My ceramic walls are all the shelter I need. As I sit alone in my jar, I notice the pain in my curved spine. I really notice it. And the pain dissipates.
I peak my head out and allow my eyes to adjust to the sunlight. Men, women and children are rushing past. Always rushing. Always busy.
Along comes a dog, who sits outside the door to my ceramic jar home. I sit beside him. Not a word is spoken, but our breath is in sync. And we watch the world go do it's thing.
The passers-by wear fancy clothes and have important titles. Neither me nor my canine friend are impressed by this.
We nuzzle the kind, bark at the greedy and bite scoundrels. We are loyal to the good but cower from those who mistreat us.
People are cruel to me because I am not embarrassed to do what I must to live. They call me a dog for being naked and urinating in the street.
They think this is an insult, but it is not. I am Diogenes the Dog.
They call me a contradiction because I am homeless and yet teacher to Alexander the Great. But I do not see titles. To me, he is Alexander the Featherless Biped. Me, him and all else are equals to a plucked chicken.
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