I want to tell you about Arty, my Tibetan Spaniel. In dog years he is 14 which, when you do the math, makes him in human years a very wise 98 year old. I became guardian of this beautiful soul when he was 3 years old. At that point in his life he was far from being as stable and wise as he has become.
He had been a show dog, a Champion. His handler had not liked him and during our first few years together, I questioned the treatment he had received. He was frightened of many things. Thunder, lightening, cameras, and people were terrifying to him. He would jump into my arms and shake.
The other quality that he was lacking was courage. He wanted everything to be the same and was extremely rigid about trying new things. He would even pass up a morsel of meat if it was something new. If someone new (human or canine) came into his personal space he would high-tail it out of there. It evoked in me a strong need to protect him.
I had never considered the parallel of personal evolvement and spiritual growth for dogs with the development we go through as humans. You know how we are constantly being given lessons that we can ignore (and they just come back in a larger form) or work through and on the other side we have arrived at an entirely new level?
Arty’s growth seemed at first to be about coming to grips with his external world. He had to adjust to his new home, new caretaker, another dog (Hobbit) and a whole new life. This took him a while and I began to notice the more comfortable he became and familiarly settled in, the more his personality began to show.
He started to relax and come out of his shell. He became comfortable being alone in a room and not having to follow Hobbit or me around. On our walks he began to venture out on his own while he kept a close eye on me. He started showing his soft lovable side and became quite a wonderful snuggler.
Then he discovered a passion for music. When my string quartet would come to the house to play, Arty would plant himself in the middle of the music stands and not get up or even move for the entire two and a half hours we played. Everyone looked forward to coming to my house because they knew how much Arty loved music.
Just as Arty was coming into his own, Hobbit (who was 18 years old in dog years) lost her hearing and sight over a few months period of time. She was a terrier mix and lived to go for walks. Having no hearing or sight did not deter her urge to run so I began taking them to parks that were fenced in.
This was an amazing transformational time for Arty. All of a sudden, he took on being Hobbit’s eyes and ears. When we went for walks he would herd her and keep her close to me. He kept up with her terrier pace and kept her safe. At home he would lay right beside her and then help guide her when she got up in whatever direction was appropriate.
Arty’s relationship with Hobbit began to feel like a spiritual awakening. The love he had for her was enormous and just continued to grow. He was totally present to her and right in the moment. As I watched him take on this new position, I saw a total change in his personality. His openness increased his trust, courage, power and his entire being.
When the day came for me to get Hobbit put to sleep, we took one last walk among the daffodils on a beautiful spring afternoon. I knew Arty had to be in the room with us and fortunately my veterinarian came to the house. The moment Hobbit was gone Arty jumped onto the couch and put his little head on Hobbit and let out a howling moan. I couldn’t stop sobbing.
He took Hobbit’s death very hard. In fact, I think it took him about four years and moving to a new area of the country where there were no reminders of her before he started feeling happy again. In the meantime I acquired two more Tibetan Spaniels. Arty wanted nothing to do with his sisters. He only wanted Hobbit and I had brought the wrong girls home.
It was as though his heart was broken. A couple of years after Hobbit’s death we discovered through a doggie heart specialist that Arty’s heart was three times the size it was supposed to be. It didn’t seem to bother him, but I couldn’t help but wonder if his grief hadn’t affected his heart.
When we moved across the country he was happy almost from the first day. Then another growth spurt happened. He began to act like a real dog. Maybe I was in a learning curve, too, learning how to be the alpha dog and let my dogs be dogs. Arty thrived on this new arrangement and seemed to relax because he wasn’t having to take care of his sisters and me.
Arty was diagnosed with several life-threatening aliments almost two years ago. He has done well on medication and I make every day an opportunity to be with him one more precious day.
I was just away for three weeks and when I returned I just sat down and held Arty and cried. He had lost about a quarter of his body weight and I could even see the bones on his back. I know it won’t be long now before he will die.
When I think back about Arty, I am in awe struck about how much he has grown throughout this lifetime. He learned to trust and be in his power. He opened his heart to Hobbit and took care of her marvelously. He loves unconditionally. He lives in the moment and when he is with you he is totally present.
He has learned how to be an amazing dog. Most importantly, he has developed his spiritual being way beyond what most people are capable.
