I hoped the whole time I was breathing into her cold, wet nose; I cradled my terrified hope, certain of its impending end, certain that it was going to be extinguished and be consumed. I think that's what drove me so far from the experience. I could not hold hope dear; it was certain to hurt me. It hurts right now, until tears, to recall it.
How did I ever manage to believe that I was detached from it? I felt that question intensely as I typed it, but no more; I know how I managed to believe it - I was detached. I skipped town and analyzed the situation and acted in a manner that I calculated maximized the likelihood of the puppy's recovery... and of the salvation of that hope.
I am either utterly attached to, or utterly detached from any aspect of my perspective, including experiences - as they happen, and in my recollection of them. Those superlatives raise some questions; I've some meditation to do.
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