Sacred and Secular

The emotions are heightened at funerals, and the mind and spirit extra perceptive. Comfort is sought wherever it is available, and usually it comes from religious sources. This always confounds me because in the cold light of day I believe none of it. But when a loved one has died and grief and shock are the main emotions, the words of the Bible, the sayings of Christ, are so reassuring and beguiling you want to believe them. It only works in the context of the funeral, though, at least for a non-believer. Today I read through Judy's Order of Service again, and was shocked at how perfunctory were the words that yesterday seemed magical, as if they had all the answers to all the questions, existential and metaphysical. "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God still, and Trust in me. I am going now to prepare a place for you, and after I have gone and prepared you a place, I shall return to take you with me." Isn't it what we all want, to be held safely and taken care of, to be in the right place and know we are there? But it's a chimera, and the bubble has to burst. If only it were true. The one quasi religious text that always moves me to tears is Footprints in the Sand. No matter how many times I read it the ending is always so wonderful I let myself believe it. I suppose that's the power of religion, plugging as it does a basic human need for meaning and acceptance.

More real to me at the moment is a black dog who offers unconditional love, and then some. Late yesterday afternoon the sun came out and I changed out of sombre clothes into grubby gardening ones. Hugo is bursting with energy since he hasn't had a run for a week to let his injuries recover. It didn't stop him tearing around the lawn, though, rushing at me like a young bronco and then charging away again, lithe body twisting and turning athletically. I couldn't find his ball so I threw a stick instead. And to my amazement he fetched it, then lay down on the grass and started to gnaw on it. Like a proper dog! He has never done this before despite being offered all manner of things from the per shop, but he is getting the hang of it. A few weeks ago I was persuaded to buy a cow's hoof to help clean his back teeth, and he has been biting and chewing on it ever since. I don't mind the little bits of chewed bone all over the kitchen, nor the sight of the macabre thing lurking in his bed. A cow's foot, for heaven's sake! But it works. And it makes me wonder how many more facets to his character there are still to be unearthed. A work in progress.