Book 2: Zoe's Flow, 2.2

 Do you believe in miracles?

That is the album he was listening to when he was younger as he assembled one of the freshest, most enjoyable writings he'd ever crafted. He was typing in those days into a Compaq Computer. Plunking away with two pointers and much patience with typos. The specific date escapes him to this day, but there was snow in the air and Kenny G was still close to newborn on the airwaves, nevertheless, that afternoon he got caught up in a vision.

He flew onto the stage of the page as a snowflake… Whirling through the skies of his life, if you will. We join the flying snowflake with a friendly visit to each of his brothers, we are strewn through the yawning expanse of the deep blue starry skies out in the country, we address carolers in the town square, we are nearly licked by a labrador and then wind up slipping through the doorway for the day of the big day… of course, at home.

His last great turn before falling onto the mat in front of the brick fireplace, with its family photos and dads stuffed pheasant on the mantle, wreath in the center with candles about, takes him through a stables where an infant surrounded by sheep and donkeys is attended by his mother.

He wondered how Zoe was making it now that the snow was falling so freely. They had expected nearly 6 to 8 inches. He went back and forth between fear for her… And then also in more hopeful moments there was almost a slight giddiness as he wondered how she was making it out there. The two of them had confidence in each other. It took her a lot to leave the apartment, and yet, she believed fully that he would be perfectly okay… After some time of course. Likewise, letting go of her was starting to happen along these lines.

She's going to find a good place. Her new adventures are underway as we speak.

But now the snowflakes… All the snowflakes. Each and every one. Out in the park, where he wore his cashmere scarf and leather gloves, pairing well with his Cambridge gray topcoat and tweed drivers cap, it was nothing but snowflakes as far as the eye could reach.

How many trillion now stirred in the air above him, so alive.

And – oh yes!…

No two of them are the same.

No two of them are the same.

… Nor is any human, Zoe might say.

They are singular beings.

Failing to see the miracle they are, as they live and breathe. They are singular, she could go on, you remember how she was. They are singular, they're also contingent beings… They do not exist of necessity. You and I do not "have to be here."

There was a time before you were here and in just a glimpse there will be a time going on long after you. What brings you into being? And what about your parents, parents, parents…?

It takes a miracle to make a snowflake, to give it its duration out over the open field among the breezes white cold of the living, on a winters wind, right? Flight, is love on the feather tips, is life, flown singularly…

We are given from the wind and into the wind among and between those like us who would never last long without it, Zoe might say. We are contingent beings, sustained breath by breath, drink by drink, meal by meal…

A second time – behold all things new… In your midst The Christmas winds especially remind us of this mysterious and intimate love life we wake up to as often as we wish we could, in the flow and with a gusty gracious and helping wind… Zoe might say.

Christmas was about awakening once again to the invitation to live in full communion with Christ alive, to participate and to remain as present to his loving presence and also his suffering as we can and to remain in hope of full restoration of creation, in its entirety…Fullness of life forever and for all… Amen and amen.

He was now of course at his desk writing. He drank coffee. He kept thinking about these things.

Then he would stop again. He would put on his orange scarf, button his topcoat firmly, afix his hat after running a hand through his hair and make his way back out among the snowflakes.

For all he knew she could be walking out there someplace in the park. Worth a try…

Book 2: Zoe's Flow, 2.1

A young woman with dark brown hair past her shoulders wears a hippie hat and a worn-out corduroy jacket and pets Zoe perfectly as far as the Burmese is concerned. The Doobie Brothers are playing through the stereo as they pull away. The young man driving shrugs and holds up his hands as if whatever she is positing will not be including him.

After the initial shock of being hoisted up and into a whole new hemisphere of reality, she let herself settle in and the affection the young lady was showing brought forth as a lullaby, a weightless purring mantra… Oh how wonderful… Life is good… Oh how wonderful… Life is good…

After repeating it a few times Zoe expected some sort of response but it soon became clear that the young lady was not going to be able to converse with her in English/human given her age probably. With a little more maturity and openness it might've worked… Nevertheless, Zoe went on "meowing" and purring and by the time it was time to hop out quite a bond of trust had already been established.

Don't leave me here, please take me with you, I may need a meal and some minor first-aid for my upper lip. She kept it up to no avail. 

Instinctively, Zoe had a sense of the goodness of the girls intentions. She was ready to see what was happening next, life had opened a welcoming door.

