Subscribe to this blog's feedI went to get the mail tonight, taking the ferrets in my little geeky pet stroller. Anyone who has had ferrets knows that, barring carrying them in your arms (slippery eels, ferrets) it’s the only way to travel. They love the stroller. Sometimes, when I let them out to play in the apartment, Benjamin Ferret will leap into the stroller, and wait until I give him a tour of the living room. They’re funky like that.
It was a full-ish moon. A waxing gibbous, technically, I think. Once the ferrets got tired of wrestling in the confines of the mesh-screened stroller, they settled down to enjoy the ride. Looking down, I noticed Benjamin, my brave, smart, sick one, on his back, four paws in the air, eyes wide open. He was watching the moon. He was basking in the glow of the cool, blue light. Utterly unlike any other light to which he had been subjected in the cruel, small confines of my apartment. Like me, he was awed by the enormity of the world outside. Unlike me, he rolled on his back to bask in it, where I would have hidden, HAVE indeed hidden, more times than not.
I got the mail, and headed back to the apartment. Stopped at the curb to sit, and contemplate the crisp autumn air, the pale moon, my silent, contemplative companions. We looked at the night sky, my pets and I. Looked at it as though it were poetry that, if we only tried hard enough, we would understand.
I have been unwell. Not sick. Sick denotes cures, treatments, that sort of thing. Business. Simply unwell. I am tired almost all the time. I sleep, wake, have some cereal, sleep again, wake, watch television, and then? Sleep. A few months of that wears a person down. But it’s where I am. Week after next, a CAT scan to see why my levels are so whacked out, if there’s a tumor or some damage to something. And maybe that will explain the fatigue, the withdrawal. I honestly feel that I am orbiting the earth, not dwelling upon it.
Fights and battles and righteous warfare that used to consume me so much, so often, now feels like dwindling clarion calls from a skirmish forgotten. I am finding myself ignoring friendships, ignoring emails, going through the motions of the most rudimentary parts of life. Not that I am angry or sad or hurt by ANYONE who has tried and failed to contact me lately. It's just a general withdrawal, something only the most stalwart could hope to penetrate. I am certainly not that, and don't rely on others for such fortitude. Only my beloved pets seem to offer me any connection right now.
And the moon is blue, and cold, and distant. We stare up at it, Benjamin Ferret and I. Duncan ferret went to sleep as soon as he realized the stroller was not an avenue towards a larger playtime. He is young, and dismisses the moon as something always there… like his youth, I imagine. He is not yet wise, like Benjamin Ferret and I. He does not feel the encroachment of years, of the stars and their slow entropy. Duncan ferret knows the now. Benjamin knows that now is fleeting, that moments must be cherished, because they are not likely to come again.
I feel like that moon sometimes, dissolving into the sky, into the night, onto a peaceful sea. And I cannot imagine a real death being more profound, more of a true merging of what we are and what we are capable of being, than that. And there is both hope and love and deep despair in that feeling. No matter what I accomplish, who and how hard I love and am loved, no matter whose lives I save, or whose I shorten with apathy, I really am nothing more than a glimmer in an incomprehensible ocean. And that’s an ok thing, really.
There is something both humbling and empowering there. Because without every single glimmer in each moonlit sea, there would be something vital missing, some important piece of reality lost. Those standing before that moonset would notice the loss, however subliminally, and it would be like seeing the pixels in a special effect in the movies, or noticing the jarring transition between poorly edited scenes in an otherwise flawless film. Continuity counts, I think. I think it counts more than I can articulate. And it’s cool to be a part of that.
Comments (10)
Beautiful, sad, moving me to tears as I read.... my spirit brushed, my soul spoken to... you've one hell of a way with words, I could see the wonder in your ferrets' eyes as he lay on his back, looking up... Living in the countryside, as I do, when there is no cloud cover-rare here in mid Wales-how even the loss of the feintest star would impair the whole. I sit out wrapped up against the cold in winter to be with them. It isn't just the bright ones that matter, that make up the skys' deep carpet.... thank you.
Posted by Pav | November 22, 2006 6:13 PM
Posted on November 22, 2006 18:13
Thank you Jonathan. This one says it all. I was curious where you were in your journey, and now I totally understand.
Love Ya Man!
Tim.
Posted by moffie65 | November 23, 2006 6:28 AM
Posted on November 23, 2006 06:28
Wow. There's poetry in your soul. The filamental connection between Benjamen Ferret, Duncan Ferret and their respective positions to aging is exquisite.
Having just beent hrough a cycle of losses with aged parents and beloved pets, the two new kittens in the house posses that same innocent guile of youth you so achingly express.
It makes me sad in one breath for my spent days, weeks and years, and glowingly at peace in the next from my perspecyive of a life well lived, so far.
I wish you well on this Thanksgiving day.