I just had to share Arty’s story with you because it is important to be able to witness personal growth in another being. It helps to remind me to stay on my path and keep growing. What I do matters less than how I do it. Arty taught me that.
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label passion. Show all posts
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
LESSONS OF LOVE
I love my pets! The steadfast quality of these relationships shared day after day through the years has taught me more about love and compassion than anything else in my life. The gentle consistency of the steady, unconditional company makes being with my pets a continual Celebration of Life.
A friend of mine told me a story that speaks to my own experience. Parents of a little boy decided it would be best for the child if he went with them to the veterinarian to put his dog to sleep. Afterward, the boy seemed to be not as upset as his parents had anticipated. When asked about this he said, “I understand that dogs don’t live very long because they already know what people need to learn”.
When I think about it, I cannot even begin to list all the positive things pets have taught me. Under their guidance I have learned to trust, open my heart, care for and protect, cherish tenderness, and allow myself to be endlessly delighted and entertained. Loving people, while enormously educational on my life journey, has contained complications, disappointments, conditions, and ups and downs along with closeness, intimacy and happiness.
The love I share with my pets touches in me the deepest purest experience of unconditional love, without any confusion or struggle. No matter what kind of day I am having, they wait patiently, ready to connect, love and be loved. Our commitment to each other is invincible. I love them and they love me. Loving them is natural, straightforward, and simple.
I feel like an apprentice when the Universe brings me exactly the perfect dog, cat, (or person), to further assist and support whatever part of my life I need to master at that particular junction. When my mother and several other close family members were dying, a cat named Studebaker Hawk came into my life. He was a big, gentle Tom who would hang around with me until I felt comfortably attached in a safety-blanket kind of way. Just when I reached a secure level of trust, he would leave and stay away. The first time he was only gone a day. As time went on, his absences would last longer and longer. Like clockwork, at the very moment I came to terms with his not coming back--he would show up. In hindsight, I can see that he was teaching me about letting go. At the time, I experienced his lessons as inflicting more pain by amplifying my already agonizing process.
After all those people passed on I was submerged in grief. I got a Basset Hound that I named Tristum. The symbolism was clearly obvious even at the time. Tristum personified and embodied the grief that was too enormous and painful for me to carry alone. His being with me allowed me to project onto him my inner feelings of sadness and depression that I could not allow myself to feel or show. He accompanied me through some rough times.
When Tristum died, I was left alone to bear my anguish. I had to take back all of my grief projections and own my feelings. I pulled myself into a tight little cocoon. In my abandoned state I swore adamantly that "I would never have another pet". I lived this way, pet less, for almost 18 months. One afternoon I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there stood my son (18 months old) and my niece (11 years old). They were both bundled up for winter and the joy in their big brown eyes pierced my soul. They proudly held out an 8 week old puppy to me that they had gotten from someone at the Mall. Dumbfounded, I recoiled and burst into tears. "I can't! I can't!" is all I can remember saying. Then my son, in his tiny voice tenderly said, "But Mommy, his name is Happy Dog". How could I argue with the cosmic sense of humor of the Universe? I kept the dog.
I have a much better grasp now of allowing pets help me with my life lessons than I did when I was younger. The challenge recently presented to me is how to consciously accompany my pets through illness and their passing on. Within the last 6 months, I was told that two of my three dogs were terminally ill. My world felt as if it had been turned upside down. I could not talk about it at first because grief took me too deeply inside myself. It triggered memories of all the people and pets I had lost before. My mind raced to try to remember how I had gotten through the other times I had been faced with this situation.
I remembered Elisabeth Kuebler-Ross encouraging me to practice "letting go" of little insignificant things every day as a way of dealing with bigger griefs when they occur. An important and unexpected memory about letting go popped into my mind. It had happened during a time when I was a young adult, grieving the loss of a relationship, dealing with disappointment about my dreams for the future and struggling with redefining myself without all the things in my life I had lost. One evening I heard my son, who was almost 3 at the time, go into the bathroom. Flushing the toilet, he raced out the door and ran down the stairs where the pipes were, screaming with sheer delight, “Goodbye, Goodbye”.
When I got the news that one of my dogs and shortly after the other were dying, I felt as though I could not bear the pain. Needing to reach out for support with my anguish I called a friend. I just kept asking, “What shall I do?” With great compassion he said, “Make happy memories”. It seemed almost too simple. After several weeks of being in shock, the wisdom of the words "make happy memories" turned into a full-blown unexpected spiritual experience.
