Tag Archives: family

Hafiz – Poem 25

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.

Hafiz’s Poem 25:

Dear Hafiz

Drink up
Be a free soul
Make merry
But don’t make the Qur’an
Bait for hypocrisy
As others have done

Some thoughts:

Is it so wrong to “Eat, drink, and be merry?” Some religious people act as though being spiritual or loving God means having to be a stick in the mud and forego all fun. Hafiz is addressing this poem to himself as a reminder that he has the freedom to enjoy the abundance the world has to offer. He is not restricted and litigious about his beliefs. But on the other hand, freedom with grace is not license to debauchery either. There is a balance that must be walked like a tightrope if one is to maintain a life of love and spiritual connection.

His belief in freedom must not be taken to excess, which could make his faith seem like a farse. There must be some level of respect for the holiness of the prescribed religious doctrines and those who adhere to them meticulously. There is no need to flaunt the merry making in the face of someone who is weeping. Finding a path that respects personal spiritual autonomy and still honors the traditions and beliefs of the ancestors is not always easy. But being in community means grappling with these truths and finding a balance that works.

My Poem 25:

I think dusting intentionally
can be meditative,
spiritual,
removing the layers of past ancestors
to reveal
a shiny surface
uncluttered
by so much static noise.

Dimming the lights
and lighting a candle,
watering a plant,
petting a cat.

I’ve yet to wipe
my dog’s weeping eye
and feel nothing
because she stares
into my soul,
communing,
as if with the source
of love.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

The Argonauts (Book Review)

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson felt like a slap in the face, a comforting hug, an electric shock, and a soothing warm bath. The format was unique and felt experimental—blocks of text, quotes, memories, verbal snapshots, reporting, and textbook-like excerpts all woven into a seamless narrative. The subject matter is raw, often unfiltered, intimate details that feel way more personal than I would ever be comfortable sharing with total strangers. But good for Maggie Nelson for having the chutzpah to attempt such a thing. I love that she finds her own voice by the end by admitting that she is still searching and leaving room for vulnerability in a way that is honest and impressively real.

Her descriptions of pregnancy, sexuality, dealing with loss, giving birth, holding on to self, nursing, her relationship with her partner, gender identity, and expert opinions, *in no particular order, combine to weave almost a stream-of-consciousness-style memoir that defies classification. I think I might have blushed a few times, certainly opened my eyes a bit wider, and definitely wondered why my college courses weren’t quite as shocking as some of hers. But the fact that I felt a connection shows the depth of both her humanity and her fabulous writing talent (since I am a southern, more conservative than her, heterosexual, certainly more comfortable with conventional-vanilla bedroom activities sort of gal. I’ll put it this way—I learned a lot from this book.)

*I jest about the “no particular order” comment because I am sure there is a well-crafted method to her madness that makes it feel like a jumble of thoughts and also a coherent work.

Also, if you are interested in the book, I recommend Googling “Why is Maggie Nelson’s book titled The Argonauts?” It gives a fabulous description of what you are getting yourself into. A brief quote from that Google search using their AI is as follows: “The title reflects the “constantly shifting” nature of queer identity, family-making, and language.”

AI Overview, Google, searched 31 Jan 2026.

Nelson, Maggie, The Argonauts, Graywolf Press, 2015.

The Four Loves (Book Review)

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I’m not sure what I was expecting of C.S. Lewis’s The Four Loves, but I was surprised by the conversational tone. Though I did not agree with all his assertions, many of the ideas and categorizations of types of love made sense. He breaks love into the categories of Affection, Friendship, Eros, and Charity. Then he has another discussion around the Likings and Loves for the Sub-Human, like when we say we like taking naps or love cheesecake. Many examples within each of the categories also fall into what he calls Need-love vs. Gift-love. Need-love would be assigned to necessary-for-survival-type loves, like a child to a parent or water to quench thirst. Gift-love would be assigned to unnecessary-type loves, like appreciation of a beautiful piece of art or taking care of a sick person.

The reader should be prepared for strict opinions based on Lewis’s beliefs regarding gender roles, nature, science, the fall of mankind, sin, the afterlife, and other principles that Lewis views as black or white, rather than a possible spectrum of interpretation of Biblical text. If that is an accepted foundation going in, the concept of love can be the focus for analysis. I find the idea of even attempting to categorize love somewhat grandiose. However, Lewis’s arguments are well thought out. There are probably many more nuances that could be catalogued by culture, historical context, language, psychotropically induced vs. naturally occurring, gender-related, conscious v. subconscious, etc. I wonder if there are as many different types of love as there are people on the planet. That would be a much thicker book, though.

Lewis, C.S. The Four Loves, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 1960.

Hafiz – Poem 4

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.

Hafiz’s Poem 4:

Commemorate

The ones who are gone

&

Those who love

Some thoughts:

To commemorate requires action. We must put effort into planning, preparing, and enacting some sort of ceremony, creation, or event. Many cultures have traditions for the purpose of remembering those who have exited this life. During Hafiz’s life, he may have participated in rituals that included reading the Quran, giving to the poor, and honoring God on behalf of the deceased. The tombs of some spiritual masters and saints became pilgrimage sites where people would pray and meditate. This does not seem like something Hafiz would have taken part in, but he certainly would have been aware of people who did.

What is striking about this poem is the balance Hafiz creates between our remembrance of our loved ones we have lost and those who are still living. How often do we commemorate the living? Are we putting effort into planning, preparing, and enacting ceremonies, creative works, celebratory events on their behalf? In the hustle of life, sometimes the people in our lives are not made priority and get taken for granted. Hafiz seems to be saying not to wait for a funeral to honor our loved ones. Let’s take the time and make it a priority to celebrate their lives and presence in ours regularly.

My Poem 4:

The Malagasy people
are intimately connected
with decomposition,
since every five years or so
they open the tombs
and bring out the bones
of their ancestors
to wrap in fresh cloth.

Oh, the joy those wilting
bones must feel to dance
among the living in clean silk
garments newly bound,
feast and sing, celebrate reunion,
before returning to slumber.
The long process of disappearing
is lovingly witnessed by the living.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Reflections on The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston

TRIGGER WARNING: This essay discusses patriarchal oppression, gender-based violence and punishment, sexual shaming, social ostracism, and cultural trauma. These topics are examined in a literary and analytical context.

