While walking O’en one day not long ago, a woman, in approaching, said, “What a beautiful dog.”
I had to agree — he is that, beautiful, in many ways — and added that he was not only beautiful, but, in large measure, well behaved.
“Well, I’m not!” she said with a laugh as she went on her way.
A good spirit, I thought, a good way to be, her own person, not a worshiper at the altar of conformity.
Interesting that I think of her as we celebrate the birth of Jesus, he who died to redeem us, we who were said to have been booted from Eden, a perfect being come to live with us decidedly imperfect humans.
Perhaps he never should have come, for what good has it done? People, pious believers in particular, are as vicious as they ever were. Indeed, religions and ideologies have in their authoritarianism divided rather than united humanity. Those drawn to the siren call of perfection have been massacring, in God’s name, their fellows since day one, and continue to do so with relish.
Many of those who profess to be well behaved have, in fact, behaved abominably. And so I think of the woman who said she was not well behaved at this officially pious time.
If only we could fall out of love with unattainable perfection and simply do the best we can, ameliorate suffering, laugh, and lighten up, as I think I’ve been enjoined to do by all the lights I see while walking with O’en these nights in our neighborhood.
Further fuel for lightening up in my case lies on my bedside table in the form of books such as “Walden,” “A Sand County Almanac,” “Pilgrim at Tinker Creek,” “What Are People For?” — books about living with nature that I’ve never read and which ought to keep me attuned through winter and into the spring.