This week my beloved canine companion died. She was 18 years old – but what has this got to do with the subject of this blog?
As I watched her die the mystery of the animating force struck me again with poignant force. In a matter of minutes, the old dog passed seamlessly from an animated being to a lifeless body. Once again, just like witnessing my grandfather’s body, I imagined the rise and fall of her chest even after it had ceased; my mind kept stubbornly imposing signs of life where there were none.
I truly believe that the human mind is hard-wired to perceive life – life loves life, life wants to commune with other life. It’s part of the trick of walking this tightrope of living. Perhaps this is why the line between objects and subjects is so permeable, why we are so willing to invest life in the objects that surround us, for at the heart of it we are all biological puppets, briefly dancing.
For three nights after my dog’s passing my own heartbeat kept me awake – this little beat disconcerted me as it seemed such a precarious confirmation of my own status as currently, but not indefinitely, living.
Vale Zebadee 1994-2012.