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132 My Cat and the Abbott My cat crawled upon my chest this morning as I was awakening. He is very old. Fifteen going on sixteen. He is from France. His name is Harry. Harry is a thin tiger cat whose eyes are somewhat sunken. As he purred and peered into my face, I thought, Harry is so old that he likes to lie upon my body and feel the fact that he is in contact with another living body. In that way, he knows that he is alive himself. Looking into his eyes, I noticed they seemed black and empty. Like holes. And I remembered facing the Abbott during a long meditation session in New York when I was very involved with my Zen studies. It was perhaps at night during a tiring weekend. Looking at the Abbott’s Asian face in the darkened room, it was as though I were looking through his eyes into the night sky. And if I were to come close and peer through that masklike face, I would see all the stars and constellations strewn across the midnight blue sky. It suddenly seemed very big in that little room. I am very glad to have had that experience. I would not like to do it as a regular thing. Once in an individual conference with the Abbot, discussing why one meditated, I said, “I’m not sure I want to be one with the universe.” He replied, “You don’t have a thing to worry about.” ...

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