I think I'm immune to the rolling eyes and the "only in LA"s I hear when I tell people this, but my old boy Pepper, who is 13 and could not walk on Monday of this week (he was literally pulling his hind end along by his front paws) is now running around in the garden thanks to acupuncture and Chinese herbs. I'm watching him out there in the greyness of the morning and he's gallumping around with the spotted girls in his new booties, made of rubber-bottomed socks and duct tape by Monica, so that he won't slip on our hardwood floors. I hesitatingly told my ma about the needles. She knows that it can work as I dragged her to marvelous Dr Kearney's office when she was here a few years ago, when she met George Harrison in the waiting room, and came out floating. Pepper is a new boy. His posture is somewhat tripod-like but who can blame him after a week of not being able to get up when he falls down? "It's proven" says Lucy on the phone. "And ancient" I say. "Who can mess with that." And as we justify it in harmony I watch the dog gallumping, galumping along like a patrician General on Flanders field, with wet galoshes and musty tweed.
And then there's the preciousness of life. The whatever-you're-feeling-sorry-for-yourself-about-there-are-others-suffering-more of it all. The kiss-your-loved-ones-every-day argument. The life-is-short-all-we-can-do-is-love theory. All true. All connected. Check this out:
11-11-11 was the day when consciousness was supposed to shift. Or when we consciously shift our consciousness. People are holding hands around the pyramids in Giza, spending all day in yoga and meditation, thinking positive thoughts, working through mathematic conundrums, praying. All of it works. Even walks in the woods.