I was sitting outside with my dogs. The sun was shining on us and I was lost in dark thoughts of sadness, grief and impending loss. Suddenly, I was suspended in a moment of timelessness. In that moment, there was no past or future, no fear, no loss. Everything that had ever happened in my life, everyone I had ever loved, all pain, all joy, EVERYTHING was there. All my life was occurring in that moment. I could feel everyone I had ever loved. Even those who had crossed over felt like they were there. My senses were in such a heightened state of expansion that I felt the energy of my dogs snuggling against me as if we were one.
In that moment, I realized that loss had provided me over and over with the experience of separation. This experience made me see the world from the perspective of constantly being disconnected from others and things in my life without any choice or control. The feelings of angst, fear and despair that came from the illusion of being disconnected, kept me from being connected with my soul self and made me forget who I truly am. In this expanded moment of remembering and reconnecting with myself, the illusion of separation dissolved and was replaced with an awareness of Oneness.
In that moment I felt a new respect for death and loss. They have provided me with core spiritual lessons and given me the opportunity to remember and reconnect with myself. Reconnecting allows me to know what is really important in my life. Feeling connected with my pets was a safe way to form strong attachments. Loving them and the experience of separation (or fear of it) that ensued was my life lesson. Finding the meaning of the experience has shown me the way back to loving myself. Actually, it has expanded my love of everything and everyone. Life is vulnerable and precious. Being in every moment in Oneness enlivens the witnessing of being present and creates gratitude, deeper meaning and joy. That is what produces happy memories.
Ever since that day when "the moment" changed my life, the relationship with my dogs has grown sweeter. I feel more relaxed and open and have more appreciation for our love. I have new and heartfelt respect for myself and how much and how well I love. There is a certain peace in my life now.
In the experience of Oneness, I know the death of my dogs cannot possibly separate our souls.
When their time comes, I know I will not really loose them or their love. That is simply not something that can ever be taken away. Even though I know I will miss their physical presence and our day-to-day rituals, now I imagine them running joyfully through Meadowland with Hobbit, Little Dog, Tristum, Studebaker Hawk, Rose Hips, Mitzy, Happy Dog, Picalily and all the other animal loves of my life. Thinking about that makes me smile. I love the mysteries of life. I love loving. I love my pets.
A friend of mine told me a story that speaks to my own experience. Parents of a little boy decided it would be best for the child if he went with them to the veterinarian to put his dog to sleep. Afterward, the boy seemed to be not as upset as his parents had anticipated. When asked about this he said, “I understand that dogs don’t live very long because they already know what people need to learn”.
When I think about it, I cannot even begin to list all the positive things pets have taught me. Under their guidance I have learned to trust, open my heart, care for and protect, cherish tenderness, and allow myself to be endlessly delighted and entertained. Loving people, while enormously educational on my life journey, has contained complications, disappointments, conditions, and ups and downs along with closeness, intimacy and happiness.
The love I share with my pets touches in me the deepest purest experience of unconditional love, without any confusion or struggle. No matter what kind of day I am having, they wait patiently, ready to connect, love and be loved. Our commitment to each other is invincible. I love them and they love me. Loving them is natural, straightforward, and simple.
I feel like an apprentice when the Universe brings me exactly the perfect dog, cat, (or person), to further assist and support whatever part of my life I need to master at that particular junction. When my mother and several other close family members were dying, a cat named Studebaker Hawk came into my life. He was a big, gentle Tom who would hang around with me until I felt comfortably attached in a safety-blanket kind of way. Just when I reached a secure level of trust, he would leave and stay away. The first time he was only gone a day. As time went on, his absences would last longer and longer. Like clockwork, at the very moment I came to terms with his not coming back--he would show up. In hindsight, I can see that he was teaching me about letting go. At the time, I experienced his lessons as inflicting more pain by amplifying my already agonizing process.
After all those people passed on I was submerged in grief. I got a Basset Hound that I named Tristum. The symbolism was clearly obvious even at the time. Tristum personified and embodied the grief that was too enormous and painful for me to carry alone. His being with me allowed me to project onto him my inner feelings of sadness and depression that I could not allow myself to feel or show. He accompanied me through some rough times.