The Woman Warrior by Maxine Hong Kingston paints a picture of harsh expectations placed upon Chinese/Chinese American women. Though the narrator rejects some of the notions and attempts to forge her own path, she still feels duty-bound to uphold some of the traditions. Each section of the book focuses on a different woman and explores the expectations placed upon her specific to the time and place where that portion of the story is set.

For instance, No Name Woman lives in a village in China early in the 20th Century. She is expected to remain “pure” (no sex) until her husband’s return from war. Her sexual desires are not a consideration and her ensuing pregnancy is punished by shaming the family and destroying their crops, livestock, and stored foods. The family then disowns her and never speaks her name again, ensuring she would “suffer forever, even after death” (16). There is no mention of the man who must have impregnated her on the part of the villagers or her family. She must bear the full weight of the “crime” of having sex and becoming pregnant.

Fa-Mulan in the “White Tigers” section of the book becomes the greatest hero in the land saving her family, her village, and her country from evil rulers. She is a warrior, savior, and leader who has trained for 14 years to become the best hero possible. Yet, once her mission ends, she is expected to return to the “appropriate” role of wife, daughter-in-law, mother. There is no option for leadership in her world. This character is thought to have lived sometime around the year 500 in China. Women were not supposed to use their brains or their brawn, except in service to men. Any woman who attempted to pass as male enter the military or school would be executed, “no matter how bravely they fought or how high they scored on the examinations” (19).

The “Shaman” section about Brave Orchid shows the variety of domestic expectations placed on Chinese women. Brave Orchid lives the first half of her life in China and the second half in America spanning the 20th Century. She works as a medical practitioner in China and then in the family laundry business in America. Besides working long hours, she picks tomatoes as a part-time job to make more money, does all the cooking and cleaning, and manages all aspects of the household. She is also expected to carry on the traditions of the culture by keeping the rituals, ceremonies, and talk story alive so that it will pass on to the next generation. She must also protect everyone’s souls by calling them back when they have forgotten their way home. Brave Orchid’s eyes fill with tears as she tells her adult daughter, “I work so hard” (103). Chinese women are unrealistically expected to do more than their fair share of the work.        

The section “At the Western Palace” highlights the way Chinese women in the past had little power in marital situations. Their partners were chosen for them and husbands might take multiple wives. The women were expected to tolerate and support these traditions without question. When Moon Orchid comes to America in the 1950’s, she is confronted by a different reality in which women have more rights and her husband rejects their marriage. She is expected to accept his continued financial support without living as his wife. Chinese American women seem to still have parents attempting to meddle with selecting their potential suitors according to the narrator.

In the final section “A Song For a Barbarian Reed Pipe” the narrator implies that a “good” Chinese American girl in America in the 1950’s should be able to speak fluent English and Chinese. She should attend Chinese school and American school. It is an interesting note that “good manners…is the same word as traditions” in Chinese (171). To please the Chinese, she should be obedient and demure, soft-spoken, and graceful, domestically competent – able to cook, clean, serve, and heal, and pleasant in interactions while not making eye contact, use opposites to confuse evil spirits, keep all Chinese traditions, send money to family members in China, lie to Americans so no one can trap her or deport her or trick her somehow, and remember that men are valued more highly than women. To please the Americans, she should be assertive and firm of voice, intelligent, sexy, able to defend herself, and independent making strong eye contact, speaking from a place of science and logic rather than any mention of evil spirits, creating a comfortable lifestyle that is America-focused, be a patriot, and believe that women and men are equal. A Chinese American woman is expected to do all of this and figure out how to be healthy, happy, and prosperous without driving herself crazy over the paradoxes such disparate expectations create. 

Works Cited

Kingston, Maxine. The Woman Warrior – Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts. Vintage Books, New York, 1975.

Healing the Whole Person – in Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony

TRIGGER WARNING: This essay contains discussion of war trauma, PTSD, death, violence, alcohol abuse, and the psychological and cultural impacts of colonial oppression.

Introduction

Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony follows the healing journey of a man named Tayo who has been devasted by a lifetime of abuse, neglect, and discrimination, and is now a surviving WWII prisoner of war. Silko addresses an important idea about healing that can be applied to many suffering from trauma. People need healing that touches mind, body, soul, relationships, nature, and society. Each strand is like a string of a spider web. Navajo tradition teaches that the world was created in part by a spider spinning a web of thoughts into existence. Tayo’s web strands become entangled due to evil influences and must be carefully untangled. Silko creates a variety of characters who help Tayo along his journey and is asserting that there is no one right way to heal. Tayo must reject the techniques that do not work and continue to search for methods that will bring peace, healing, and wholeness to his life. Integral to his healing will be the recognition of archetypes necessary to unify his self.

Literature Review

Many scholars have addressed different aspects of healing in Silko’s Ceremony, including Kristin Czarnecki’s focus on psychological healing in “Melted Flesh and Tangled Threads…” The trauma of being orphaned, mistreated for his mixed heritage, confused about his loyalty and pride in being Native American when others around are ashamed, and suffering from PTSD after returning home from WWII where he saw his cousin killed are carefully addressed in this piece (Czarnecki). Jude Todd addresses the physical healing Tayo must experience in his essay “Knotted Bellies and Fragile Webs…” Though the illness cannot be explained, it is very real for the protagonist. “Tayo’s ailment…he vomits repeatedly…if he continues this way he will die…”(Todd). Others focus on the spiritual/soul healing that needs to happen for Tayo’s health including Anthony Obst’s “Ceremony Found…” (Obst) and Jin Man Jeong’s “How and What to Recollect…” (Jeong). Gloria Bird explains that Christianity does not work for Tayo in her essay “Towards a Decolonization” (Bird). And others focus on the relationships that must be strengthened or severed, depending on how healthy they are to Tayo. Kurt Caswell addresses those that need to be released in “The Totem Meal…” (Caswell) and Jeong points out the people that should be remembered and embraced (Jeong). Still others focus in on the need to heal the land and claim a rightful place in society that is not subservient to colonial influences. Aaron Derosa’s “Cultural Trauma” (Derosa), Ana Brigido-Corachan’s “Things which don’t grow…” (Brigido), and Martin Premoli’s “His sickness…” (Premoli) are a few that analyze these aspects of healing that are larger than any one individual person. With so many elements necessary for Tayo’s healing, it is clear that there is no one right way to achieve that end. He must search and persevere through as many modalities as necessary until he finds the help and healing he needs. I will also show that part of that process is uncovering the conscious and subconscious archetypes present in his psyche so that he can unify his self.

