tongue deep in cheek, would solve Ireland’s economic crisis and give rich ladies and gentlemen a new gourmet delight.
            His purpose was to castigate British officialdom for their oppressive policies toward the Irish citizenry.  Not too different from the proclamations issued by irate Hebrew prophets, railing against the cruelties of Rome and other conquering nations as well as against the idolatry of the Israelites.  Only they weren’t using satire and irony.
            My friend Don Cooper passed along a little more about sacred texts:  that oral traditions passed along wisdom by speaking it until written language developed, making it possible to inscribe and preserve it; that in the case of the Bible, a set of texts has been declared sacred, but that this designation has often come from the text’s usefulness in upholding some theological idea; and that sacred texts are often misused and taken out of context, including literal interpretation.
            For my conservative Christian friends and family, the Bible is a deeply sacred text, yet their interpretation is usually literal and spelled out explicitly in their publications.  For me too, the Bible is a sacred text and my interpretation tends to be metaphorical, not literal.  I think, too, that the Bible is wrong in many ways for our time and culture, that, for us, revelation and understanding are constantly evolving.
            The meaning of any sacred text is something that we the readers infer from the word and tone the writer uses, making our own interpretations.  We often don’t know the context from which the text springs, but we do have the commonality of human experience from which to extrapolate our own meanings.
            So what is the nature of a sacred text? 
            A traditional sacred text, such as the Bible, comes from a divine source; it may be written in a sacred or liturgical language like Sanskrit, and may be most precious when inscribed in calligraphy, as are the Koran’s most holy renditions.
            A non-traditional sacred text emerges from human experience and speaks wisdom to those who wish to understand their own lives and challenges.
            But all this study and cogitating about sacred texts has led me inevitably to another question, the one which for me lies beneath the lesser questions.  And that is “is there any source of wisdom which does not require human intervention, that is intrinsically sacred in the sense of “ultimate value”, that is not handed down from fallible human to fallible human, that is pure, truthful, perfect, and accessible to all creatures, regardless of intellect?
            If such a text existed, would we not protect and revere it?  Well, those who recognize it DO protect and revere it.  That perfect sacred text is not written, its truths are not influenced by human touch, yet are discovered and rediscovered every day by those who consult it.  It is the source of all human knowledge, the fount of insight that has fueled all human endeavor.
            It is the Earth, one book in the ever-expanding library of the universe.  We humans and all other creatures have learned all we know from our relationship with the Earth, how we might survive most successfully, how we might use the resources of the planet most effectively, how important it is not to overuse its resources but to keep our greedy natures under control and be grateful for its bounty.  It has given us beauty to love and to cultivate, other species to nurture and to use respectfully, and challenges us to grow, to evolve.  That’s not to say that we all do this faithfully!
            As physicists and other explorers are discovering as they decipher the secrets of this unwritten text, its original source seems not to be the romantic scene on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, whether you see in your mind’s eye a burly Caucasian God figure or the Noodly Appendages of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  No, it’s much greater than that.
            Isaac Newton summed up his lifework in this way before he died:  I know not what I seem to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”
            Newton, one forerunner of today’s courageous explorers, was part of a long stream of human beings who sensed that there was more to Truth than what was found in the common sacred texts of the time.
            That Truth was accessible through study of the Earth and the Universe beyond the Earth.  That Truth embodied the divine, expressed itself in unspeakable beauty and inconceivable starkness. 
Its code of life and death was inexorable, unfailing.  Its lessons were sweet and also harsh.
            But it was true and humans learned to cope with its truth, to bargain with its rigidity, to soften its harshness with justice, mercy, and love, until eventually those lessons became inscribed in human writing and the prophet Micah was moved to write:  What does the Divine require of you but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly on the earth?”
            The Earth, our original, unwritten sacred text, the one most accessible to us, will survive the damage we do and will heal itself if we let it.  It will heal us too, if we allow it to do so.
            And the language God talks, as I mentioned at the beginning of this sermon?  If the Earth is a book in the library of the Universe and we humans are discovering the way the Universe seems to work, the language God talks must be calculus, the beautiful mathematics that outline the vectors of space and time.  That’s “God’s” language and we earthly beings are invited to contribute our language too---the poetry and prose and music and art of beauty, love,  justice, and joy.
            Let’s pause for a time of silent reflection and prayer.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Pacemaker=Peacemaker

In the past few days, I have had to come to terms with the fact that it is not a good idea to pretend to myself that a heart that jumps around and thumps hard, then waits a few seconds to thump again, is a heart that is behaving properly.  Apparently it is not.

