The Teacher Who Stands on My Stomach
What a demanding cat taught me about attention
Welcome to Making Time. What makes a life feel vivid rather than rushed? These are my reflections from rural Oregon on attention, ritual, and making things by hand. If you’d like to follow along, you can subscribe for free.
I look forward to starting each day with a book. I pour steaming black coffee into my favorite William Morris mug, give each dog their morning biscuit, start the fireplace if it’s cold, then settle in on the sofa with some non-fiction.
Within 30 seconds of getting comfortably settled, Duke jumps on me. Being a cat, he does not understand the purpose of books, nor does he care to. He stands on my stomach and immediately begins nudging the book or kindle out of my hand. If I try to ignore him and continue reading, he finds a way to get between me and the book. He simply does not understand why this object should get more attention than him.
This often annoys me. I love my cats, but I just wanted to read in peace.
I think: I only have a half hour a day for this. Half an hour where I have the free time and the brain capacity to read non-fiction. I have a backlog of books I want to get through. And you’re ruining it.
One day, I just gave up. I set the book down, looked Duke in his big blue eyes, and just gave him my full attention. I felt how soft and sleek his white fur is. I listened to his breathy purring. I felt his warmth and let myself simply love him.
Of course, he immediately settled down, curled up in my lap, and went to sleep.
Since then, I’ve created a rule for myself. Whenever a cat jumps in my lap and demands love, I stop whatever I’m doing and give him my full attention for at least one minute.
Rather than a distraction, I’ve found that this is a welcome reminder to refocus my mind on something I care deeply about: love for my fellow creatures.
Now, when Duke jumps on me each morning… well, I admit it. I still get annoyed.
But then I remember that I love him, and that I enjoy cuddling him. It’s like my teacher has arrived to remind me to practice.
I have come to believe that we each carry within us two selves. I think of these as Big Self and Little Self.
Big Self is what zen teacher Kosho Uchiyama refers to as “universal self.” In Opening the Hand of Thought, he describes it as “a self that is living the whole truth of life.” It is the self that is beyond the small, constricting realm of the intellect. It is connected, vast, yet simple. It operates without judgement.
It is just my experience, not my thoughts about the experience. When I simply sit with Duke, give him my care and attention, and feel my love for him, this is what I’m practicing. When I’m drawn into a creative project like drawing or painting, I feel that same sense of attention. When I’m out in nature, feeling a sense of awe, I practice then too.
Little Self has a much more narrow field of concern. Little Self worries and ruminates, because it is entirely self-focused. It is full of anxious thoughts about the future, about getting things done, about self-preservation or getting what it wants.
It wants to finish the book, because that’s what it planned to do. It wants to make the most of the first half hour of the day, because time is scarce. It gets annoyed when someone else’s needs get in the way.
And when all the anxiety and rumination get to be too much, Little Self looks for distraction. It wants to shut off completely, so it looks for something else to occupy. It alternates between churning thoughts and completely zoning out.
It’s like two different pairs of glasses you can put on to see the world. One makes the world bigger and clearer, showing you things you may not have seen otherwise. The other pair narrows your focus, like blinders on a horse. Both can be useful. But just noticing which pair you’re wearing gives you a new perspective.
Try This
This week, notice which self you’re wearing. When do you feel expansive and present? When do you feel trapped in small, churning thoughts? You don’t need to fix anything—just notice.
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