Theoretical Model

The healing journey Tayo experiences can be viewed through a psychoanalytic lens due to the multiple layers of collective unconscious that he must sift through to find the images that work for him. Carl Jung theorizes that people wear a mask that is an outward representation of self, but must grapple with the shadow that is the inner darker self. Jung’s theories focus on myth, religion, and ritual as well as archetypes that for Tayo show up as people and creatures from his cultural stories. It is only by healing and unifying the disparate parts of himself that Tayo can become whole again and be a true self, which is the term Jung uses to define a whole, healthy human being.

Archetypes are like prototypes or symbols that represent common ways of thinking, behaving, or believing among people. People hold within their unconscious beings multiple archetypes that present themselves in different situations or as the need arises for that particular archetype’s qualities or strengths to be utilized. Jung believed that archetypes “are continually…reproduced in all cultures in all ages” (Mackey-Kallis). Because the stories recorded by humans throughout time have consistently utilized these archetypes, it is believed that they are a part of the collective unconscious for all humans, hardwired like instinct into the human psyche. To have a healthy self, people must find balance between their unconscious and conscious realities. Because Tayo is struggling with this unification, he is unwell, and his personality is fractured. He must embark upon a journey to unify his unconscious and conscious realities while uncovering the strengths of his innate wisdom found in each of his archetypes.

The main archetypes he will access are as follows: the child, the hero, the hunter, the shadow, and the anima. He will also interact and learn from archetypes that affect him including the father, the trickster, the mother, and the wise old man. It is through these various experiences and interactions that Tayo will be able to heal and unify the different aspects of his consciousness so he will no longer be a fractured self.

Analysis – Healing the Mind and Body

In the beginning of Ceremony, Tayo cannot stop throwing up. He is unable to function and remains bedridden most of the time because of overwhelming nausea. Western medicine in the form of medication, sedation, talk-therapy, and hospitalization have been unable to help him get a grip on his illness. The doctor from the military says “No Indian Medicine” but back home on the reservation, his family decides to call in a healer from their community (Silko 31). Silko shows that accepting help from within the community may be crucial in times of crisis. Ku’oosh is called in and reminds Tayo of the rattlesnakes who slither on their bellies near the cave that goes so deep it “enters into the very belly of the earth” (Todd). This memory makes Tayo’s stomach feel slightly better and Ku’oosh can go on to try to heal Tayo the old traditional way, reserved for warriors who have killed. Tayo has not killed anyone whose eyes he could see and cannot find words to explain to Ku’oosh the way modern warfare works, “…white warfare—killing across great distances without knowing who or how any had died” (Silko 33). Yet, he seems to feel better after the healing and keeps down some food. It is one step in his healing, though only the beginning.

He must also heal from the emotional trauma he has suffered throughout his life and especially recently in war time that has created mental anguish in the form of PTSD. Tayo has attempted to self-medicate with alcohol, like the other young veterans on the reservation, but his body often throws up the liquid and it is not the panacea for him that others experience. Silko seems to be addressing the issue with alcoholism that is prevalent in native communities, but does not decide to make that the focus of Tayo’s problems. He finds an unconventional healer Betonie who talks him through the trauma he experienced when the Japanese soldiers were executed in front of him and he saw his uncle Josiah as one of them. Betonie reassures Tayo that he is right and explains it in a way that works with his culture and the stories of his people, showing the collective unconscious that exists for humanity (Silko 114).  

Through his interactions with Betonie, Tayo becomes influenced by the archetype of the wise old man. He learns from Betonie and accepts the help he has to offer. Because something deep in his instinct recognizes the wise old man in Betonie, he is finally willing and able to accept that help unlike when it was offered before by others. Not only is the advice in line with what Tayo senses as true to his circumstances, but he follows through with the suggestions of Betonie showing that he develops trust in his ways.

Beonie’s rituals and ceremonies have an impression on Tayo’s healing. An article by Ted Kaptchuk analyzes ways in which Navajo rituals for healing affect the sick. It is couched in the scientific realm of placebo studies that compares rituals, acupuncture, and biomedical healing. After examining multiple ritual healings in which many participants reported improvement of their symptoms, conclusions were drawn that rituals can be affective. “Patient improvement…represents changes in neurobiology…Specific areas of the brain are activated and specific neurotransmitters and immune markers may be released” (Kaptchuk). Also, just as Tayo had to find a healer that was affective for him, the study showed that “different healers can have different effects on patients” (Kaptchuk). Even though Tayo engages in the ceremony and hopes that it will help, he is not completely convinced until he reaches the end and experiences healing. The same study reports that “when engaged in a ritual, patients do not abandon practical sensibilities. Hope, openness and positive expectancy are tempered with uncertainty and realistic assessment” (Kaptchuk). According to the science perspective, or as Silko might label it, the white man’s perspective, “ritual effects are examples of how environmental cues and learning processes activate psychobiological mechanisms of healing” (Kaptchuk).

Over time and through many days of adventures, Tayo begins to build his strength and improve his stamina. By the time he arrives at the apricot tree to encounter Ts’eh, he can keep down food more consistently. She cooks chili with corn and venison, and he eats. They make love and he sleeps peacefully having pleasant dreams. Each of these is a sign that he is improving, healing, gathering the pieces of himself to himself. When he awakens the next morning, he remembers the ritual of singing for the sunrise. His memories are coming alive and he is reconnecting with his people. He is now ready for the most rigorous portion of his adventure.