I had had other indicators which I chose to ignore and blithely assumed the best when I ought to be hieing myself to the doctor to request answers.  There was no pain, no fainting, no dizziness; ie., there was nothing wrong.  Right?

I turned in the aforementioned Holter monitor on Wednesday afternoon, went home and took a much-needed shower, secure in the conviction that Dr. A's assurances were right on target and that I had nothing to worry about.

Thursday about noon, the phone rang and an unfamiliar voice said "I just read the findings from your Holter test and you need a pacemaker as soon as possible."  What?  What?  What happened to the kindly doc who said "you're probably fine, but we'll do this Holter just in case"?  This wasn't he on the phone; it was somebody else.

After some back and forths of disbelief rapidly replaced by the authoritative tones of the cardiac nurse, backed up by Dr. A's affirmation of same, I went home, packed a bag, and hitched a ride with a friend up to St. V's in Portland, where I spent two nights hooked up to monitors that beeped and screeched all during the first night and were blessedly quiet during the second night----because a pacemaker had pacified my rambunctious heart.

I did not realize until the procedure was done and I was lying in bed with my book that night that a peaceful heart does not jump and throb and thump disconcertingly if it is behaving properly.

I have to think about why I would disregard and shrug off such obvious red flags as "grey-outs", where my vision would, for a second or two, dim as though I was about to faint, though I never felt dizzy or lightheaded, just briefly "greyed".  Or the thumps and hesitations that would disrupt my sleep occasionally so that I would wake up, assuming it was because I had to go to the john, but then would be very conscious of the thumpings and hesitations when I went back to bed.

I am perfectly capable of convincing myself that I have some dread malady when other kinds of symptoms crop up (what's that pain?  why am I itching there?  where did that bruise come from?) and have spent time consulting St. Google for help.  Unfortunately, St. G did not link "grey-outs" to anything resembling my thumpety-bumping heart, so I never did either.  Shows you what a great diagnostician the Goog is.

So now I am thanking my lucky stars and the universe which bequeathed me this resilient body---which didn't crap out on me in the middle of the night but woke me up and jump-started my 20 beats per minute back up to 60, at least until I went back to sleep.  I coulda crapped out, according to the docs, and who would have fed the cat then?

So happy to be alive.  So happy to have a regular heartbeat after all this time of enduring the jumping-bean ticker.  So happy to feel exhilarated by every new day.  Thanks be to the docs and the friends and the power beyond human power, which infuses us with the will to live.

Wednesday, April 08, 2015

Holter thoughts

I understand the reason why I'm wearing this Holter monitor and I will be glad I did, so that I can have a better picture of my heart's health, but it has been quite bothersome because of the restrictions of wearing it for 48 hours---no baths or showers, no electric heating devices nearby, and the clumsy leads and reading device attached to my chest.

I will be very glad to take it off this afternoon and return it for a readout, but until then, I am shackled to it and limited in my actions.

I have developed muscle spasms for the first time in months, probably largely because of the tension and stress around this monitoring session.  The spasms have been bad enough that I've used the heated gel pack and athletic belt all day yesterday and again this morning, after waking up about 2:30 with pain that I couldn't use a heating pad on.  I got up about 3 and heated up the gel pack after feeding Loosy, but couldn't really sleep.

So I've been up since then, using the gel pack, and finally digging out a ThermaCare wrap to use for the dentist appointment at 8.  I feel so disheveled and scuzzy after no bathing or showering for two days that I am thinking I'll call in sick to Science Exchange and let Meg and Sue handle the whole thing. 

At least at the end of it, I'll have a better picture of what my heart is up to, if it's scar tissue causing the irregularities and palpitations (which are not frequent or bothersome, in my experience) and that the slow heart rate is not something to be concerned about at this point.

It's annoying to wear the Holter, but this afternoon I can take it off, shower, and return the device.  I have tried to follow the instructions carefully, but it may be that the gel pack was even disruptive.  I hope not.  I could not have survived without it!

