I found a tear in one of the pajamas bottoms and decided to sew it shut with a bit of thread instead of discarding it.
My grandpa in dark pants with a friend at the temple he cared for all his life. Behind them are the painted door guardians of the temple.
And in that instance of stitching up the hole, I felt the knobby hands of my grandparents from across the years.
Vivid memories of my grandpa’s stitches on the edges of his pockets and sides of cloth carriers appeared in my mind.
My grandpa was always mending and repairing things. He was always short on money, but never short tempered. He had this gift of approaching chores with an almost meditative attitude which made me want to potter around him more.
Whether it was sweeping the temple compound, arranging grand offerings for the gods or preparing leftovers to feed stray cats, my grandpa did them all carefully & methodically. No work was above or beneath him.
Those wordless afternoons with him would later shape my learning with male teachers and male mentors when I entered school.
The temple door guardian was witness to many of my wordless afternoons with my grandpa. He is now my gateway to my grandpa and my childhood.
After the cremation on 27 May, China Black’s ashes were held in a little box on the shelf he used to sit on during his youth.
And for the past few nights, I would check in and find his cat brothers, Hakim & Emmanuel hanging quietly in China Black’s favorite corner, below his ashes.
Last night was the 6th day of his passing going on 7th. There’s a belief in my culture that on the 7th day of passing, the deceased would come home to make one final visit to check on his family before moving on.
So I lit a butter lamp to light China Black’s path. Then I decided to place a dish of his favourite food next to his ashes to assure him that he’s healed and all’s well in his home, and most of all, he’s free to move on.
I could leave the butter lamp burning and the tuna dish overnight on China Black’s shelf without worry of fire hazard because Hakim and Emmanuel are too portly and too old to climb on the shelf to topple anything.
China Black’s usual way of eating to show that he has more than enough.
This morning the butter lamp had finished burning. Every item on the shelf was in place except for the tuna meant for China Black. It was half finished like the way he usually ate when he was here. He was a small eater, easily distracted and seldom finished his food.
I am grateful that China Black could eat which means he is now healed. His visit on Day7 of his passing has helped me to clear all doubts of animals having souls.
My practice of honouring the souls of animals whether they are alive or dead shall continue, and this time with renewed conviction.
A souvenir that was bought with me in mind 3 years ago surfaced in the giver’s storeroom 2 days before the passing of China Black. It arrived yesterday. ♥️
“Would you like to hug him one last time?” the pet crematorium staff asked as I stood at the furnace.
China Black, the slipper-sized black kitten that I rescued from under the vending machine in Chinatown some 15 years ago had passed on in early dawn.
This little black paw has given me so much.
I took the white shrouded bundle from the crematorium staff & held it close to my heart, like I’ve done so each morning for the past years.
China Black loves perching on the shelves to meet me.
China Black loved cuddles. He began his day by hopping onto one of the shelves to make eye contact with me when I entered their room to feed and water them. Only after getting hugged would he leap out of my arms to join the rest for breakfast.
Of late he started sleeping more in his favourite corner on the floor, and eating & drinking soon became a chore.
Hospitalising a cat like China Black that had never left the security of his home since the day he came back from sterilisation was out of the question. He was as affectionate as he was nervous and he resented being caged or confined in any way.
China Black dozes as he prepares for the journey into Light.
So I tried to make his last days at home as comfortable as possible, and let him pick wherever he wanted to lie down.
A few hours before he passed on, the rain came, followed by thunder and lightning. I lit incense to give thanks for the cool breeze and deliverance from the suffocating humidity of the past few days.
Then I cleaned China Black in scented water with pomegranate leaves like I had been doing for the past few days.
Despite his weakened state, he purred loudly and his eyes glowed affectionately, as if he was trying to memorise my face.
As I massaged his limbs that used to be so nimble and quick, I told him not to be afraid of bodily deteriorations. We had to give up this old shell for something better.
Then I stroked his face, held his little paw that I had kissed so often and said, “You’ve given me so many things. You don’t have to struggle to hold onto this body anymore. Wherever you go, you’ll always be home. Go & rest now, Momma’s always here.”
The cat cage where China Black exited for the Light.Hakim and Emmanuel paused quietly and looked at China Black before I carried him out. I put a butter lamp in there to give thanks. For the rest of the day, these two cats just lounged about quietly near the cage.