Hugs,
Robby
Posted by Robby | November 23, 2006 9:04 AM
Posted on November 23, 2006 09:04
Thank you for these beautiful words...i anm keeping them where i will see them every day as they will help give me strength i need now.
peace,
darren m
LV NV
Posted by DARREN | November 23, 2006 4:02 PM
Posted on November 23, 2006 16:02
Jonathan.
Very profound. Thank you so very much.
Posted by Elizabeth | November 26, 2006 10:23 PM
Posted on November 26, 2006 22:23
Hi Jonathan,
I wrote last time. I have no symptoms but was scared and felt alone. There are no programs in my city to help AIDS patients but I did contribute and I do volunteer at the day center, after work. Thanks for the inspiration. As to your last letter and traveling home...I sat here and cried but then I laughed...at myself. I'm not "wearing" HIV. My blood work was OK. I'm not taking all the meds you are taking and I've gone snowboarding for the past two weekends. How self absorbed can I get? It took your commentary to make me really start thinking about this...after TWO years!!! I need to get my priorities straight and I will. I need to read POZ blogs from others and I will. But what I really need is to have some insight to your bravery and your battle to live one more day...just one more day and then worry about the next one when it comes.
Keep writing buddy and keep fighting. I may be holding back the sobs right now but I'm a better person for having read your story and the comments following.
Merry Christmas.
Barry
Posted by Barry | December 19, 2006 4:24 PM
Posted on December 19, 2006 16:24
Jonathan-I'm really not sure how I came to read your blog but, I am glad I did. It's as though we are on the same path. Being sick or getting better while reading your life paths, makes me feel not so alone. I want to thank you for the words that you explain our pain with. I wish you well, and keep writing. Your expressions are beautiful.
Posted by Mathew | January 23, 2007 7:16 PM
Posted on January 23, 2007 19:16
Greetings,
As what i read on this posted article, i found out the informativeness of this
kind of topic. For that reason i opened up an idea and some knowledge in this
field. well, you made just did a great job..more power!
sincerely,
Lea Go
Pet Strollers
Posted by Lea Go | April 4, 2007 1:13 PM
Posted on April 4, 2007 13:13
O.K. men newly on meds... Thinkgs will change in time as your body adjusts to this transition. You are fighting a virus that is living in your human home and it wants to live. Find some sense of courgage to sit in the front seat of this life ride and stay in control. I was diagnosed in 1984 when the first HIV test became available... once the country knew of a thing then called GRID that was killing gay men in enormous numbers every month. No life saving medicines for anyone... men mostly, dying left and right... no hope... just prayers... of hope. I've survived 99.9% of those of my generation who were HIV positive then went on to full blown AIDS and to their far too early deaths. I do know how you feel Jonathan... I'm soon to turn 63 and have survived a level of hell that your medicine issues cannot compare with in any way. I had pneumocysitis pneumonia 4 times in 3 years and lymphona twice in the 1990's and a host of HIV/AIDS related infections and skin crap, just to list a few, anymore would take a book to relate to you. So forgive me but I refuse to coddle you... get some balls man. Have you thought about just how many people had died before 1996 when these HIV medicines hit the market to keep us all alive? Thousands of men, who are now dead would have relished the luxury of having any kind of medicine to ease the hell of AIDS infections and reaching a longer life... and I tell you what, you do the research about what AIDS use to look like and still does in many countries in the world. If that doesn't get you to realize just how well off you are in 2007 as compared to the early 1980's then you need more than medicine to keep yourself alive. I'm so over you guys who have become infected full well knowing that HIV exists then bitch about how bad the medicines make you feel. Well, join the club. Many of us have been through what you are now experiencing and now in our senior years, we have gotten over the hump. Hallelujah. The one thing that we had that I don't get from your whiny letter is COURAGE to be the men that we are and keep up the good fight. Men of my generation, marched, protested were harassed and vilified by the faux religious and my generation demanded research for the kind of meds that you are now complaining about. I'm on AIDS medicines for the rest of my life too and I'm damn happy that they are available for me all who need them. You either have the results or the excuses. Get in a support group if you are not already man... you write like you could use one.
Your choice Jonathan.
Ron
Posted by Ron D. | September 5, 2007 6:42 PM
Posted on September 5, 2007 18:42
I was diagnosed in 1993, have had pcp 4 times, in addition to cryptococcal meningitis and a host of other opportunistic infections. I have been on every drug therapy available, including AZT monotherapy. What I do not lack, sir, are balls. I have crawled out of the hospital and driven myself home, presumable to die, on many occasions. I make my decisions now based on my extensive - even by your standards - personal experience and my ability to understand the science behind HIV and the meds used to treat it.
If you find such fault with my writing, I urge you not to read it. And if your comments are indicative of the support I should be seeking, you will forgive me if I find my abuse elsewhere.
Sincerely,
Jonathan
Posted by Jonathan Kivett | September 5, 2007 7:06 PM
Posted on September 5, 2007 19:06