Thursday, April 02, 2015

And yet I pray...

I have been thinking a lot lately about how my own credo has changed over the 72+ years of my life.

As an oldest child growing up in a Baptist preacher's family, I learned all the lessons of my family's traditional faith embodied in the historic tales of the Old Testament and in the parables and undaunted courage of Jesus in the New Testament.  My parents believed these stories were literally true and for a long time I didn't think otherwise.

With college, even at Baptist-supported Linfield College, came new perspectives and ways of interpreting the old stories.  Out of respect for my parents, I didn't say much about these new ways of thinking, though I had extrapolated, from some of their messages to me about how to behave at college, that they were aware that my choices would now be my own, not subject to their parental norms.

Skipping over many decades now, as I've told those stories many times, I have arrived at a place where I must acknowledge that I am no longer a traditional Christian; I'm not sure I'm even a radical Christian any more because I see how ineffectual the shackles of Paulean Christianity have rendered my childhood (and adult) faith.  Too many non-Jesusian items in the creeds of Christianity have moved me out of that category forever.  I pick and choose among the recorded maxims of Jesus, as I have learned that they have been edited to reflect the values that some editor chose to highlight.  What did Jesus really say?  How can we possibly know?

My reading of books and essays about early Christianity has convinced me that Jesus was not the meek and mild person portrayed in Sunday School.  He was likely a member of the Zealot movement with a firm belief that revolution against Rome would bring about the Kingdom of God.  He died as a criminal who threatened Rome.  The idea that he died for humankind's sins is a conflation of old ideas about animal sacrifice and its appeal to the God(s).  He died because he stood up for an ideal and was willing to be martyred for that ideal.  He deliberately put himself in harm's way; Judas was a confederate in his martyrdom, knowingly or unknowingly.

My fascination with the mysterious and slowly revealed Universe has led me to an understanding of the Power beyond human power that is more like natural law than like a being who twiddles the marionette strings of humankind.  There can be no such being.  Natural law fulfills all the functions of that imaginary being and does so without prejudice; we are all subject to the whims of nature and cope as best we can, using gravity to strengthen our bodies and to make our inventions work, gazing at the heavens to look beyond what we know into what we don't know, treating one another with kindness because we have learned that kindness works.

And yet I pray.

I found this relic of a recent nighttime scribbling session in which I wrote:  "I have made friends with the universe.  I have always looked to connect with and befriend the most austere and sometimes unwelcoming beings I encounter, whether human or animal.  I am curious about whether I can find a way into their crusty interior.  This has had mixed success; sometimes that penchant for the unlovable has backfired and sometimes it has brought rewards.  I've learned not to trust too far, that there are red flags I must respect.  But it has been revelatory to apply this penchant to the merciless yet beautiful universe."

And I pray because the universe has proved to be a faithful and reliable yet mysterious friend, which sometimes lashes out---not because I am a bad person but because I have not recognized or prepared for the consequences of non-mindful living.

I pray as if I am in conversation with that friend, relating the events of my life, examining them for understanding of my own needs and obligations, saying thank you for the gifts of life, asking that I might find the strength within to cope with its challenges, and seeking to be a contributor to this life I've been given, to be useful, to be kind, to be a good person.  All of these resources I call upon are within me; they are not outside of me.  The universe, through natural law, shapes my externals; I have the capacity to shape the rest.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

A Morphing Belief in the Power Beyond Human Power

“Atheism and agnosticism signify the rejection of certain images and concepts of God or of truth, which are historically conditioned and therefore inadequate. Atheism is a challenge to religion to purify its images and concepts and come nearer to the truth of divine mystery.”
― Bede Griffiths


When I encountered this quote on Facebook recently, I was struck by its application to my own evolving thoughts about God, or what I have come to call "the power beyond human power".

I have not gone so far as to think of myself as an atheist, or even agnostic, because both these terms do not describe where I am in my thinking.  To me it is undeniable that there is power beyond human power.  Some people call this power God but grant to the power a state of being that is too human-like to satisfy me.