Analysis – Healing the Soul and Relationships

Tayo has been told terrible things about his mother his entire life. His aunt resents raising him, so he does not receive the motherly love that a child needs. When he returns to the makeshift village on the banks of the muddy river where he lived as a child, he is overcome by memories of pain, starvation, and neglect. His healing cannot begin until he recognizes the wounded child archetype within himself. He must relate to the people who continue to struggle for survival in much the same way he did as a child. The painful memories are nurtured when he gives spare change to several destitute people begging for money. Silko allows each piece of the healing to unfold naturally, as part of a journey or process that cannot be rushed or forced. Tayo also welcomes the reassurance from Betonie that part of his big story is the fact that he is a combination of cultures. Betonie is also mixed blood and is unconventional because he takes imagery and samplings of medicine from different cultures, “the ultimate collector and recycler of Western refuse” (Brigido). He is not afraid to adapt the methods to the person and the changing culture that accompanies the situation. He recognizes that without change, the ways of his people will die. These are lessons that Tayo must learn as well, in order to heal. It is through the ceremonies Tayo experiences that he realizes fully his spiritual place is with the native traditions, not Christianity. He needs the mother he never had, which he can only find in native stories, not Christianity. “Christianity separated the people from themselves…Jesus Christ was not like the Mother who cared for them as her children…” (Silko, Bird). Silko does not shy away from depicting the influence of Christianity as a negative force for the native community.

Tayo also has the opportunity to fall in love with a woman who brings him great comfort and help in his time of need. By embarking on the journey Betonie helps him to begin, he opens himself to the experience and is able to love and be loved in a way that has never happened for him before. The love that Tayo receives from Ts’eh shows him the archetype of the mother.  Her archetype provides comfort, is reassuring, and makes Tayo feel secure. Her presence is a key element in the final resolution of Tayo’s healing by helping him to capture the missing cattle he has been searching for and giving him a mission to plant the seeds that will rejuvenate the land. By passing on the task of planting, preservation, and regeneration, Ts’eh is awakening Tayo’s anima archetype. He will now show growth by presenting feminine qualities in a balanced way that was not available to him before. Tayo is only able to experience these things because he decides to accept help from the people who have his best interests at heart including “Old Grandma, Ku’oosh, Betonie,…Night Swan, Ts’eh, and Josiah” (Caswell).

Tayo must come to the realization that Josiah represented the father archetype for him. For years he receives advice, comfort, and companionship from Josiah. Tayo works the land with Josiah, chases the cattle with him, and protects Josiah’s secrets. He struggles with Josiah’s loss more than he can bear and needs help coming to terms with that loss. Because he must come to recognize the father archetype in Josiah, he is unable to heal until he makes right the loss of cattle and plight of the family’s farm. He must take ownership of his part in healing the financial and subsistence aspects of the family.

There are relationships Tayo must sever so he can heal. He can no longer cavort with his war buddies if he hopes to be healthy. Not only do their behaviors lead to negative outcomes regularly for Tayo, but they truly intend evil for him. Silko weaves myth into their final act, which is a ceremonial scene of witchery where two people are murdered. Tayo is the originally intended victim, and he is nearly pulled into the plot by the desire to save one of the victims. It is only after realizing that his involvement would result in a needless sacrifice or in him murdering another that he stays hidden and removed from further traumatizing himself with their evil. Tayo recognizes the trickster archetype in Emo as they are preparing the ceremony to kill the human sacrifice. Only once he sees the trickster for who he really is can he free himself from acting on his instincts. “The witchery had almost ended the story according to its plan…He would have been another victim” (Silko 235). This also required that Tayo recognize his own shadow archetype. He wants to ram the screwdriver he is holding into Emo’s head. He is trembling with the anticipation of being the savior turned martyr of the scene. Knowing he will kill, which will fulfil the witchery and make him implicit in the evil is what stops him from carrying out the murder.  In the terms of his cultural stories, he does not participate in the ceremony and thwarts evil’s desire to consume him. This releases the bond he shared with them and will no longer pull him from the healthy path he has embarked upon. After Silko shows Tayo avoiding the evil ceremony, she carefully constructs another ceremony for Tayo to participate in that shows the people he has decided to align himself with. He sits with the Laguna elders and tells “his story of healing” which “counters the witch’s story of destruction” (Caswell). With these people, he breaks bread and drinks healthy water, not alcohol (Silko 239). He is once again the hero archetype. He has broken the cycle of evil and good may bloom.

Analysis – Healing the Land and Society

Tayo’s pain is tied up in the plight of his people after white culture has stolen their resources (including uranium to make their atomic bombs), fenced off their grazing and hunting lands, and contributed to the “degradation of the…landscape” (Premoli). In order to begin to reconnect with the land, Tayo must spend time in nature. Silko uses the movement of Tayo’s journey to undo the curse of witchery by following the sunwise cycle (Swan). He must use his knowledge of the land and the ways of animals to track the cattle, a form of amends to his Uncle Josiah. His experiences observing the stars, clouds, weather patterns, herbs and plants used for healing, animal tracking, and geography remind him of his roots and further his healing. Silko shows the “boundarylessness” that should be when she has him cut open the fencing that white people used to slice up the land. During the scalp ceremony, Tayo first feels this lack of boundaries and realizes that it will take a long time for this type of healing to reach the entire world. Silko opens the door to that possibility, however, and implies that more tellings of stories that bring healing are the way to a future that is no longer bent on destruction.

As Tayo endures the difficulties of inclement weather, exhaustion, physical pain, and fear necessary to track the cattle he is determined to reclaim, he relies on instinct and ritual. When he thinks he can go no farther he receives help in the form of a mountain lion. He has collapsed beneath a tree in the pine needles overwhelmed by fatigue. He is sure his search is over until a mountain lion shows him the direction he needs to go to find the cattle. His rituals teach him that the mountain lion is the helper of the hunter. He sprinkles “yellow pollen into the four footprints” of the mountain lion in honor of the guidance with which he has been blessed (Silko 182). Once he finds the cattle, his instincts tell him that they will follow the fence line and head south. He hopes that their collective consciousness will drive them toward Mexico as their ancestors have always done. His instincts are relying on their instincts and he is right to do so. The animals do exactly as he hopes, and his patience pays off. He reclaims the cattle who have been unjustly stolen from Josiah and strengthens his own hunter archetype in the process.

The story Silko tells of Tayo’s pain demonstrates in one character the ways society has damaged an entire group of people. In English public schools, the native language is discouraged, their religious views and traditional ways of looking at the world are argued to be merely superstition, and the model for a future is to leave the reservation and make something of yourself elsewhere in white society. Tayo must fight back against the lies he has been told throughout his childhood of white superiority, shame for his appearance, language, and culture, and resentment at being used for violence in war by that same culture. He remembers a time in a science class when the teacher presented dead frogs for a lab. They were “bloated with formaldehyde, and the Navajos all left the room” (Silko 181). The teacher does not respect the traditions of the Navajos and is not even apologetic once he understands the offense. Rather, he laughs so hard he cries and makes fun of the children. He tells them their beliefs are “stupid” (Silko 181). These types of interactions occur throughout Tayo’s life. As an adult returned from war, he is told by the army doctors that his beliefs are merely “superstitions” (Silko 181). 