When Tristum died, I was left alone to bear my anguish. I had to take back all of my grief projections and own my feelings. I pulled myself into a tight little cocoon. In my abandoned state I swore adamantly that "I would never have another pet". I lived this way, pet less, for almost 18 months. One afternoon I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there stood my son (18 months old) and my niece (11 years old). They were both bundled up for winter and the joy in their big brown eyes pierced my soul. They proudly held out an 8 week old puppy to me that they had gotten from someone at the Mall. Dumbfounded, I recoiled and burst into tears. "I can't! I can't!" is all I can remember saying. Then my son, in his tiny voice tenderly said, "But Mommy, his name is Happy Dog". How could I argue with the cosmic sense of humor of the Universe? I kept the dog.
I have a much better grasp now of allowing pets help me with my life lessons than I did when I was younger. The challenge recently presented to me is how to consciously accompany my pets through illness and their passing on. Within the last 6 months, I was told that two of my three dogs were terminally ill. My world felt as if it had been turned upside down. I could not talk about it at first because grief took me too deeply inside myself. It triggered memories of all the people and pets I had lost before. My mind raced to try to remember how I had gotten through the other times I had been faced with this situation.
I remembered Elisabeth Kuebler-Ross encouraging me to practice "letting go" of little insignificant things every day as a way of dealing with bigger griefs when they occur. An important and unexpected memory about letting go popped into my mind. It had happened during a time when I was a young adult, grieving the loss of a relationship, dealing with disappointment about my dreams for the future and struggling with redefining myself without all the things in my life I had lost. One evening I heard my son, who was almost 3 at the time, go into the bathroom. Flushing the toilet, he raced out the door and ran down the stairs where the pipes were, screaming with sheer delight, “Goodbye, Goodbye”.
When I got the news that one of my dogs and shortly after the other were dying, I felt as though I could not bear the pain. Needing to reach out for support with my anguish I called a friend. I just kept asking, “What shall I do?” With great compassion he said, “Make happy memories”. It seemed almost too simple. After several weeks of being in shock, the wisdom of the words "make happy memories" turned into a full-blown unexpected spiritual experience.
I was sitting outside with my dogs. The sun was shining on us and I was lost in dark thoughts of sadness, grief and impending loss. Suddenly, I was suspended in a moment of timelessness. In that moment, there was no past or future, no fear, no loss. Everything that had ever happened in my life, everyone I had ever loved, all pain, all joy, EVERYTHING was there. All my life was occurring in that moment. I could feel everyone I had ever loved. Even those who had crossed over felt like they were there. My senses were in such a heightened state of expansion that I felt the energy of my dogs snuggling against me as if we were one.
In that moment, I realized that loss had provided me over and over with the experience of separation. This experience made me see the world from the perspective of constantly being disconnected from others and things in my life without any choice or control. The feelings of angst, fear and despair that came from the illusion of being disconnected, kept me from being connected with my soul self and made me forget who I truly am. In this expanded moment of remembering and reconnecting with myself, the illusion of separation dissolved and was replaced with an awareness of Oneness.
In that moment I felt a new respect for death and loss. They have provided me with core spiritual lessons and given me the opportunity to remember and reconnect with myself. Reconnecting allows me to know what is really important in my life. Feeling connected with my pets was a safe way to form strong attachments. Loving them and the experience of separation (or fear of it) that ensued was my life lesson. Finding the meaning of the experience has shown me the way back to loving myself. Actually, it has expanded my love of everything and everyone. Life is vulnerable and precious. Being in every moment in Oneness enlivens the witnessing of being present and creates gratitude, deeper meaning and joy. That is what produces happy memories.
Ever since that day when "the moment" changed my life, the relationship with my dogs has grown sweeter. I feel more relaxed and open and have more appreciation for our love. I have new and heartfelt respect for myself and how much and how well I love. There is a certain peace in my life now.
In the experience of Oneness, I know the death of my dogs cannot possibly separate our souls.
When their time comes, I know I will not really loose them or their love. That is simply not something that can ever be taken away. Even though I know I will miss their physical presence and our day-to-day rituals, now I imagine them running joyfully through Meadowland with Hobbit, Little Dog, Tristum, Studebaker Hawk, Rose Hips, Mitzy, Happy Dog, Picalily and all the other animal loves of my life. Thinking about that makes me smile. I love the mysteries of life. I love loving. I love my pets.
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