Much atheism seems to me to be an adamant rejection of the idea of God, which implies a distaste for the very idea of an overarching power, more of an anti-theist stance.  This attitude seems as narrow-minded as the opposite stance of God as the Supreme Being who put Adam and Eve in the garden after forming them from mud.

Agnosticism implies, to me, an unwillingness to grapple with the idea of a power beyond human power;  it is undeniably true that there is a power that does control human lives.  Agnostics would just prefer not to think about it.  Which is okay, because thinking about it does produce so many currently-unanswerable questions that it is simply easier to let it go.  "To let the mystery be", as Iris DeMent so poetically puts it.

Except that as science uncovers more about the universe and its natural laws, it is hard to insist that we know nothing about this power.  We know that gravity, for example, the law of attraction, governs just about everything we have come to understand about the way the universe works.

As a side note, when I was in a 12 step program and thinking about my Higher Power, I used gravity as my HP for a long time.  It was stronger than I; it could make me stronger as I learned to work with it to achieve an upright stance, a stronger body as I used its resistance to develop my muscles, my lungs, and my heart. If I forgot to heed gravity, it hurt!  I could trust it to work the way it always did.  It governed the tides and the winds through its influence on the sun and the moon.  It was dangerous and unforgiving; it was a strict teacher.  But when I could learn to use it effectively, it contributed to my health and wellbeing.

I don't object, generally, to other concepts of God.  I see that they are comforting and offer a framework that encourages believers to act morally and wisely.  Like gravity, that God is stronger, makes its believers stronger, punishes when the believer forgets its power and stumbles, governs the universe, created the universe, is benign and helpful when the believer aligns with It.  It is trustworthy.  Many believers define God as Love.

I see Love as inherent in the universe and innate in living beings.  Many believers attribute Love as a gift from God.  I see it more as the human embodiment of the law of attraction, manifesting itself in sexual activity, nurturance of other beings, altruism, and religious expressions, as well as others.

Traditional belief in a deity (whether God or other manifestations) can become petrified, unable to change except through erosion, to use a geologic metaphor.  Many of my friends who are of the "none of the above" variety, unchurched and unapologetic, have had their traditional religious beliefs wash away in the winds and tides of their increasingly deep understandings of the universe as revealed by their experiences and by their education.

The ascendance, in recent years, of an atheistic point of view does challenge traditional believers to reconsider those ancient tenets of faith in light of new information.  To be a traditional believer, one must be willing to "suspend disbelief" and block out new realizations.  It is hardly surprising that the traditional "suspenders" have stretched and broken.




Saturday, March 21, 2015

Through my glasses darkly...

has been my experience for the past year-plus, as I've recovered slowly from five, count them, FIVE surgeries to paste down and secure the retina in my right eye.

I decided to get a pair of specs once those surgeries were behind me, so that I wouldn't be plagued with the constant need to put on different magnifications (distance, computer, book) every time I moved from one task to another.  In addition, I wanted to shed sunglasses (with or without a reading lens), so I went for the fabled Transition option, plus the line-less "one magnification fading into the next" type of correction.

But I began to realize, after wearing my new specs for awhile, that I now felt as though I'd moved into a "dowdy, practical, just-get-it-done" phase of life, less attentive to appearance and more attuned to comfort.  That's not necessarily a bad thing and the glasses did do what they were supposed to do---relieve me of constant switching of specs depending on what I was doing.

After a period of months, I noticed that they had another beneficial effect and that was to disguise the fact that my right eyelid was quite droopy.  Eventually I decided to have that droopy eyelid surgically corrected, as it was interfering with my vision rather severely, and I'm now on the other side of that surgery, mopping up the tearing and gooey ointment and explaining the bruising and slight swelling.

And I'm reflecting, as I gaze into the mirror, on the possibility that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to return to the endless switching of eyewear, just to get back some of that sense of style that accompanied my naked-eye look.  When glasses are an occasional accessory, rather than a constant necessity, I feel less burdened by my years, somehow.

My right eye suffered some lasting vision loss due to puckers in the repaired retina, normal for the repeated surgeries I had.  I see a waviness in lines of type or a slight shadow image when I read with only my right eye open.  Luckily, the brain is able to make sense of this and it's not terribly bothersome.  But the glasses don't help with it.  I don't need the glasses on my nose constantly in order to live a life of decent vision.