When Tayo is caught by the white cowboys for trespassing on a white man’s property, he is treated like a thief. They assume he is poaching deer or trying to steal a cow so he can have beef. Though Tayo does not confirm or deny their accusations, they decide to let him go so they can try to track the mountain lion. Once again, the mountain lion helps the hunter. They believe they have put him in his place and taught him a lesson. The Texan says, “These…Indians got to learn whose property this is” (Silko 188). They do not understand that they are the ones trespassing on Indian land, that they are the ones partitioning with fencing, hindering the natural grazing lands and flow of nature, the hunting grounds for all. When they finally leave, “he lay there and hated them” (Silko 189). He imagines tracking and killing them the way they are planning to harm the mountain lion. They do not understand the significance of the graceful cat they hope to kill. The more Tayo ponders his hatred of the white people, he comes to the realization that “it was the white people who were suffering as thieves do, never able to forget that their pride was wrapped in something stolen.” He comes to understand that the “destroyers had sent them to ruin the world” (Silko 189). He says that the white people had been tricked by the destroyers just as the Indians had. He cannot blame them for succumbing to the very same evil that his own people had.

Rather than devolve into a place of hatred toward white society or trying to figure out who to blame for all the evil, Tayo determines that witchery is the root cause of the evil unleashed on the world. He chooses to believe that people’s trickster archetypes and shadow archetypes have come to the fore. Silko seems to be saying through her text that rather than spend time seeking vengeance, people should put their energies into figuring out how to heal.

Results and Conclusion

The ending of Silko’s novel implies that Tayo has unified his self archetype and will be able to call upon the strengths of each of his archetypes as needed. If he is to heal the land and raise the cattle, he may need to call upon the nurturing of his anima (mother) archetype. If he needs to lead his family in tandem with Robert, he may need to call upon the father archetype (whether his aunt likes it or not.) He will need to continue to be the hero archetype so that he can help to heal his tribe and his family from the pain they have endured. Tayo probably has more healing to continue participating in, as creating a healthy life can take a lifetime, but he is on the right path. His journey is a model for anyone desiring to bring healing into their own lives.

Silko has created a model for analyzing which portions of a journey are ours, which portions belong to others, and which portions are a shared experience. Some aspects of Tayo’s journey are his alone to deal with. He must recognize that he gave his power over to the white government when he signed up to take part in World War II. He reveled in being treated like a war hero when in uniform and liking the way white women wanted him. He tried to escape with alcohol, self-pity, and sleep. He must come to terms with the fact that he survived when his cousin did not. These are his parts in the healing journey that he can take ownership of. The areas that are not his to own occurred at the hands of others. He cannot bear the guilt of his mother’s lifestyle that brought him into the world. He cannot bear the shame of his aunt’s negativity toward him because of his bi-racial genetics. He cannot take on the oppression he suffered at the hands of both Indians and white people who would not accept him as he was. Other people did these acts causing him to be a victim of those circumstances. Tayo must take part in a shared process of healing when it comes to his community, his family, and his relationships. He must be willing to work with his family to keep them provided for and functioning. He must be willing to work with the religious leaders in his community to strengthen their rituals and grow as a people. Ultimately, he must be vulnerable and giving if he hopes to love and be loved in the future.

This is the same for all humans. If we hope to heal from trauma, engage in meaningful relationships, and be part of the community in which we find ourselves, we will have to become empowered to experience a journey much like Tayo. Silko has written a myth and a parable that

is both inspiring and powerful because it examines the pain and recovery that is possible for anyone willing to face their shadow archetypes. If we are willing to examine our own archetypes and see those of others, we can unify our divided selves. Only then can we take responsibility for the ways we and our ancestors have harmed others and begin to rectify those evils.

Works Cited

Bird, Gloria. “Towards a Decolonization of the Mind and Text 1: Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony.” Wicazo Sa Review. Vol. 9, No. 2 (Autumn, 1993), pp. 1-8, www-jstor-org.ezproxy.snhu.edu/stable/1409177?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents

Brigido, Anna. “’Things which don’t shift and grow are dead things’: Revisiting Betonie’s Waste-Lands in Leslie Silko’s Ceremony.” Alicante Journal of English Studies. 27(2014): 7-23, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=22&sid=280ec025-fedb-4ba3-9945-98d3d1a25659%40sdc-v-sessmgr03

Caswell, Kurt. “The Totem Meal in Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment. 15(2): 175-183; Association for the Study of Literature and Environment (ASLE), 2008, 1 July 2008, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/ eds/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=3&sid=e07b3eb9-ba2a-4fa5-bac1-05895319b975%40sdc-v-sessmgr01

Causey, Tara. “The Only Cure Is a Dance – The Role of Night Swan in Silko’s Ceremony.” Western American Literature. 1 Oct, 2015, eds-b-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/ pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=1&sid=97020738-c912-40a7-9306-bc301c837a14%40pdc-v-sessmgr02

Czarnecki, Kristin. “Melted Flesh and Tangled Threads: War Trauma and Modes of Healing in Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony.” Woolf Studies Annual, 1 Jan. 2015, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/pdfviewer/pdfviewer? vid=1&sid=a9b0de2e-ed92-4a23-8cb3-d88432b7baa9%40sdc-v-sessmgr03

Derosa, Aaron. “Cultural Trauma, Evolution, and America’s Atomic Legacy in Silko’s Ceremony.” Journal of Literary Theory. 1 Jan., 2012, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=2&sid=134fbcaa-3dea-454f-8b07-8dbbf22bd7d0%40sdc-v-sessmgr03

Jeong, Jin Man. “How and What to Recollect: Political and Curative Storytelling in Silko’s Ceremony.” Mosaio: An Interdisciplinary Cricial Journal. Vol. 49, No. 3 (September 2016), pp. 1-17, www-jstor-org.ezproxy.snhu.edu/stable/44030746?seq=1#metadatainfo_tab_content

