The Luckiest Man Alive
I say it all the time. “I am the happiest I have ever been.”
Is this normal? Do you say it to yourself, or out loud to others? Maybe it’s my mental illness. Everything is great.
Or maybe it is the two dogs who have infected my life with a more relaxed pace. Everything is about food bowls and treats and “oh, I see you’re standing up, can we go outside?”
It doesn’t matter, does it? The cause of my continual celebration? The dog at my feet is warm, twitching slightly in his sleep as he dreams about the squirrels continuously eluding him.
It’s something about creativity as prayer. I read it once. A guy named Matthew Fox, go look him up. Writing, singing, painting, sculpting. They are all forms of prayer. And, here’s the coolest part, it does not matter if your God is Jesus-based, Allah-based, or Earth-based. All spirit guides are welcome, both in the ether and here on the planet.
Today, this robustly happy pup has captured my imagination again. I wonder if he knows how happy his wagging tale makes me. I wonder if he knows my real relationship, my intended relationship, is with his mom. That’s what we call ourselves, moms and dads.
Anyway, I know he’s not a child. I know she is not my soul mate. But, they just might be a magnetic force field repelling the sadness and longing.
Read more Short-Short Stories from John.