Cato's Republic

The lord of misrule

The Saturnalia is upon us. Before I take off my pants and dance, I want to give you a little history of the season courtesy of Orlando Paterson writing (subscription required) for the New York Times:

The tradition of celebrating Jesus’ birth on the 25th of December was invented in the fourth century in a proselytical move by the [Catholic] Church.... The pre-Christian winter solstice celebrations of the rebirth of the sun, especially the Roman Saturnalia..., were recast as the Christian doctrine of the re-birth of the Son of God.  Throughout the Middle Ages, Christmas festivities like the 12 days of saturnalian debauchery, the veneration of the holly and mistletoe, and the Feast of Fools were all continuities from pagan Europe. For this reason the Puritans abolished Christmas.

The Puritans were a very jolly group.

The Feast of Fools was a medieval festival that turned society (particularly religious society) on its head. The celebration included a solemn liturgy praising gambling and drunkenness and witnessed the appointment of a Boy Bishop reversing the Catholic hierarchy. During this season it was also customary in Britain to choose a Lord of Misrule. The Romans also chose a Lord and at the end of the Saturnalia the "Lord's" throat was slit and he was sacrificed. I am still looking over my list of idiotic happenings for 2006 and looking for that mighty King. There are so many candidates at the moment, it is hard to chose just one.

At the beginning of the month, my old friend Saparmurat Niyazov, the wacky dictator of Turkmenistan, called me to offer advice for my upcoming campaign. Now, Niyazov was just a phone buddy, good for a laugh now and then, still, he had some words of wisdom.

"After you are elected to supreme office in the United States," he said,  "make sure they change the days of the week or at least a month to reflect your first name and perhaps your mother's name." Given that I haven't been elected yet, I felt that this was an astonishing presumption on his part, although, I do think that July (named after Julius Caesar -- Caius Julius Caesar), needs changing.

In actuality, Niyazov wasn't so off the mark as rulers go. His nation, Turkmenistan holds vast gas fields, gas fields that all of central Asia and Europe want to access. Niyazov, despite his twisted sense of humor, has Russia's Gazprom and Western Europe on it's knees. The U.S. government has also courted Niyazov, conveniently ignoring his "quirks" in an effort to gain access to territory bordering Afghanistan. The doddering Donald Rumsfeld visited the "narco-state" in 2004 to discuss American access to the Taliban drug pipeline.

Niyazov got away with his personal psychiatric problems played out on the world stage much more effectively and flamboyantly than George Bush. Why is it that foreign dictators are so much more interesting than our home grown brand?

This season, I cannot choose just one Lord of Misrule and thankfully they all seem to have slit their own throats without any help from me.

The wish-fulfilling gem

"O Cato, consider this war; it is truly fortunate for you. Perhaps it reveals the calling of your entire life. Should it be called a battle? Or has heaven become manifest in this form, revealed by your valor? Or has fame herself, attracted by your qualities and filled with passion, come to choose you as her lord? A warrior who has acquired great merit, and who has such an opportunity for battle, is alike a cat who has found a wish-fulfilling gem in his path.You are confronted with this battle, like a yawning cat into whose mouth nectar unexpectedly drops."

Reinterpretation of Jnaneshwar's Gita

On the eve of the Feline Party of God convention in Cartegena, I have been meditating on my sacred mission as a presidential candidate. In doing so, I recalled the first time I met the Great Cat (GC), I was standing by the side of the road facing an enormous tomcat come to claim my territory. Bow in hand, I stood there sure that with my superior intelligence and lightening fast reflexes, I could kill him straight away (there would be no compromise with this one), when before me appeared "GC."

He was a small unneutered male. You know the kind. With a cloud-like complexion and the color of lightening; he wore a turban with a peacock feather and around his neck was a wreath of wild catnip. He carried a staff, cow-horn and flute. The air was filled with the smell of ripening mice as he walked closer to me. For a moment I was over come with a strange passion.