Kaptchuk, Ted. “Placebo studies and ritual theory: a comparative analysis of Navajo, acupuncture and biomedical healing.” Philosophical Transactions of The Royal Society Biological Sciences. Volume 366, Issue 1572, 27 June 2011, doi-org.ezproxy.snhu.edu/10.1098/rstb.2010.0385

Mackey-Kallis, Susan. “Jungian archetypes and the collective unconscious.” Salem Press Encyclopedia of Health, 2019, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/detail/detail? vid=1&sid=fab8f0e6-92c3-49d0-a751-9410de786517%40sdc-v-sessmgr01&bdata=JnNp dGU9ZWRzLWxpdmUmc2NvcGU9c2l0ZQ%3d%3d#AN=93872068&db=ers

Obst, Anthony. “Ceremony Found: Sylvia Wynter’s Hybrid Human and Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony.” as/peers – emerging voices in American studies. www.aspeers.com/2019/obst?fulltext

Phillips, Bernard. “Jung and Sociological Theory: Readings and Appraisal – Review.” Contemporary Sociology. 48, 5, journals-sagepub-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/ doi/pdf/10.1177/0094306119867060pp

Plaut, Alfred. “Freud’s ‘id’ and Jung’s ‘self’ as aids in self-analysis.” The Journal of Analytical Psychology. 1 Feb., 2005, eds-a-ebscohost-com.ezproxy.snhu.edu/eds/pdfviewer/ pdfviewer?vid=14&sid=b9e8529d-0d1c-4a49-be56-d08f263dfddc%40sdc-v-sessmgr03

Premoli, Martin. “’His sickness was only part of something larger’: Slow Trauma and Climate Change in Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony.” American Imago, Volume 77, Number 1, Spring 2020, Johns Hopkins University Press, muse-jhu-edu.ezproxy.snhu.edu/article/753067

Silko, Leslie Marmon. Ceremony. Penguin Group, 1977.

Swan, Edith. “Healing Via the Sunwise Cycle in Silko’s Ceremony.” American Indian Quarterly. Vol. 12, No. 4 (Autumn, 1988), pp. 313-328, University of Nebraska Press, www-jstor-org.ezproxy.snhu.edu/stable/1184404?seq=1#metadata_info_tab_contents

Todd, Jude. “Knotted Bellies and Fragile Webs: Untangling and Re-spinning in Tayo’s Healing Journey.” American Indian Quarterly. Spring95, Vol. 19 Issue 2, p 155-170. 16p. muse-jhu-edu.ezproxy.snhu.edu/article/753067

Silent Romance (A Short Story)

Image created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompt using AI on Gencraft.

Silence has become the standard by which I judge all things. People who talk too much or too loudly, chew food in a way that amplifies the crunch, have loud ringers on their phones, or wear hard soled shoes that clomp across the floor…well, let’s just say I don’t let them into my inner circle. So, when a mewling kitten showed up in the drainage ditch near my house, I was reluctant to take it in. The incessant screeching forced me to rescue it, if for no other reason than to try to stop the sound.

She needed to be bottle fed, not an easy feat for a person with no sense of time. I am a book scout and read all day for a living. I will sometimes read for six or seven hours straight if I’ve got enough material, only taking quick restroom breaks and snacking while I read. I set alarms for my alarms because I also sometimes fall asleep while I read, my brain giving out without notice. And they aren’t supposed to be held like human babies. They have to be on their bellies and knead something like they would on their mother’s teat. I look all of this up so I would do it right, including stimulating her anus with a wet cotton swab to imitate the attentions her mother would naturally provide.

Phoebe is an ugly kitten. Her face is squished, not in a cute way; what little hair she has is a non-descript greyish-brown. Her mother probably abandoned her because her front paws have something wrong with them. The four fingers and one thumb on each seem to be fused together and the paws twist inward slightly. Even worse, she’s loud. Her back paws seem fine.    

My small rental is situated on a cul-de-sac near an elementary school. The plan is to advertise as close to the school as I can once Phoebe is old enough to wean. Children are suckers and their parents are even worse. A disabled kitty will have a home in no time. I just have to make it another month.

We’ve settled into a routine, Phoebe and I. She cries, I respond to stop the horrific noise with whatever I think she needs most right then, she falls asleep, and I get some work done. The longest stretch of silence we have achieved is 2 hours. In all honesty, it might have gone longer, but I got worried and jiggled her to make sure she was alive. She awoke with a vengeance and ate until her belly nearly burst.

It’s a ridiculously silly comparison, I know, but this experience has made me appreciate my mother more. When I was born, she had no one to help her and worked long hours to provide for us. My stepdad came into the picture when I was nine, but for years it was just us. All on her own, she kept me alive – the nighttime feedings and diaper changes, the cooking and cleaning. The woman deserves an award. I can’t wait until this kitten can eat solid food and I can find her a home. I’m worn out.

She likes to sleep in the hood of my hoodie and makes a great neck warmer. It gets chilly in the alcove where I like to work, looking out at a pecan tree growing in the neighbor’s yard. The branches hang down over the privacy fence that connects our back yards and pecans spill onto my property. I don’t mind at all because I take them all every year and make pecan pies for the holidays. This year I’m planning to make praline. Last year some of the pies went to waste because I have no one to share them with other than my parents.

I decide to take a walk to the mailbox at the end of my street with Phoebe curled up in my hood. Movement doesn’t seem to wake her, only hunger, but it is about time for a feeding and she has begun to wiggle and squeak. On the way back home, she begins climbing the cloth of her makeshift bed with her tiny claws and I fear she might fall out of my hood. In my haste to grab her I drop my mail rather dramatically. A man raking leaves in his yard stops mid-rake and waves; I pretend not to notice, busy with my mail. He doesn’t take the hint and assumes my lack of eye-contact requires a verbal interaction.

“Hey!” he says, tilting the rake he is holding away from himself and adjusting his baseball cap with his free hand. He could be on the cover of a men’s health or fitness magazine. His every movement draws my eyes, the unabashed grin demanding my attention. I stop, say hello, and even force a smile. He seems genuine in his attempt to be friendly, but as he starts to walk toward me a compulsion to bolt wells up. I squelch it because he is really cute.

“Can I see?” His hazel eyes light up and the corners crinkle the way I find sexy in men of that age. I am confused for a second, but then realize he is talking about Phoebe. He gathers all of my mail for me. I find gentlemanly manners quite sexy, as well.

