Downstairs emanates the whirring of a floor sander as our good friend redoes the floorboards in our kitchen and front hall. Throughout the house, despite coverings and hangings, floats dust: the product of this work, of the removal of past work of varnish and some of the life of the tree which provided these floorboards. This is change, this is an ending, this is an opening. This is life.
Behind me on the bed, HH rests beautifully. In the preparation and maintenance of the house (in between intensive courses), my concern has been with his sense of continuity, safety and routine. And yet, he too is subject to change and is of course remarkably flexible in all senses of the word.
Once again, he is my great teacher. Wherein lay my concern or even anxiety that this work, which provides a supportive context to the many yogis we have passing through our home, will be detrimental to his well-being – and consequently mine? Fear of the loss of he whom I hold so very dear. The stripey lord. Our dearest cat.
As a friend of mine commented when this tabby gentleman first joined us – nearly three years ago now! – ‘attachment will find its way’. I am grateful for this attachment and all I learn from him.