After he had 3 sips of honey water I carried him back to his favourite corner on the floor. I had wished he would sleep in the cat cage where it was cosy and clean. But I respected his will. To shield his bony body from the cold ceramic floor, I put a cotton shirt on him.
Before I turned in for the night, I lit a butter lamp that would accompany China Black and all in the room.
China Black loves the Sun. He would frequently stand by the window and look out. I would sometimes carry him to the window to greet the Sun.
As I passed the butter lamp over China Black’s head and body to bless him, he looked up at me in full awareness. I felt him receiving the blessings. I did the same for Hakim & Emmaneul, his cat brothers. They seemed to understand what I was doing and didn’t try to hide or run from the fire, but looked at me intently and calmly.
The next morning I woke up and did my morning prayers before I checked on the cats, which was my second act of the day. And as I faced the rising Sun to give thanks for Life, I was surprised to find myself giving thanks for Death as well, for the first time.
When I looked into the cat room, China Black was lying inside the cat cage. As I stood wondering how he could possibly have the strength to walk and climb onto the raised cage, the words, “Angels were here,” popped into my head.
China Black had passed on as if he was asleep.
It lifted my heart to know that my little cat’s soul has left in the cool of the night, where the air was crisp and the sky was sparkling with stars.
This little black cat has not only given me 15 years’ worth of hugs and affection, but also trained me to see the divinity of Water & the sanctity of Fire for Life’s final crossing.
I’m no student of theology or devotee of any particular spiritual teachings, but I felt assisted when needed. In sharing this experience with China Black, I hope that all who deal with animals be given guidance and resources to honour the death of their animals as much as they have benefitted from their lives.
And for those who are struggling with the inevitable end of animals in their care, may they find the rituals most suited to them to help their animals and themselves to make this difficult but necessary crossing. 🙏🌈🐾
Sweet Grace who taught me acceptance with China Black in their younger days. Both were great climbers and I understood how they must felt to lose control of their limbs & other faculties. This is the time when they need our care most. It is a lot of work and sadness, but it has to be done.
Today is new moon and also World Turtle Day. A critically endangered hawksbill turtle was sighted coming onto Singapore shore to lay her eggs.
Hawksbill Turtle laying eggs at East Coast Park on 23 May (World Turtle Day) Pic courtesy of NParks.
She spent about 2 hours on the East Coast Park beach before covering her contributions with sand and swimming out to sea.
This evening I received gifts of fruits, bread, noodles & soup.
Around this time in 2011, Ron and I took our first trip to Nepal.
It was the mango season then.
It is not something to be taken for granted that the same friend who lugged mangoes back to our hotel that day sent me mangoes this evening 9 years later.
Greeting Ganesha at Harati Hotel in the morning before we set out and in the evening when we returned.
I remember vividly Ron & I eating mangoes by the dusty window of Hotel Harati in Thamel in silent gratitude as cars honked madly on the street below.
A rushed life makes it hard for us to find grounding. And because of our inability to ground, we collect links and connections, hoping they can somehow protect us even as we get entangled by our attempts. (Street scene in Thamel, Nepal)
This stay home imposition has provided me the grounding I need to recall & process lots of stuff.
May the new moon open our eyes to see our own buried past clearly, so that we can gather compassion & wisdom to move forward. And as the scales fall off our eyes in the new moon light, may we develop the courage to look at our own movies, instead of just the ones on Netflix.
May the new moon also refresh our ears even as our mouths are masked shut, so that we can listen better to ourselves and to others, before we speak.
With the nation wide restrictions on human movements and activities, I wasn’t sure if flowers would still be available at the supermarket near my home.
Medical safety aside, getting dressed and donning a mask to make that walk in our humid weather did threaten my flower offering practice.
But I finally made the flower trip while being fully aware that it might turn out to be a “wasted” one.
Outside the supermarket, the styrofoam box that was used to contain the jasmines was empty except for the crushed ice that was meant to keep the flowers fresh.
The bouquets on sale were too large for the vases at home and it looked like I was going home “empty handed.”
Oh well…at least I got to buy new sponges for the sink and some bread, dried fruits and nuts, I thought to myself as I reluctantly accepted the reality of my unproductive trip.
As I made my way home, I turned to take one last look at the bouquets, hoping I could perhaps find a smaller one.
It was then I spotted a burly man showing great interest in the empty styrofoam box, much like what I did earlier on.
Burly Man wore dark clothes and had industrial shoes on. He looked like one of those container truck drivers, not someone you would associate with flowers, especially jasmines.
