FSE

Furry search engine

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"Imagine yourself as a lake... as a large pool of water..." The voice in my ears was soft, steady, mellifluous, calm. "A large... still... body of water... no ripples... no sounds... Just utter, utter stillness...

"Now imagine yourself looking at the water... See the stillness... see the calm... See the world reflected on the surface of yourself... yet also see the light penetrating beneath the surface to illuminate the depths of the water... See the shadows there, and the bright rays where the sun goes deeply into the lake... See the light and the dark... the light... and the dark... They are both perfectly natural parts of the lake...

"And it is perfectly natural, you know, and good, for there to be light and dark... Just as it is good for there to be a surface, a calm, smooth surface, which appears to be overlaid with a reflection, a vision of what the world would have it seem to be... but underneath, who knows how far that reflection goes?... who knows what is there beneath the surface."

The voice paused for breath, perhaps somewhere someone took a sip of water.

"And that's quite all right, you know, for there to be depths as well as surface. The surface tension of the water in a lake is so great that animals can skate on it, little insects who dance shallowly across it, never trying to get deeper, because, you know, if they went deeper they would die... And the fish that swim in the lake, down in the cooler depths and the shallows, if they pass through the surface of the water, they die... And this is quite all right, too, and perfectly natural, just as the shadows and the light are perfectly natural, and the stillness and the depth and the reflection of the world and the unknown depths are perfectly natural, too.

"But, you know, when you look at the water in the lake, this lake that you imagine yourself to be, this lake that you imagine yourself looking at, it's never entirely still... maybe a wind ruffles the surface, maybe it creates a few waves... maybe something falls in the lake and sets of a massive disturbance... Maybe somewhere deep down a fish turns over in its sleep, or maybe something long-buried or long-forgotten returns to the surface. And the ripples of its passing spread out, out from the point at which it appears, wider, and wider and wider, which is how ripples are, you know, as they travel... And remember, as you watch the water, that the further they travel, the longer they have been in existence, the less powerful ripples become, whether it's from a big stone or a tiny bubble, you know, they all spread out and become less... and less... and less... and then they're all gone, gone as though they never were. Maybe there's another rock sunk into the lake, but that's all right, too, because you know nothing ever stays completely the same... everything changes, that's part of time, that's part of the world.

"And the reflection changes, reflects the world around you as it passes by you, as you pass by it. The sun comes and the clouds, and the moon and the stars, all of nature passes by you as you pass by it, and, you know, you can see the changes in the reflection in the water... And, you know, no two days are ever exactly the same, no days have exactly the same clouds or the same sun, or the same insects dancing on the surface in the same places at the same time... Even deep down, in the lake, things change, currents flow and ebb and eddy, and fish move and breathe and eat and change... Everything changes, and, you know, that's perfectly all right and perfectly natural...

"So there is the lake... calm and still, just like you are calm and still... reflective of the world but not keeping it out, confident and comfortable in your depths as well as your shallows... At ease with yourself... because everything is natural, everything is good... The winds that touch the lake, that rough its surface, the people whom you meet, the days through whom you live... the deeps you keep to yourself and the shallows you reveal, the shallows where people play and the deeps where the brave ones swim... all these are natural... The storms and the calms, the times of drought and the time of flood... all theseare natural, and what is natural is good.

"And it is the nature of water to seek itself, to bring itself together... Water finds its own level, you know, it reaches out, it wears through stone and earth... it is patient, it is strong... it moves when it can and rests when it must... and it tries, you know, to bring itself together again, with that part of itself that it doesn't know, and doesn't understand... And it knows without knowing and needs without needing, but, you know, above all it seeks without seeking, simply being from day to day... being a lake."

There is another pause, another sip.

"And though you are not a lake, you can imagine a lake's stillness, you can imagine its calm, you can imagine its being without being, its acceptance without accepting... simply existing in the now, in the here... taking what comes, experiencing the world for what it is... a place of shadows and light, and depths and shallows, of barriers, reflections and images... of joy and hope, of the dreams of yesterday and the hopes of tomorrow. And a place where everything that is natural, is right... where it is all right to be what you are, for what else should you be...

"And now we look back at the lake, taking a good look at it and remembering its stillness, its naturalness, its beauty, the rightness of it... and now we take a step back... locking in all we've learned... Another step, and the unconscious is closing behind us. Another step, through the subconscious mind... Another, to the foot of the steps where we came in... And we step up through them, up through the mind to the waking world... Five steps... Four steps... Three... Two... One... and eyes open, wide awake. Five, four, three, two, one, eyes open, wide awake."

Full consciousness comes swiftly back but it takes a moment for me to open my eyes. I feel as though I have slept for a year, refreshed and invigorated.

The voice, different now, more natural, says, "How do you feel?"

I turn my head, see the youngish, handsome male tiger sitting across from me. I notice, as I did not before, how the sun sends shadows through his whiskers, the little caution in his eyes, the twitch of his tail. And I feel the attraction, I feel it, I know it is there without even thinking. It simply is, and it is natural, and it is good.

I smile. "I feel... alive." My smile becomes broader. "I feel like I just woke up after years of dreaming. ... I feel alive!"

I wish he weren't my therapist: he's so good-looking I want to ask him out.

"Alive is good." Now it's his turn to grin. His tongue licks over his muzzle; perhaps he wishes something similar. Instead he reaches over, hesitantly picks up a card, passes it to me. On it there's a number, just a number. He grins. "Call them. Say I sent you." My expression must be deeply curious. His response is another grin. "Call it... proof by example and by cases, of being alive."

I grin back, and nod.

On my way home I call the number, and that night I find two good-looking males and live for the first time in twenty years. Behind me, somewhere, comes the thunder of water rushing under a bridge into a lake, and I pay it no heed at all.