Sacred Contracts XXIII: The Nature of Strays

        
1. Realization: i         
        
It’s understood when a stray snaps         
at a hand(out).  It’s their past,         
their experience, a proven defense         
against steel-toed smiles

posed as mercy in the street.         
        
It’s the chance you take by         
opening your heart         
to get close to it.         
        
2. Realization: ii         
        
You can’t become discontent

or take personally its lone         
misconception of a life

it only lives to possess,         
or doesn’t understand         
how the taste formed as         
teeth into the long roots         
of its mouth.         
        
Anubis whispers the difference         
between natives, immigrants

and tourists;
 

Anput whispers who         
its heart should trust

or who not.         

But, sometimes,         
years of self-neglect         
and societal conditioning         
confuses its natural instinct.         
It forgets who it was,         
can no longer hear         
its canine gods,         
assumes the lie         
as a life of truth         
it must endure.         
        
 3) Realization: iii         
        
One does not become self-focused

or doubt their own intent         
through light and goodness of heart.         
Or, regret having opened

to a waning sentient         
despite what pain manifests.         
It's the experience one must chance         
to survive ensuing guilt

for not ever having tried.         
        
4) Realization: iv         
        
Some strays are ready to receive;

others, content not missing something

they've only ever dreamed.         
        
Some already belong to another        
and suffer from a sacrificial choice         
so palpably prevalent         
nothing you extend         
will ever seem secure         
enough to get them to gravitate         
toward truth, to lick birth extended         
from your finger,  never again         
beg for scraps.         
        
You can recreate every hieroglyph         
and broken clay slate

you think you've translated         
on independent evolution from dirt  

before them, but. . .

it may never be enough to get         
them to see the lie they're living         
is killing them more

than pain of truth ever could.         
        
5) Realization: v        
        
The dark stray with sunken eyes         
and thinning coat  sees tumbleweeds         
has-been lives  and wannabes         
it's committed its life to believe.         
        
And you,  depleted,  accept leaving         
to preserve one minuscule truth

you'll never surrender to a         
lie in the streets.         
        
6) Realization: vi         
    
Persistence factors the difference         
between the giver who desires

only to Love and serve         
and the predator out for a trophy         
via a kill-shot for a stray's ability         
to produce for the factory

or  dinner table.         
        
Experienced strays are street-smart;      
they smell the difference --        
And, possess a saint's patience         
to wait it out.         
        
7) Realization: vii         
    
You ask me to share wisdom

when to hold on,  let go.           
Each stray has their own unique         
experience fired by belief

or lack of faith

in the fruition of dreams.           
        
I would say to you: 

as long as you build strength         
let them bite;         
let them resist.         
Let them circle you;         
it’s part of the process.         
Let them snarl;         
let them bark until         
their lungs are spent,         
lunge until         
their weakened         
state begs them. . .quit.

 

And, lying there, half-starved         
of life, gasping for breath -         
they exhale and submit         
to Love.         
        
I would say:         
if your strength wanes thin,         
if your arm numbs from         
extended offerings, crusted         
on time's stained fingertips,         
and you smell the frozen Winter         
coming over the mountains

from its Autumn hunt       
and you have no coat         
to cover your bones, turn.

Walk, or,  run toward warmth.         
        
Do not look back  into the fading shadow         
of what you've left or you’ll trip and fall      
become embittered in rock salt.            

Look only toward the crossroads         
you approach, toward those         
kindred strays of love and truth:         
those destined as  Sacred Contracts.         
~      
April 1016