What a Difference a Week Makes

"I think I could turn and live with animals*, 

they are so placid, and self-contain'd, 

I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition, 

They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, 

They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, 

Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, 

Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago…"

–Walt Whitman

 

I stopped the quote there, for I believe animals can be unhappy, which Whitman says they are not.

We have a new animal, a happy animal, a dog my grandson named Zeke.

I just learned that the word animal comes from the Latin word "soul."

Zeke is a German Shepherd mix. Small for a German Shepard. He's a lover, sweet and gentle. My daughter chose him from The Greenhill Animal Shelter. 

He has three legs.

He had a genetic deformity in his right leg. The RV Outlet in Eugene, Oregon, paid for his surgery, a generosity for which I am incredibly grateful. They gave that dog an opportunity for a happy life and gave us a happy dog.

When my daughter first told me about him, I was reluctant to have another dog enter our two dogs and one-cat household, but within a day of having him here, I was in love.

One serendipitous part of this sudden experience was that a couple of days before my daughter learned that her dog Laffe has cancer, she felt called to look at dogs at the shelter, and while there she fell in love with this three-legged dog.

I was drawn to Whitman's poem, for this dog does not whine about his condition. He hops about, dropping joy on his three paw prints and us.

Regarding whether animals have souls, a subject I ran into this week, how in the heck would we know? People used to argue about how many angels could stand on the head of a pin, and arguments regarding philosophical thought still rage.

I vote that if humans have a soul, and I believe they do—then so do the animals. To me, the spark of life indicates a soul. (Hey, plants are alive too.)

Gary Kowalski took up the daring question of the soul in his book, The Souls of Animals) — an inquiry into the "spiritual lives" of whooping cranes, elephants, jackdaws, gorillas, songbirds, horses, dogs, and cats. At its center is the idea that spirituality — which he defines as "the development of a moral sense, the appreciation of beauty, the capacity for creativity, and the awareness of one's self within a larger universe as well as a sense of mystery and wonder about it all" — is a natural byproduct of "the biological order and in the ecology shared by all life."

Do fleas go to heaven? If they do, they are fed a replicated formula and keep their mitts off the other critters.

 

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Dear Folks,

I began The Muse Newsletter about a year ago but didn’t think anyone was interested and thus stopped. However, last month someone sent $12 for 12 issues. I am happy she somehow found me, and for her and anyone else who agrees to join us, I will write the next 12 issues.

I wrote two FREE samples (on in February, one in March) so readers could have a taste. 

Steven Pressfield motivated me when he wrote about sweeping the house, so the Muse doesn’t soil her gown when she enters. That was such a beautiful picture that I began the Newsletter about The Muse. And I was impressed when after rattling around for years in his VW bus, ruining his marriage, and resisting the very thing he knew he must do, Pressfield finally set down to the typewriter and pecked out a few pages. After that, he whistled as he washed a sink full of dishes. The writing was terrible, he said. But he had found his calling.

Wasn’t that the Muse who visited Pressfield? She visited even though he said his writing was terrible.

She visits when you feel creative and enter a no-time zone, where thoughts are popping and you feel inspired. You are in a happy place.

But my work stinks, you might say. No, remember how you felt when making it? That’s yours whether anyone likes it or not, and she visited whether your skill was up to par or not.

Skill is learned.

And art is subjective.

Think about being in the 1800’s and seeing an ear deformed painter selling his wares on the street. Would you have liked Vincent Van Gogh’s paintings? Would you have appreciated his Irises, Sunflowers, or a strange starry night? They are valuable now because of their perceived value. Would you want them on your wall if they only cost a few dollars? Myth says that Van Gogh only sold one painting during his lifetime, The Red Vineyard. Some think there was another one sold but not recorded. Still, that first painting sold for only a couple of dollars. On the last sale, Sunflowers sold for over 39 million.

Van Gogh’s life paints a picture of the tragic starving artist and another that encourages parental advice “to get a real job.”

You might wonder why we felt so good while producing yet are rejected. Hey, people like different things. Don’t expect to reach everybody. Plus, we are limited by our skills.

We work to improve our skills, so we have something of value to offer when the Muse visits.

I liken it to those people who call themselves channels.” Channels say they get a download of information. Yet, for audiences to listen to them, they must articulate that information artfully or dramatically. Our data is filtered through our own skill and belief system.

I follow Steven Pressfield’s Writing Wednesdays, (not every Wednesday) and was saddened when I first saw a picture of him in his backyard. Such a pretty well-kept backyard. Then I learned that he had lost his home in the LA fires and was on GoFundMe.

He plans to rebuild.

Live well. Find a happy place.

Jo

P.S. Please keep scrolling to read the March issue. The first February issue was posted on January 30, 2025.