Cyd Charisse
1922-2008
Miriam Makeba
1932-2008
Isaac Hayes
1942-2008
Odetta
1930-2008
Harold Pinter
1930-2008
Eartha Kitt
1927-2008
Leonardo
(aka Mr. Underfoot)
1994-2008
My beloved cat is gone. For the past four years, Leonardo has suffered from diabetes stabilized with twice daily insulin injections, but time and declining health finally caught up to my dear cat. Today, an angel came and took him away.
According to legend, the Eskimo have as many as a hundred words to describe what we simply call “snow.” These so-called “focal vocabularies” supply specialized terms and distinctions that are important to certain cultures. Other cultures make do with more limited vocabularies and rely on descriptors or hyphenations to form manifold meanings.
Making do with a limited vocabulary is especially true of cats. A few simple words can represent many concepts, and the difference between “meow” versus “meow” depends upon context. For instance, the first meow in the morning means, “Hungry, fill my bowl.” At other times, meow may mean, “Hello” or “Play with me.” In full ally-cat mode, yowls of meows may represent an autistic fantasy or erotic rapture.
To an intruder into the yard, hiss means, “scram!” In the vet’s office, hiss means, “Fahgettaboudit!” Purr is reserved for emotions such as contentment and love, and make no mistake: Cats DO give and receive love. Learning cat talk comes with bonding. Learning French is another matter.
An interviewer once asked Jacques Derrida, “What is love?” In typical, obscure fashion, he replied that the subject is too complex for an adequate discussion but suggested that one might embark upon an examination of the subject by distinguishing between “who” as a singularity of the one who is loved versus “what” as an attribute of the one who is loved.
What is meant by the phrase, “who as a singularity?” Does “who” imply some immutable aspect of the one in abstract, something so individual and unique that there can only be one example from the beginning to the end of time? Does “what” imply only an ephemeral attribute that is mortal and perishable (perhaps even causing one to fall out of love in pursuit of a “younger’ attribute)? Does love for the “who” connote something more enduring and noble than love for the “what?” Is Derrida being Socratic or Sophist?
When I recall my fondest memories of Leonardo, I am a shameless sentimentalist. If Leonardo were some immutable manifestation, any abstract concept of a cat could represent Leonardo and stand in his place. Impossible! So I prefer to think of Leonardo, not in terms of “who” but in terms of “what:” One salt-and-pepper tabby, one furtive shadow ruffling the curtains, one furry hunchback rubbing against corners and furniture legs, one pair of triangular ears up-periscope across an expanse of table.
So what is love? For me, the distinction between “who” versus “what” strikes me as a false dichotomy. I have come to understand love within the context of giving and receiving … as simple, unconditional acts that merge into one and become indistinguishable.
On this, the last day of 2008, may those whom we have loved and lost find eternal peace!
According to legend, the Eskimo have as many as a hundred words to describe what we simply call “snow.” These so-called “focal vocabularies” supply specialized terms and distinctions that are important to certain cultures. Other cultures make do with more limited vocabularies and rely on descriptors or hyphenations to form manifold meanings.
Making do with a limited vocabulary is especially true of cats. A few simple words can represent many concepts, and the difference between “meow” versus “meow” depends upon context. For instance, the first meow in the morning means, “Hungry, fill my bowl.” At other times, meow may mean, “Hello” or “Play with me.” In full ally-cat mode, yowls of meows may represent an autistic fantasy or erotic rapture.
To an intruder into the yard, hiss means, “scram!” In the vet’s office, hiss means, “Fahgettaboudit!” Purr is reserved for emotions such as contentment and love, and make no mistake: Cats DO give and receive love. Learning cat talk comes with bonding. Learning French is another matter.
An interviewer once asked Jacques Derrida, “What is love?” In typical, obscure fashion, he replied that the subject is too complex for an adequate discussion but suggested that one might embark upon an examination of the subject by distinguishing between “who” as a singularity of the one who is loved versus “what” as an attribute of the one who is loved.
What is meant by the phrase, “who as a singularity?” Does “who” imply some immutable aspect of the one in abstract, something so individual and unique that there can only be one example from the beginning to the end of time? Does “what” imply only an ephemeral attribute that is mortal and perishable (perhaps even causing one to fall out of love in pursuit of a “younger’ attribute)? Does love for the “who” connote something more enduring and noble than love for the “what?” Is Derrida being Socratic or Sophist?
When I recall my fondest memories of Leonardo, I am a shameless sentimentalist. If Leonardo were some immutable manifestation, any abstract concept of a cat could represent Leonardo and stand in his place. Impossible! So I prefer to think of Leonardo, not in terms of “who” but in terms of “what:” One salt-and-pepper tabby, one furtive shadow ruffling the curtains, one furry hunchback rubbing against corners and furniture legs, one pair of triangular ears up-periscope across an expanse of table.
So what is love? For me, the distinction between “who” versus “what” strikes me as a false dichotomy. I have come to understand love within the context of giving and receiving … as simple, unconditional acts that merge into one and become indistinguishable.
On this, the last day of 2008, may those whom we have loved and lost find eternal peace!