I turned away, dizzy and looked at the big bully coming toward me. Suddenly I could clearly see that the tom's life on earth was going to come to an end by my own hand. The smell of his blood caught in the back of my throat. I recognized my father and I wept.

"You cannot shirk your duty," the GC said. "What is the matter with you? What prevents you from acting? Why this grief! You are the incarnation of heroism, a prince among warriors. The fame of your might echoes throughout the three worlds. In spite of this, today you weep, your head droops, and you abandon all your courage.

"Consider this, O Cato, you are weakened by pity. Tell me, is the sun ever swallowed up by darkness? Does the wind stand in terror of a cloud? Can nectar ever die? It the fire ever consumer by fuel?"

I said: "I will not fight. Do not try to persuade me."

He registered some frustration with me, tut-tutting with his lips pursed.

"You are allowing confusion to enter your mind when you think that you are the one who destroys and that this big old tom will be the one that perishes," said the GC angrily.

"All this has existed from beginningless time. Tell me then why you grieve. O Cato, the idea that things can be born or die is only an illusion. In reality, matter is indestructible. Considering the real and the unreal, you will see that the unreal is illusory while the real is eternal.

"That which has manifested the three worlds has neither name, color, form, nor sign. It is eternal, all-pervasive and beyond the reach of birth and death. No one can ever destroy It, no matter how much he may try.These bodies inhabited by the eternal, the indestructible, the immeasurable embodied Self, are said to come to an end. All bodies are destructible by nature. Therefore, fight, O Cato."

I remember telling my friend, John Self, the noted British author and walker, this story. "You've got to be kidding," he said. "The immeasurable embodied Self with a capital "S"? I am impressed that he has even read my work." I didn't laugh.

"But let me ask," Self went on, "did you actually kill your father?" I knew he couldn't resist that final dig as he had met my father years after this event took place. Years after my father and I had reconciled his abandonment of my family and my subsequent upbringing, sleeping in the bread bowl, ad nauseum. John had heard the whole story. Fortunately, at that moment Christy (Turlington), my companion, joined us for our meal and he shut up cowed by her effulgence.

Afterwards I remember telling her this story as well. She was quiet for a while. "Did the "GC" show you his cosmic form?" she asked me. I hesitated to reply.

In the future, watch this space for my speech to the delegates attending the Feline Party of God convention in Columbia. My apologies to Krishna.

No damages

Teddy traveled to UC Davis with a friend of mine the Sunday after Thanksgiving. On Monday morning he was taken for the CT scan. He came through with flying colors. There was "minimal evidence of degenerative changes to the intersesamoidean ligament, or the ....sesamoid bones of the right front." Surgery was not done. He did show some evidence of remodeling to the sesamoid bone possible associated with previous fracture at the apex, but this is not certain. He was returned to his stall after the procedure and the vet called me to tell me that generally all they saw were arthritic changes throughout the fetlock, something that is not unheard of in an athletic horse aged 12. The vet asked me if I wanted to treat him with Interleukin-1 receptor protein antagonist (IRAP).

Blood is drawn from the horse and proteins are separated out and then re-administered at the site of concern. The proteins block inflammation. It should slow arthritic changes and promote healing.  (In a previous life, I worked with interferons binding to interleukin-2, so I was familiar with the process.) My vet told me had never worked with the therapy. Since he is a racing vet and would see the latest in leg treatments as a matter of course, I had a fairly good idea that the insurance would not cover the treatment. At $1,200 per treatment with the recommendation being two treatments, I cannot blame them. IRAP is not permanent, and like steroids, must be done once the positive effect is over. Apparently there are no side effects as the proteins are the horses own, albeit isolated and reintroduced to the area that needs to heal.

My home vet will probably do another shock wave therapy and then we begin the tedious process of bringing him back with a month of daily walking under saddle. Then slowly building up to trot for 10 minutes, eventually when he is trotting for 20 with no unsoundness then we will add the canter.

Teddy is back home. While he has managed to maintain his calm demeanor, occasionally he yanks me around, screams and prepares to take off. I probably will not help with his rehab unless he quiets down a bit.