Years ago, I had cataract surgery which gave me perfect vision in both eyes; I still needed different magnifications for reading and computer work, but those specs were cute and could be replaced easily if I saw something cuter.  My everyday all-purpose glasses are merely utilitarian, NOT cute.  But they do work.

When my eye looks normal again, I'm going to see what it feels like to shed the utilitarian look and go for cute.  At least till I can see whether comfort and practicality are worth the slightly dowdy.

Monday, March 16, 2015

Loosing Lily

Almost exactly a week ago, I heard an unsettling "scrabbling" noise from the den where Lily and Loosy, the cats, were taking yet another nap.  It was the same noise I'd heard five days earlier when I'd responded---to find Lily in the throes of a violent seizure.

I'd stayed by her, talking to her quietly and reassuringly, a hand ready to move furniture or other obstacles out of the way, should her thrashings take her too close.  It was only a couple of minutes long, but it seemed endless.  Her mouth was dripping with foam, the odor of urine was strong in the room, and her eyes were blackly dilated.  Disoriented, she tried to stand up but couldn't make her legs work for a few minutes and she howled in her misery. 

Of course, it was after the local vet's hours,  but St. Google was able to reassure me that taking her in the next morning was probably okay, as long as she had come out of the seizure and was beginning to feel better.  That seemed to be the case and the next morning, Dr. R examined her, declined to give her anti-seizure medication just yet, and advised me to let him know if a pattern developed.

So when I heard the ominous noise again, after five days of fairly normal behavior on Lily's part, my heart sank.  Sure enough, she was sprawled and jerking violently, yowling, foaming, peeing.  And this time, it didn't stop.

I ran for the carrier, put her shaking body inside, and called the vet.  "I'm coming over right now" I told the tech who answered, and I ran out the door with Lily still convulsing in the carrier.

The vet took her to his back room for blood work and to inject her with medication to stop the seizures, telling me to go home and come back in an hour.  Twenty minutes later he called and said, "I have some bad news.  We couldn't stop the seizures, the kitty valium we tried to inject didn't help, and she died."

At that moment I felt a rush of both relief and sorrow.  Relief that seizures were not going to be part of our ongoing life together and sorrow that my cranky, needy Lilycat would no longer be following me around the house requesting something---catnip, food, petting, brushing, while complaining about her sister Loosy and anything else that didn't suit her.  She was a mess and I loved her.

But I'm glad she's gone, even though the hole she left is 18 pounds large.  I was not surprised that the seizures were fatal.  A dog I once cared for had a seizure and within a few months, that dog had died.  Older animals develop epilepsy for a variety of reasons and the seizures are disabling and often fatal.  Medication can stave off the end for awhile, but not forever.

I went back to the vet to say goodbye to her and arrange for cremation.  Her mouth was frozen in a grimace, a tooth had broken off from the force of the tremors, and it was clear she had died hard.  If the seizure hadn't taken her, chances are I would have had to make that Big Decision about her quality of life.  She was 12 years old, a big girl at 18 pounds, and her crankiness might have been evidence of declining health. It's hard to say.

I'd had Lily since she was a kitten.  I got her in 2003, when I first moved from Portland to Puget Sound.  I had the name for her before I had the cat; I'd hoped to find a nice little white kitten to wear the Lily moniker, but all the Vashon Island Pet Protectors had available was this feral kitten of a yearling mother who had been rescued by Deirdre and Frank, members of my Vashon congregation.

She'd had a good life, her sister Loosy and little brother Max were more or less her boon companions, and she'd adapted to each of the several places she'd lived with us.  She was a one-woman cat, disdaining the overtures of visitors.  When Max had to go live with another family when we left Whidbey, she mourned and only grudgingly tolerated Loosy after that.  Now Loosy has me all to herself and she seems to be glad of it, only occasionally looking around to see if the tortoiseshell hulk threatens to chase her.

Goodnight, Lily, see you in the morning.  I will take your ashes to Whidbey Island and leave them in the garden there.

This afternoon, the mail brought a little note of sympathy from the vet's office; they had made a donation to the Oregon Animal Health Foundation in Lily's memory.  Enclosed in the card was a paw print, a reminder of the imprint she left on my life.