Taking Up Space
On love, an enlarged ecological self and a cat who seems to grow taller every day
Doesn’t our cat look bigger?, you, my beloved, ask me. I look over to where she is sprawled out on her favorite new throne; one of the many cozy spaces you created for her.
Yes, she does look bigger, I reply.
We wonder about it. Is she growing now that she has been accepted; now that she has a loving home? But she is nine years old. At least that’s what her previous human-companion told us. Now she hardly fits into her old bed. It’s a strange thing. Every day she looks like a bigger animal.
But then you say, we shrink when we don’t feel loved.
And that’s what it is. When we first met her, she was skittish, made herself small and often disappeared. Now, she takes up space. Lots of it. Not only in our home, but in our hearts and minds.
Thinking about taking up space and what that means to love and be loved brought me back to the work of James Hillman. A Jungian analyst and founder of archetypal psychology, Hillman wrote about the concept of an enlarged, ecological self; a self that is not just connected to nature but is nature. A self that extends beyond the illusory boundary of our skin. He believed the “greater part of the soul lies outside the body.” and that an “individual's harmony with his or her 'own deep self' requires not merely a journey to the interior but a harmonizing with the environmental world.” This is not unique, of course. Around the world, particularly among indigenous and First-Nations communities, people don’t make distinctions between humans and the more-than-human world. No creature thrives in isolation. I take up more space the more I love and the more I realize my interdependence with every living being around me. I grow as I realize my large, ecological self.
When in love we can feel as though we are made for someone, that we won’t survive without them. But the heartbreaking truth is, we usually can. What we can’t live without are other species; especially plants who breathe life into our lungs and nourish our bodies with beautifully diverse grains, fruits, roots, leaves, and legumes. And we can’t have plants without pollinators and seed dispersers they depend on. With a dangerous amount of convenience like DoorDash, Uber, Amazon and even grocery stores these days, it is easy to forget this. Impatient and distracted, technology is getting us out-of-sync with the natural world. Technology accelerates, while nature tries to remind us to slow down… pause… listen… breathe.
Nature moves at her own pace, a slower one. It is a pace our animal bodies follow, too.
I feel like our cat harbors an existential sadness. As though she knows something isn't quite right but she can't put her finger/paw on it. And she would be correct. There is a lot wrong. Starting with the fact that we often refer to her as ‘our cat’ when she, Lizzie, is her own being. But we humans have put her and many of her relatives in precarious positions of dependence.
Lizzie climbs up on my lap at every opportunity and stares up at me with a depth in her eyes that looks like a mix of love, appreciation and bewilderment. I give her love but it rarely feels like enough. I’m just happy she is here, taking up space.
This is so beautiful. The love and space we take up is such an important truth that I have not reflected upon much until now. I can feel myself expand and contract. And there is a bittersweet beauty to Lizzie's existential sadness and bewilderment. She is so clearly loved and appreciated by the humans who share the home with her being.
I'm with you, Vanessa. Compassion is how we humans are evolving, to feel our connection with all living things. The growth of compassion is a challenge individually because it's painful as much as it is transcendent. Culturally it's even more challenging.
As for cats, we'll, I see them as serene animals unburdened by thought or ego.