DOG STAR DAYS
When Sirius, the brightest point in Canis Major, graces the sun’s halo, we find ourselves in the Dog Days. Dies Caniculares, literally translating from Latin to mean Dog Star Days, refers to this sweltering stretch.
The heat turns people strange. I am not exempt from this spell and find myself frustrated, more than usual, more than I’d like to be. I find myself tempted to chase fruitless things.
Presently, my frustration lies with things outside myself. At one point I was really into that whole “if you can spot it, means you’ve got it” speil, only to realize that while I may possess every possible impulse within me that I do not act on all of them, and that my frustration doesn’t lie with the fact that the behavior exists but rather the fact that it exist, it’s being played out, and the person exhibiting the behavior is blind to it.
“Remove the log from your own eye before you remove the splinter from others,” says nothing of never removing the splinter from someone else’s eye and endlessly removing a log that is no longer there.
My enemy is a pervasive ugliness of spirit: a set of blinders people wear that prevent them from seeing the effects of their own actions. I struggle with the fact that it feels like so many of my peers refuse to grow up despite the fact that their refusal is actively hurting them, like a dog refusing to give up gnawing its leg.
I cannot claim to be perfect, nor can I claim to be wise beyond my years. But I can see very clearly that people far older than me still enjoy acting like catty high schoolers, airing out their drama, trying to pit people against each other for their own amusement, and then, when consequences come to weigh the scales, they walk with tails between their legs.
“It’s when you become an adult that you realize that no one else is actually an adult!! lol!” Is a vein of sentiment I see often, and unfortunately, it’s often wielded as a shield against adulthood, a smug excuse in the guise of proverbial wisdom.
I advise remaining young at heart but wise in action. Being an adult doesn’t mean being boring, but it does mean taking on responsibility for what you can and leveraging it to your advantage for the benefit of yourself and those around you. It means challenging yourself and delighting in the toil. It means finding ways to have fun despite what cards are dealt. It means thinking of the future, of how you can positively impact those who have yet to come. It means thinking before you bite.
One of the few mythical dogs identified as Sirius is Laelaps. A gift from Zeus, Laelaps was a hound destined to catch whatever it pursued. However, when the hound was sent after the Teumessian fox , a magical beast destined to forever run free and never be caught, a paradox was created, and the two were bound to an endless hunt. Zeus, responsible for the creature’s endless exhaustion, turned the animals to stone and placed them both amongst the stars as a constellations, Laelaps’ little nose glowing in the wine-dark heavens.
My Tuemessian fox is Others’ Actions. My Tuemessian fox is thinking that by complaining, I’ll somehow sink my teeth into its hide and shake the problem about till it runs the forest no more.
But I wish to run. I wish to hunt. I adore the chase, so inaction is not an option, nor is isolating myself, digging a hole for my head to hide in.
The only true never-ending hunt is the one directed inwards. The energy spent trying to correct every careless stranger could instead become the energy with which I live, build, write, plant, and dream. Action has a way of multiplying itself: the tree bears fruit, which in turn grows more trees. Complaining rarely bears fruit of any sort.