“My turn,” he says, and offers a trade, the mail for the kitten. A wave of overprotective fear grips me. No one else can hold my baby kitten. He might not do it right. What if he drops her? I push back the irrational panic and gently place Phoebe in his big hand. She looks so vulnerable it makes me want to cry.

We chat amiably about kittens and how much work they are. He tells me he is new to the area, having moved here to be closer to his 11-year-old daughter and in a home where he can have her over every other weekend. I can see I may have found a home for Phoebe already.

I warm up a little and decide to offer some neighborly advice. “If you’ve never eaten at the Thai restaurant on Main, you have to check it out. Their lunch specials are really cheap and the food is authentic.”

“I love Thai,” he says. “How about tomorrow at noon?”

I smile and nod, then realize he is asking me to join him and I freeze. I guess I started it. I might have even sounded like I was angling for a date. “I wasn’t trying to ask you out,” I fumble. “I was just trying to tell you about some good places around here.”

“I know,” he says, the twinkle in his eye giving away amusement at my back peddling. 

I decide to be brave. It’s just lunch.

*************************************

Styling my shoulder-length thick brown hair into some semblance of order proves impossible. A messy bun with a few loose curls hanging here and there will have to do. Phoebe is wiggling around in the bathroom sink where she was curled up in a hand towel sleeping only a moment ago. I imagine she can sense my excitement and is nervous about being left home alone. I begin to worry that this was a bad idea. What if she cries so hard that she stops breathing and dies? What if, in her panic, she escapes her box and gets trapped inside the couch and can’t be rescued? I almost cancel my lunch date, then scoop Phoebe into a snuggle, willing myself some of her spunky courage. She is my little good luck charm. She begins to scream because she’s learned that is what gets her a bottle. I sigh and roll my eyes, knowing her pathetic cries are fake.

“Little drama queen, I already fed you,” I tease before putting her into the box on the bathroom floor. I check my mascara in the mirror, take a deep breath, and head out. When I am almost to the front door, her cries intensify and I run back to the bathroom. I decide to set the box in the bathtub as an added safety measure.

***************************************

Phoebe stretches out between us, one paw across Mitchell’s forehead. Her intermittent purring blends with Mitchell’s rhythmic soft snore, but all I hear is silence. My sweet lover bought me custom molded shooting earplugs that hunters use to block out the loud sounds of weapons blasting next to ears.

I moved into his place because it made sense, but we brought most of my furniture because his consisted of bean bags and futons. His back yard has a wide oak that shades the patio and there is a pecan tree in the front. He loves to work outside and keeps the lawn pristine. I hate the sound of the lawn mower revving up, knowing I’ll have to put in my earplugs to get any of my own work done. I do occasionally miss the silence of my manless sanctuary, but then I take in the stunning view – not of the trees, of him muscling things into place along the fence or digging a hole for who-knows-what-reason men dig holes. And for the adorable way he clangs and bangs and slams tools around outside, then slips off his boots at the door and wears socks in the house so I don’t hear footfalls.

Things are a little more raucous when Mitchell’s daughter comes over for a weekend, but I’ve found I can tolerate joyful exuberance more than I realized. And it is worth it to see how happy it makes Mitchell when she’s sprawled on our couch watching movies with us while scrolling through her phone. They make fun of me by doing fake sign language and whispering dramatically when I’m in the room. When they are at work and school and I have the house to myself, I revel in the quiet – absolute peace for me to dig into my books.

I obviously never tried to find Phoebe another home. After a few months of never leaving my side, I couldn’t bear to part with her. She nestled her way right into my heart. And the only time she puts up a fuss is when I am taking too long to feed her and she thinks I deserve a scolding. She walks just fine, though her paws curve in, so she looks a little like she’s walking on the wrists of her front legs. She doesn’t climb well, but can jump really high because her back legs are quite powerful. She rarely needs help doing anything. She likes to curl up on my lap, and every once in a while, when I’ve had my fill of silence, I’ll take out my ear plugs and listen to her purr while I read.

Agatha Blum Character Biography

Image created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompt using AI on Gencraft.

Agatha Blum is a 70-year-old triplet who tends to her youngest triplet sister Edith (a stroke victim) and drives for a ride sharing company. She says it is for extra spending money, but it is also her escape from the responsibilities of her household. She is the oldest of the three identical triplets but is not speaking to the middle triplet Capitola, whose offense is as yet unknown (the characters must reveal what happened to cause such a rift.) Capitola comes to help care for their sister Edith, but all communication goes through Edith because Capitola and Agatha are not speaking. She also has a baby sister named Roxy (short for Roxeanne) who is 56 and lives the next town over. She will come help with Edith, as well, but is not quite as reliable and has twice given Edith the wrong medications. Agatha is married to a mostly deaf man named Robert who refuses to wear hearing aids and likes to watch the television turned up so loudly that it drives everyone crazy. They live in a small country town outside of Austin, Texas and are all native to the state.

Agatha is unhappy with her situation but believes in making the best of circumstances. Her husband Robert is a retired school maintenance man and keeps the house in good repair, so she figures that is good enough as far as their marriage is concerned. They are able to live off his retirement fairly well, especially since her parents left them the house and property when they passed. Agatha and Robert started a family right after she graduated high school in 1969 and she was a stay-at-home mother until the last of her three children went off to college. Then she began doing volunteer work and odd jobs trying to find something that she enjoyed. She enrolled in a few college courses, but she was miserable in a classroom. The only thing that brought her joy was driving back country roads listening to 60’s music like The Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, The Beach Boys, and Aretha Franklin with the dogs hanging their heads out the windows.

Agatha grew up comfortably with parents who were overwhelmed by having triplets but did their best to instill discipline and provide a loving environment. She is a member of the local church, but her attendance has dropped off in recent years. Her husband still attends but has given up pressuring her to go and simply tells people she is home taking care of her sister. When people from the church visit her and Edith, she is welcoming but has begun to question many of her own long-held beliefs. She keeps her thoughts to herself because she does not want to cause ripples of conflict in her family. The only chance she gets to speak freely is with strangers she gives rides to through the ride sharing app. She has three adult daughters, five granddaughters, and four great-granddaughters. Her sisters each have daughters, as well. No one in her immediate family has ever had a boy.

