Is my cat Jewish?

 

One of my earliest blogposts here explored the question: "Am I Jewish?" After decades of introspection, I've come up with a response to myself, and the short answer is "yes." The longer answer is "yes, but it's not my religion." 

Today, as I was "oy veying" (as I often do), I turned to my cat, Dexter, and asked him, "Are you a Jewish cat?" Now that may seem silly or even irreverent, but as you probably know if you've been following my blogs, that's kind of the way I think about lots of things: absurdly and irreverently. But even in silliness, there often lies truth. Another of my posts dealt with the apparently wacky question of whether cats are preferable to boyfriends, yet even this query was not meant entirely in jest. 

Of course, Dexter did not respond to my question, at least not in any way I could interpret. Despite his affectionate glance in my direction, I'm quite sure he did not grasp my meaning, unless his understanding of English is better than I'd assumed, or cats are able to read minds, which I highly doubt.

The query, "Are you a Jewish cat?" was probably meant more for myself than for Dexter. So I thought about it for a few seconds. Well, his mother (that's me) is Jewish, so according to matrilineal descent, Dexter must be Jewish too. But then I'm not his biological mom, and I imagine that rabbis may differ on interpretation. Dexter was a rescue kitty, so I know nothing of his biological ancestry, not that it would matter anyway. Felines have no religion, and I doubt that Halakha even broaches this subject. 

Though this line of inquiry serves mostly as self-amusement, the mental exercise does point to a deeper meaning: What is the nature of religious identity, and does it hinge on genetics or belief? The more pious folks in my family will sneer at the absurdity of this question. Those on the Christian side would balk at the suggestion that one can inherit religion. They believe that salvation requires acceptance of a creed, (i.e., you can't be "born" a Christian; you must be reborn). Most of the Jews in my family are either Reform or non-observant, so they'd probably be amused along with me at the thought of a Jewish cat. As my faithful blog followers are well aware, I often address the question of religion, sometimes in an irreverent way. I do not mean to be disrespectful, nor do I wish to ridicule. Few topics are "off limits" to me, and if anyone is offended they can merely stop reading, or can leave a negative comment. Free speak rules supreme at "Musings and discoveries..." !

Is happiness all it's cracked up to be?

 

Are you happy? We've all been asked this question in various forms throughout our lives, and I've asked it of myself as well. But instead of smiling (internally or externally) when the subject is brought up, I cringe, and I've begun to explore why that is.

When I'm feeling at my optimal level of mental health, I prefer to use words such as contentment, satisfaction and peace instead of happiness. "Happiness" feels too difficult to achieve, and it would put more stress on me to attempt that lofty goal, because I don't believe I can realistically reach it.

I have suffered from mood swings -- usually mild but sometimes more intense -- for decades. It's probably in my genes since bipolar disorder runs in my family. I have utilized mental health professionals as needed, and for me, the healthiest state of mind is one of calmness and fulfilment. I wouldn't go so far as to say I am "at peace with the world," but there is a sense of relaxation and ease, and occasionally, a faint smile may even appear on my face.

Happiness on the other hand feels like a challenge, and I'm more comfortable lowering my goals and expectations. Of course, this is just semantics, but I'm a writer and word choice can be powerful, even when used solely for internal dialogue. I do experience joy on occasion, but maintaining a long-term state of happiness doesn't feel right for me. It's like having a smile on my face at all times, blissfully existing as if there are no cares in the world. I do not agree with Pangloss's philosophy, that "everything is for the best, in this the best of all possible worlds." Such a level of bliss feels inconsistent with my inner being; I'm too much of a realist.

Life is a highly personalized journey, and I would not dare discourage others from achieving true happiness, if that is a meaningful and relevant concept for them. For myself, however, tranquility feels more within my grasp.  Browning's "Andrea del Sarto" and I will just have to agree to disagree, but each to his own, as long as we don't trample on each other's toes.

The inside and outside worlds: a nitrous-oxide-induced-revelation

A prior blogpost of mine dealt with the phenomenon of achieving philosophical epiphanies while under the influence of a mood-altering substance. No, I haven't revisited the dentist since my prior post, but the revelations at that visit were so numerous that I had to divide the discussion into separate, concise blogposts. (Stay tuned for further sagacious insights.)

As discussed in my prior post, the nitrous oxide I inhale while sitting in the dental chair has the effect of freeing my mind of trivial worries and cares. Slowly, I relax into a deep, meditative ocean of mindfulness, and open to remarkable revelations. 

One idea that flowed through my consciousness was that all that we experience can be divided into two categories: the inside and outside worlds. As the dentist and hygienist worked in my mouth, my interior world was flittering with activity. Thanks to the application of nitrous oxide, the physical sensations in my mouth were not unpleasant, and I can say that I almost enjoyed them. This dental office had thoughtfully provided a television for their patients to watch and listen to, and the comfortable reclining chair increased the tranquilizing stimulus. 

As uncanny thoughts and images danced in my brain, I reminded myself that neither the dentist nor the hygienist could read my mind, so my "inside world" remained completely private. All that anyone else can perceive is transmitted through physical actions and audible words -- that which is perceivable by others is the "outside world." My skin is the metaphorical barrier between these two realms.

I have found this to be a useful way of categorizing thoughts and experiences. I admit to being a little insecure at times, and often worry too much about what others may think of me. I may have a hypersensitivity to being judged, perhaps because I was bullied as a child and adolescent. There are even some things I hesitate to discuss with my psychotherapist, because I deem them embarrassing. She probably has "heard it all before" and would not be shocked or judgmental. Generally, with her as with others, I am a fairly open person and there are few evil things I have done, or wicked thoughts I've entertained, during my lifetime. I wouldn't say that I'm an "open book," but most of my "chapters" have already been published. (How do you like that literary allusion? It's almost as if I'm trying to promote my one published novel which is available in print and eBook format at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online booksellers! 😏)

If I feel embarrassed or ashamed, I remind myself that others cannot read my mind, and confession, while "good for the soul," is not always required. Some secrets I will probably take to my grave, and no, I'm not going to share them with you either.