“greet strays” Collage, cut New Yorker Magazine paper, 9" x 12" — **“greet strays”**
Collage, cut *New Yorker* Magazine paper, 9" x 12"

stray [ strey ] adjective

occurring at random or sporadically: stray thoughts

As it turns out, living through a failed insurrection at one’s national capital can cause one’s thoughts to stray.

I’m sure there are any number of fellow citizens from any number of countries who could have told me this.

Hard to focus.

Stray thoughts. Stray emotions.

This week I almost stepped on a dead squirrel in the road, and I burst into tears.

Maybe this pandemic is taking its toll.

Sure. Just ask anyone who’s lost a loved one. Or their lung capacity.

Maybe MLK’s dream is taking waaaaaaaaaaaay too long to manifest.

Maybe the denial of so many white people is enraging.

Maybe I’m too impatient.

Maybe I chose the wrong lifetime to give up cupcakes.

Mmmmm. Cupcakes.

stray [ strey ] verb

2. to become distracted from an argument or train of thought: strayed from the point

What was my point??

stray [ strey ] noun

3. a domestic animal that is wandering at large or is lost.

I never dreamed of featuring a dog in this week’s collage. But this dog visited me in my dreams. This dog resembles many that my family had while I was growing up. Pit bulls are THE ABSOLUTE BEST. Fight me. (Don’t fight me. Said the pit bull.)

Pitties, when not exploited and abused by humans, are the sweetest, gentlest, and most loyal dogs known to me.

When this stray pittie showed up in my dream, we smiled and gazed lovingly at each other. Then she made a beeline for me, toppled me over, and snuggled with me. It was THE ABSOLUTE BEST.

I forgot about that dream until I read in this week’s New Yorker the words “greet strays.” Did I really want to do a post about stray dogs during this very week when our nation is on such a precipice??

stray [ strey ] noun

4. a person or thing that strays.

I suppose there’s an argument for every individual being a stray—wandering around in one’s world trying to find one’s way. One cries at the sight of a dead squirrel. One shoots squirrels. One shoots movies. One cries at movies.

I’m dreaming of the day when each One doesn’t feel so one—when One holds a sense of self that is both I and WE. So that when I experience self-love I know that I am also serving the greater We. Because I can’t give away what I don’t have. The more I nurture my capacity to love, the more I serve the greater We.

And then maybe strays wouldn’t slip through our societal cracks. Maybe strays would feel loved and know they belong and have value. That they don’t have to dress the same or look the same or join a club or cult or feel the need to exert power over others—because they are empowered within. Each individual One a valuable part of the Whole.

Can I learn to greet each individual as a stray? As a piece of me that just needs some love? Can I empathize with an individual who has strayed so far into fear that they feel the need to express themselves with violence?

I don’t know. I’m working on it.

I do know that if I allow them to keep me angry and distressed, I am in no place to be the Love that I am.

And then I am…

stray [ strey ] adjective

5. not serving any useful purpose: stray light

So I’m focusing my light. And because I needed her to help me do that this week, I offer my stray dog that only wants to love and snuggle.