I am beyond broken. My darling Nicodemus has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I cannot really imagine how I will navigate this world without him.
When they sedated him, suddenly, it began to snow. When he left, it stopped. We wrapped him up for his burial, and the sun came out. The rays shined down right on him and the table he was lying on. He seemed to glow. I have never believed in coincidence, even as a child. It all has purpose, in order to give purpose. It is all about our becoming. Nothing comes without struggle and pain. Too many seek only pleasure and the endless loop of the pleasure principle. The dullest of lives are painless. Without the sharp edges, life has no point.
Without the shadow, the sketch is just a blank page.
When I look out the window, I keep thinking I see him coming home from his grave. I also see him through the corner of my eye at every turn. As I have always said, self-destruction is so alluring. Don’t you think?
I replay his call, “Come see me… come find me,” and he would come running. Now only a blank space.
I keep thinking of his fur markings, in fear I will forget. I can’t wash my clothes from the last time I held him.
I closed my eyes and saw Freyja pick him up. He got into her chariot, and she flew away. He went to the back and watched me as he went into the clouds. Like a child in the back of a car window. Eyes that wave goodbye.
We are all physical manifestations of our soul’s stage, and animals are no different. We must never differentiate animals from ourselves and our own personal selves from each other.
I was sure the point of conjure to my inner death took place eons ago on some star far from the beginning of this place. It must have resurrected somewhere in the space of time from then to now because I felt myself die inside when he took his last breath. Yet existence continues on, screaming into the sleeping ear of an elder god. I am not disillusioned about death and the need for it. I know that his energy is still here and that all lives on after the shedding of the mortal coil. It’s just an egotistical primitive echo to want all things to stay and all things to stay the same. But the only constant is change. Again existence spirals on.
Death is not the end. It is only a door. Where ever the door opens to… my dear Nicodemus… “Come find me.”
Nicodemus Furman TigerMan Platypus Papayas Cantrell
2005 (vet birth year estimation) – March 17th, 2023.