He gesticulated at the cashier with great familiarity to ask where the jasmines were. The latter made a quick dash to someone inside the supermarket.
Before long, a young male staff appeared, cradling a large bag of packed with little packets of jasmines & showed them to Burly Man. Both men smiled widely at the treasured florals & exchanged pleasantries.
By then, Burly Man knew I was also looking to buy jasmines and garlands, if they were available.
As the packets of jasmines rained down into the styrofoam box, Burly Man helped me sort out the garlands which were in limited supply from the unstrung ones, while picking a few packets for himself.
I paid for the garlands for Ganesha, for Avaloki and for St Francis, and thanked Burly Man for getting the jasmines out of cold storage for me.
Burly Man will never know he had played such an important role in a stranger life’s yesterday.
His timely appearance assured me that making “inconvenient journeys” without the certainty of their outcomes, except that they be a gesture of commitment, must be done even when things don’t pan out the way I hope or want.
One afternoon, before 2012, I was sitting by the window of my old flat just looking at the rain trees outside and the badminton court below. It was the June break so I had lots of time to be still.
Then I spotted a man with a backpack making his way to the cast iron bench at the periphery of the badminton court.
He had a dark complexion and was dressed like one of those hundreds of young foreign workers I saw at Mustaffa Centre.
It was a work day so it was unusual to see a worker sitting by himself.
My flat was on the 7th floor. By the time I really noticed the man, he had already sat down. And so I could see only the top of his head,his shoulder and his backpack.
Perhaps something about the way he sat told me he was troubled. And suddenly almost without realising it, I found myself addressing the top of his head with, “Whatever is bothering you, may you be well.”
I wasn’t feeling particularly kind when I made that prayer, if it could be considered a prayer at all. In fact it came out of my mouth almost mechanically.
And as if he had heard me, the man got up.
It was then I saw that one of his hands was newly bandaged.
He must have gotten injured and was taking a rest on the bench after returning from the clinic.
And as for me, I’m glad that I had been spared the shame of making unfair remarks of a man looking “so free,” when the opposite was more like it.
That episode always pops up in my mind during social gatherings when harmless chats can often spiral downwards into trading unkind remarks on others whose lives we know nothing of, in our attempts to sound “interesting.”
And over the years I have avoided meet ups that I feel can make me judgemental or worse still, condone irresponsible speech in my efforts to fit in.
“Ms Ong, is that Mother Mary?” a young voice rang out during zoom tuition.
The kids on zoom saw the painting of the Madonna behind me as I adjusted my notebook.
“Yes, she’s the Perfect Mother. She knows when to hold on and when to let go,” I explained.
When I assured the kids that Mother is always watching our zoom meetings, the girls smiled and one of the boys started singing, “Let it Be.”
To soothe a fearful child or animal, we often hold them close to our chest. And babies and animals often place their hands or paws on the heart area of those who are cuddling them.
It’s an honour to have one’s heart physically touched like this, and perhaps even healed.
So hand on heart, on this Mothers’ Day, may I wish that all male & female hearts be touched and healed of all imbalances, for our own benefit, and for the benefit of all sentient beings. 🙏🌈🐾
These days temperature taking is the norm. And a sticker that says, “I’m OK” is given if one’s temperature is normal.
Standing in the temperature taking queue, I’ve never been more sensitive to these two hitherto nondescript words, “I’m OK.”
“I’m OK,” gives me permission to go into supermarkets, post offices, banks and other enclosed public spaces.
“I’m OK,” tells me that breathing is a gift that can be forfeited any time.
And I’ve also become very conscious of the fact that temperature taking requires someone to point directly at my forehead with an instrument, even though there’s no physical contact .
The forehead is home to the third eye and the pineal gland, among other important features.
Perhaps this mode of contactless temperature taking is an invitation to us to connect with dimensions beyond human sensing.
So today for my OM writing practice to purify my pride & ignorance, I’ve included an “I’m OK” sticker from this morning’s grocery trip as a gesture of gratitude.
Here’s giving thanks to every “I’m OK,” in my life, and may all my friends and all sentient beings be very OK today and the days to come. 🙏🌈🐾
And for the past few nights, I would check in and find his cat brothers, Hakim & Emmanuel hanging quietly in China Black’s favorite corner, below his ashes.
One afternoon, before 2012, I was sitting by the window of my old flat just looking at the rain trees outside and the badminton court below. It was the June break so I had lots of time to be still.
Lisa Ong 