Agatha is afraid her sister Edith will die. Even worse, Agatha is afraid her sister Edith will not recover fully and will remain dependent on her forever. Agatha feels guilty for not wanting to continue to care for Edith, but also feels that it is her duty because she was given the house and property by her parents knowing that they expected her as the oldest to continue to look after the family. She does not want to be in the matriarchal role she has been assigned and wants to hop in her car and drive away, never to be heard from again. She is hurt by the rift with Capitola, worried about her 2nd oldest granddaughter who has developed an opioid addiction, her middle daughter Imogene who seems lonely and depressed, and her baby sister Roxy who is separated from her 5th husband and struggling to find her footing.  

A Court of Thorns and Roses (Book Review)

Feyre and the fey wolf. Image created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas is a fabulous fantasy tale of personal discovery, growth, and becoming. Feyre reminds me of myself, willing to work herself to the bone to provide for her family, while usually putting her needs last. As often happens in unhealthy family units, her sacrifices are taken for granted.

Accidentally killing a wolf who is fey, she finds herself bound and forced into a world of magic, terror, and beauty unlike anything she has ever experienced. She falls in love with her gift of painting that has never before had the chance to blossom. She begins to see herself as capable of much more than she ever thought possible. And she even falls in love.

Little does she know that every step she takes toward her new life brings her closer to death.

I was terribly disappointed in so many of the characters in this story who did nothing to protect Feyre. Sarah J. Maas is the master of making us dislike characters before letting them redeem themselves. I hope future books give me something to like about some of them because at the end of this book, I was not impressed with anyone but Feyre. Ok, maybe I see some hope for one of the males, but I don’t want to spoil the surprises for anyone who hasn’t read the books yet.

Mass, Sarah J. A Court of Thorns and Roses. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020.

Gone Girl

AI Generated image I prompted on Gencraft.com https://gencraft.ai/p/URdCYb

This winter, my cat Chika died. She wandered out to a far corner of our property to meet her maker. She did as cats are wont to do, sparing her beloved humans the trouble of witnessing their passing. My granddaughter found her and Facetimed me, distraught, tears streaming down her 10-year-old face. She had been missing for a week, and I assumed the worst. A once fat cat, her weight rapidly declined over the preceding month. She had been sickly all eight years of her life with constant upper respiratory infections, allergies, and asthma. Because of her, I now know what cat sneezes and coughs sound like. I became attuned to her different variations of wheezing, knew which ones were minor and which ones warranted a vet visit. Nothing we can do. Another steroid shot might help. A round of antibiotics. Let her live her best life.

I’m surprised she lived as long as she did. I don’t think it was a pleasant existence for a cat, but the vet did not think she was in so much discomfort that she should be put down. Her purring during the exam, passing their breathing tests, and fat physique reassured them that she was as ok as a sick cat could be.

She was afraid of the outside for the first two years of her life. The other cats would encourage her to join them on a jaunt around the yard, but she would sit and watch through the glass door. One day, we left the door propped open with a chair and let them come and go freely for a few hours. They had the best time entering and exiting at will, no need for humans to open anything. The two older cats decided it was high time that the younger, less experienced of the pack join them. They spoke the magic language of cats, convincing her it was safe, then one or the other of them sat by her side as she took her first tentative steps onto the porch. However far she felt comfortable venturing, one of them was right by her side for a good 30 minutes or so. It was heartwarming to watch.

Chika probably had pica. She loved to lick plastic shopping bags if she could get her paws on one, and another cat owner told us it was like a drug addiction to the chemicals on the bag, that it would give her a bit of a buzz. I was unable to find research to back up that claim, however. More likely, she liked the texture, and her brain told her it was something to put in her mouth. Whatever the reason, we had to be careful with plastic bags and make sure none were left out anywhere that Chika could access them. She also sucked or chewed on soft blankets as she was kneading them with her little cat claws.

She hated to be brushed. She wasn’t much on cat treats or fancy wet cat food or even human food. She preferred her dry food, and keep it coming, thank you very much. She expected the bowl to always be full, so she could eat when she felt like it. She was not really a big fan of other animals and took her sweet time getting used to any new ones who entered our home. Even after years of knowing a “new” animal, she might hiss at them if they ventured too close. She decided the dogs were tolerable because she could sleep with them, and they were warm. She liked the sleeping in a pile at night snuggling with others, but by day, she wanted her space.

Chika was hot or cold with affection. She mostly permitted pets when she was in the mood. She liked a warm lap, but the lucky person was selected by her, and the chosen one had no say in the matter. She jumped up, settled in, and waited expectantly for pets. It did not matter if you liked cats, wanted a cat in your lap, or preferred to be left alone. Once she decided you were going to pet her, you might as well get it over with because she would not leave you alone until you did your job. She would look at you with the most severe expression that made you feel at once judged and found unworthy. Hers was a stern cat face. She couldn’t help it. It was just her face, but her countenance gave the impression that everything and everyone were somehow annoying her by their mere existence.

I think she might have killed a bird once in her younger days, but mostly she watched them in the trees, inspiring dive-bombing mothers and cacophonies of threatening bird chatter. She sat under trees where squirrels fussed at her just because she knew it annoyed them. Though she did not have the energy to chase them, she loved that her presence could affect them so.

My heart hurts knowing she has left this plane of reality, though I am comforted by the knowledge that she no longer has to labor to breathe. I never have to trick her into taking medicine again or pin her down so I can attempt to give her a breathing treatment (not an easy accomplishment.) No more late-night searches through the house to make sure she is inside and safe before we lock up. Still, it is hard to say goodbye to someone with whom you’ve spent the last eight years of your life. My tears are selfish. I’m the one who will miss her grumpy, sick, uncomfortable, curmudgeonly, snotty presence. I have a feeling she was relieved to finally bid us all ado. Yes, my girl Chika is gone. May she finally rest in peace.

Rebekah Marshall @Home Studio

Beauty became a surrogate mom when we adopted Chika. From left to right, Sassy, Chika, Beauty.

Sleeping with Aiko and Kenji for warmth.

Tolerating Julian’s love.
Too scared to go outside with Charlotte.

On the threshold, stepping out, encouragement to be brave, looking back for reassurance.

Chika stayed by Grandad’s side in the weeks after my Mema’s passing. It seemed like she knew he needed comfort. The other image is her at her fattest, living her best fat cat life (before we had to start a little bit of a healthier diet.)