Why not me? I pace. I prowl. I sit down. I stand up. I do to bed early. I say a mantra. I cannot seem to get the knack of kicking back.
My dogs eat, then beg to play, then play, then with little or no fanfare, they plop down in a comfortable spot and... They are out like lights. How do they do it? I helped to raise them. They should be somewhat influenced by my presence. Why are not they even somewhat dysfunctional with respect to the ability to relax?
The answer is simple beyond my ability to understand intellectually. They don't care. They trust me, their surroundings, their physical condition, and they don't worry until there is a reason to do so. Oh, as you can see in the eyes of the big one, there is an element of suspicion, but only for the most basic of reasons. "You really don't think you have enough room to join us, and I am certain you do not expect any of US to move do you?" That sort of logic. They do not engage in my logic, which were I to wear the same expression, could be interpreted as, "Oh, God, if I do not organize the shelves in the kitchen, I will fall behind," or, "I am certain some major issue will rear up tomorrow, and then I will have two major chores to complete. Why are you looking at me like that?"
I am not simple. God saw fit to adorn the female of my species with a wide pelvis and birthing canal perfect for expelling infants with over sized craniums. Those bulbous, brain globes are blessed with two hemispheres of frontal lobes, and those lobes carry memories. We human bobble heads take an inordinately long time to develop, and when we eventually do, we have managed to store and classify millions of bits of memory. Some good, most bothersome, and useless to our survival. Why? Because we no longer walk habitually upright through tall, savanna grasses peering furtively over our shoulders in search of wicked, fanged carnivores or gazelles hell bent on pounding us into the mud for daring to peek at their non bulbous headed offspring.
God gifted us with the capacity to learn from our mistakes, and those of others (the eaten and the trampled). We store those memories with a dose of chemicals attached. Chemicals which we fondly refer as "fear." We spent many, many years developing this capacity, and became so good at it, we were motivated to go to any lengths to remove the causes of our fear. We slew, herded, stampeded and corralled all the beasties, trees and fauna of the world into tidy piles we could manage in our attempts to relieve the fear that stalked us through the wilds of the world. We were successful, but the fear did not leave us, and our memories still lurk in our over sized craniums provoking us with regular bouts of anxiety. The causes have all been managed to one degree or another, so many of us do not even fully understand why we suffer from such unreasonable fear.
Now, the species we corralled have certainly benefited from our frantic efforts to "fix" all that was violent in the world. Even those we eat do not seem to be overly burdened with worry for the future. Why? No inordinately large heads. They do remember but only enough to stave off the most pressing dangers. Even when the creature comforts are cut back or even cruelly refused them, they maintain memories of what worked for them as opposed to what threatened them. How remarkable?
I have no idea how to emulate the efforts of my beloved pets. I wish I could. I try to be the Taoist "un-carved block," but with little success. My mind begin to fancy it can help the block or beautify it, and I am off and running. I am, as the author of the Tao of Poo describes, a "Bisy Bakson." I will not explain further. You must read the book by Benjamin Hoff. My best results come when I just look at them "letting go" and join them. We stare vacantly off into space, and I concentrate on watching them not concentrate. It works. Give me another decade and perhaps I will give up my claim to being another "Bisy Bakson."
