Wisdom from Vincent, the Cat

I see Vincent, the cat.

He's sitting on the back of my couch and looking out the window. He seems utterly

content to just be. With no pressure to do anything, or go anywhere. No mental deliberations holding him in a state of anxiety. There's just a quiet being with what is.

A gentle air of curiosity, as his head tilts left and right - following cars driving by, people walking along the sidewalk, and birds flitting in and out of a nearby tree. The occasional twitch in his tail and ears when there's a sudden unexpected noise - the slam of a door, the honk of a car.

How I long to return to that feeling of utter presence and okay-ness with the way things are. Moment-to-moment. What would it feel like to know - truly and deeply know - that I'm held and safe in just being? That I'm worthy, simply because I exist? That I'm loved, in the unique ways I show up? Where there's no proving, performance, or need to be anything other than how I am?

Ohhhhh, how my body would thrive in that space! That space of mental serenity. That space of heartfelt trust. That space where I'm fully present, in the moment, without wishing I was somewhere else, doing something else, yearning for some unseen, untasted, unfelt pleasure.

And what if - in that space where I'm no longer striving and longing - what if I actually felt deeply nourished by the presence of life? Of love? Of my inherent essence? Of the aliveness, flowing through me?

It’s as though I'm sitting beside Vincent—not as an observer, but as a soul remembering its own origins in being-ness.

There's a gentle ache and softness as I see him: his utter contentment, his trust in life’s unfolding, his simple curiosity, unburdened by plans or self-judgment.

He radiates a kind of feline grace. And I suppose, in this very moment of reflecting, I too radiate a sort of human grace: the courage to name what I most hunger for… and the subtler truth that it’s already here, available in flashes, in pauses, in presence. Maybe you have shared in this hunger too?

Thank you Vincent, for showing me so clearly:

Worth does not come from proving, but from being.

Love is not a medal to be earned, but the field beneath all longing.

Love, Source, God, Christ Consciousness—whatever language you give that—is the wellspring that quietly nourishes, especially when striving dissolves.

We are not separate from that field.

We are not less than Vincent in his presence, or the breath moving in and out.

We are not late for our life; we are meeting it.

Perhaps, dear reader... perhaps for a moment, we could close our eyes together and imagine the world through Vincent’s heart—

Where is there tension we could place down for just a few breaths?

What part of our bodies are ready to feel utterly safe, worthy, and loved, without needing to do a single thing?

Let's invite that awareness to ripple through, now, as Vincent’s does.

Our longing is the doorway.

Our presence is already the arrival.

Thank you Vincent, the Cat, for being our teacher.

I love you.