Meet Poley

Selenite, roll of toilet paper, Rose Quartz, Poley, Yoga Journal

When I get really weepy I indulge myself and have a good, long cry. I do this fairly often because it feels so good to cry sometimes. Usually when I am having one of these cries I like to have a few essentials nearby: a roll of toilet paper to sop up tears, some crystals, a book or magazine that contains words of wisdom, my comfy bed and, of course, Poley.

Most of the time when I am not crying to my mom, Poley is with me for these cries. Poley is the polar bear stuffed animal I got from my godfather when I was 2 years old. I have a picture of me holding Poley for the first time after unwrapping him from his Christmas box. It's one of my favorite pictures of me because I look positively in love. My eyes are all squinched up and I am squeezing the life out of him in the picture. Since that picture both Poley and I have grown up and got some life and love rubbed into us. His bright white fur has browned a bit and his little black leather nose has frayed after having been put to the grindstone a few too many times. The icecream I fed him and lipstick I put on him (even though I call him a "he" he's actually adrongynous and was always a good sport about the lipstick) have stained his little downturned stitched mouth. But his beady, purple-black eyes have remained as wise and as all-knowing as ever. Poley serves as a pillow when I need him (he is the perfect mixture of softness and buoyent strength,) a tissue when I am crying, and has endured countless squeezes, hugs, kisses and even neglect. There are times when I don't need Poley at all and he gets forgotten, wedged between my bed and the wall, collecting dust. But he is always awaiting me with open paws the next time I need him. When I cry, he listens and nods silently. Often I ask Poley questions that usually begin in "why" and he just looks back at me with a quiet knowing and a tinge of empathic sadness in his eyes. Sometimes I think Poley is the pet dog I never had as a kid. But the cool thing about Poley is that he doesn't poop, doesn't beg me to feed him all the time and he doesn't require my attention. Actually, Poley doesn't depend on me for anything. His sole function is to provide comfort to me. He is silently, softly always there - this white, furry and comfortable presence hanging in the background of everything.

"Tears are a river that takes you somewhere... Tears lift your boat off the rocks, off dry ground, carrying it downriver to someplace better." - Clarissa Pinkola Estes