(Stanford ---above photo)
…I kept walking …and walked …
…
Some more ---
I finally got to the hub of the city. I could blend-in together with the rest and finally relax. I was walking for some time to be invisible while in public. I saw a seat. I rushed over to sit on it: but instead of relaxation I felt bewilderment!
Once I was ‘in the heart’, the hub of this city, I was certainly visible to myself. I pulled into myself, as the people passed me by like ghosts. I wondered if they saw me ---as I saw them? They were holding it tight, not allowing for any speculation. I tried to do the same …and tried ….but it was difficult,
The people were different. Their movements were robotic, practiced, as if read in a book somewhere. If I wasn’t in such a state of confusion, I would have gone down a list of explainable reasons, justifying ---all I saw. Instead, I thought about my breathing and took a seat to view this new hub ---once an old hub in an even older city.
I had to; I had to begin the scrutinizing. The people looked lethargic, but still, they all had the energy for a smile. Whenever a ‘wronging’ happened they just crumbled and laid down. They took it, as I stood up and screamed at the infraction. They smiled and let it all happen. My hub started spinning. I started falling and grabbed some people in the crowd.
They turned their smile off at the disturbance I caused. They screamed, as I laughed, in utter confusion; Their scream was screamed in a different language.
Now, where I was ---wasn’t where I wanted to be. I was worried about my ‘state of mind’, as I looked up at a circle of people staring and frowning while screaming.
But these, perhaps hallucinations, happened to me almost always while in public ---as of late. I had to talk to Stanford, but frist ---I tried to talk to somebody in the screaming circle. Back and forth the confusion went: I heard something incoherent, and so, quickly I was in a panic to get away.
To Stanford’s; I must go. The one who would tell me the truth: Is what I saw when in public ---really what I saw? I had to know. I had to talk to him. He spoke my language.
I called Stanford. He answered and I started to tell him my problems. I couldn’t wait to tell him my problems, not even long enough for him to grab a chair to sit on. I pounced on him, and ---all about me.
I couldn’t trust anything, I told him, got desperate, I exclaimed to him, and told him I’d be right over. I didn’t wait for an answer.
I hailed a cab and when we finally arrived the cabbie and I argued what the meter actually ‘said’. He won. I knocked on Stanford’s door. Just being at Stanford’s home I was starting to feel better. Of all the ‘beings’ I’ve known and have known, Stanford’s perspective is a combination on top of these many other combinations of different perspectives –--and combined once again ---to clarity!? Stanford had never failed me. He let me in,
I took a seat on his so-called sofa. Stanford ran to the window. He stared outside. I talked. He stared out the window. I started to tell him about my problems. I got into every detail. Every few moments of my misery monologue I got up and exclaimed with my arms my sincerity.
He stared out the window. I continued with my misery monologue for one hour without a break. He stared out the window, so finally I said, “#%@@$ you! What ---you can’t speak?”
I got up to leave. Stanford followed me to the door. He hadn’t said a thing during my entire monologue. When I got to the door he opened it for me, he actually bowed to me, “I’m sorry," he said, "But I hate to speak English: Horrible language! And also, with something so enormous like this ---you can lose a lot on translation.” He put his paw on my shoulder, "Good Luck!"
The End
Note to reader: Look at the post, “A Cat’s Angst,” for an excellent photo of Stanford.