Sometimes living as a feline could mean one putting their full trust in the touch of a hand or a simple ear scratch to assess how secure and safe things felt. For now this was a good place to be.

They had been to the grocery store and the two of them entered their trailer up a handmade stairway that looked as though it had been there for a very long time but was still offkilter and out of place. Inside the trailer there was wall to wall paneling and a few couches that wrapped around which were carpeted in green and beige and brown shag. The place smelled like coffee and marijuana and coriander and allspice and chai, together with just a hint of sweaty socks, perfume and garlic.

She laid Zoe down on the couch and followed the young man toward the back through a narrow hallway beyond the kitchenette.

You stay here now sweetie, I'll be right back with some milk for you and some yummy tuna.

If that thing pees in here once… I swear. He put milk and eggs and cheese and hot dogs into the fridge and a sixpack of PBR. He removed his hat and shoes.

No no… I told you there's a whole bunch of sand underneath if she wants outside and I'll keep tabs on a litter box…

Which is going where? The young man asked, his shirt off, staring at her with a rather distrustful smile.

It can go here. She walked back out front and shuffled a few boxes around underneath the sink and tossed out two items through the front door. Right here see… Plenty of space and then we can close it behind the curtain. And we spray some Lysol every now and then, no big deal, this place reeks anyway dude.

And you're going to take care of it? He said. One hundred percent?

I'm going to take care of her, yes. It's meant to be. Look how beautiful she is. You would probably have to pay lots of money for a cat like her don't you think?

Zoe had the benefit of understanding their entire conversation but still was left curious (at least for the first few moments) regarding what transpired next as the door closed and some sort of interaction occurred between the two of them causing much ruckus and that involved several minutes of what sounded to Zoe like an extended wrestling match.

She sat up on the bed and stared at the closed door. The shuffling of limbs, the sound of throne pillows. What on earth are they doing to each other?… 

Then with a slap and an oooh and a MEEEEOOWW! Zoe awakened… Pouncing like an arrow shot, straight across the double mattress, as she was when first a kitten in the skattered shock of lightning.

Oh for crying out loud!… She sprang over and hid herself quickly under a pillow and curled into a ball covering her ears. Apparently there were going to be some things to adjust to here in her new twentysomething hippie abode.

Afterword they all toked and ate Cheeze-its with peanut butter.

Book 2: Zoe's Flow, 2.0

The day after tomorrow Laura would come and stay for a few days. Would it really improve the likelihood of finding Zoe?

Her silly face would not leave his head. It would be nice to have some company.

He had been mapping out the neighborhood from a felines point of view to the best of his ability. The fish market was certainly worth a second, even a third look or even make it a standing routine check perhaps. Kelly's was always well worth a careful once over, of course, after they had been there together so many times.

But where was she going – where had she always wanted to be? If she was willing to leave in the first place, what would she be reaching for that she didn't already have? She was a minimalist. It was at her encouragement that he had been able to make a good start at non-attachment in the first place; letting things be what they were, experiencing life as a process, something flowing. That was her vibe. 

My goodness, he thought to himself, how bad must I have made it for her before she finally was forced to leave.

The guilt. She needed food, my presence, some companionship.

That night he decided to get out for an intentional run. All the lights were up around the city by now and it would be an electrically dazzling mile or so but his favorite was to get out beyond the farthest west hill and head down to where it was still yet dark enough to take in a full moon or an occasional search for Saturn.

Tonight as he ran his thoughts continued.

If it weren't for the bad weather she'd probably be happy outside for a good long season.

I wonder if she would ever have the stones to hop on a truck or bus or something…? Did she realize she wasn't far from open country, 40 miles or so from the northern fringes of the Blue Ridge?

He fell into a rhythm that began to feel dreamy, more visionary. He thought he would check his pulse for sure when he returned home.

What a Fisher… she must be. I could just imagine her…  nestling herself into a small cave near one of the canyons and making her way down each dawn to the meandering silver string of river, on down to the spattering brooks where Trout riggle through the stony turns gaining speed and stirring the waters first sourced and strung through the mountains rounded hips rising up to firm their respective glacial tips. Her hips splayed, pouring her over a limb like a supremely more adorable snake, her blue eyes peering deeply into the rush of the taught white waters beneath. A pure creature, hunter of life.

She didn't need much to get by. She made the world wear her like a lucky fur, an outdoorsy Zen master at home in the mountains of Burma.