THE GIFT OF REIKI

Reiki is a gift that last a lifetime (and more).  It is actually Universal Life Energy that is transferred from the spirit through the Reiki practitioner to the client, who can be any species  or any vegetation, or I'll say, any object.  Yes, I've used Reiki on inanimate objects quite a few times.  You can Reiki your food to eliminate impurities.  You can Reiki your aura to cleanse it of unwanted energies.  You can Reiki newly acquired quartz crystals and other stones to cleanse and ready them for  use.  Most importantly, for me is its use on animals and hopsice patients. 

If I say the word Reiki, my macaw assumes his relaxed, fluffy neck position with his head cocked and his claws in his mouth and he fits his head perfectly into the palm of my hand to receive his energy boost.  My female Irish Water Spaniel responds to the word "aura."  When I say "aura!" she lies on her back, legs open, ready to receive a Reiki bath.

I took my first Reiki class at the insistance of a nurse friend.  She had seen a demonstration and wanted it as an adjunct to her work in a substance abuse rehab facility.  I had no intention to be a healer as the psychic modality spoke louder to me, but I went and invested in the class, knowing all methods of vibration raising would add more Light to my life.  At the time I had a very sick standard poodle who struggled with auto-immune disease and bloody colitis.  Nothing worked to reverse his condition but when I returned hom after the Reiki I initiation and placed my hands on his belly in response to the almost unearthly noises emanating from him, he went right to sleep and the violin like screeching of his colon stopped.  Did Reiki cure him?  No.  He eventually died of bloat....but in the year that he did suffer with the disease I was able to provide relief and a whole lotta love.  That's the gift of Reiki: a whole lotta love, and we know love to be the greatest healing tool of all.  My message from Spriit was to focus on healing before all else, and only when I did that earnestly did my clairvoyance and intuition sharpen.

Healing is not curing.  Reiki is an Eastern concept, not a Western band-aid.  It works on the phsyical, emotional, and spiritual levels. sometimes subtly, sometimes profoundly, but it always works to brings us to our hightest selves.  In fact, some people profess that their intuition magnifies after Reiki inititation.  It is taught in three levels, with at least 21 days between levels I and II and at least a year between levels II and III.  Level one is basic attunement and hand positions; level II is distance and emotional plane healing; level 3 in the traditional Usui system (which I practice) is Master level that brings with it teacher status.  The most delicious benefit of being a Reiki practioner is that you serve as a channel;  every time you administer Reiki to someone else and it moves through you, you are receving a Reiki healing yourself.

I AM OFFERING A REIKI I CERTIFICATION CLASS ON MAY 25 FROM 11-4 IN FORT LAUDERDALE.   Cost is $100 in advance.  You will receive three attunements, the history of REIKI,  learn the handpositions, and engage in hands-on practice.  E-mail me with quesitons:
chakrasix@aol.com  or call me at 954-254-8405.

I also invite you to join our Distance Reiki Circle for Animals on Facebook every Sunday at 9 am. Eastern and 6 p.m. Pacific time.  Just type in the FB search bar "Animal Reiki Circle" and it will lead you to the page and an invitation request.

Desiderata

 

 After seven months of Hospice chaplaincy training, I can evaluate my experience and share with you how I accomplished what I intended to accomplish and where I feel I need additional growth.  In this evaluative process, I realized that the details would serve as a very precise answer to those who ask (and that means most people), "Why would you want to be around death and dying?" The effects of  CPE (clinical pastoral education) reach far beyond the limited setting of the hospital or homebound patient;  this was an opportunity for profound personal growth, the definition of the phrase "moving out of your comfort zone."  Here is the culmination of my internship with the italicized points identifying the particular areas I targeted:

 

·         Judgment and Impatience: I found to my surprise that I rarely experienced  impatience  with or judgment of others. I was very cognizant and tolerant of others’ beliefs and styles and didn’t run across anyone who tested me, even in trying situations.  One Friday evening early in my program a dying patient’s daughter needed to speak with us and she was a distraught compulsive talker, not only repeating herself but adding tangential details to every statement and without exaggeration, we sat with her for nearly two hours.  I understood her compulsion was magnified by the crisis and while I did glance at my watch periodically I didn’t lose patience.  Another instance occurred when I was recently on call attending what I thought would be an extubation.  The patient’s twin brother and his daughter reneged based on the patient’s indicating nonverbally that he wanted the breathing tube to remain.  However, he made that decision without being told he was terminal and his treatment for sepsis and renal failure was ineffective.  He would be dying within five days.  They wanted him on Hospice but would not tell him and would not allow the physician in the ICU to tell him he was terminal, and even though he signed a DNR stating he didn’t want to be kept alive by artificial means, the physician said his nodding to keep the tube in overrode that document.  I asked the daughter if she was being fair to her father, not giving him all the information he needed to make a sound decision, but she was adamant that he not be told how sick he was.  Both the Vitas admitting nurse and I agreed that this conflicted with our ethics but I couldn’t impose myself any more than I did, and I didn’t get angry. I will admit to feeling the most frustrated with “my own people,” Jewish patients and families, who hear “chaplain” and immediately throw up a wall by saying “no thanks.”  This did sometimes make me angry.  It never hurt my feelings but made me angry in the sense I can be angry with  my own mother who shuts a door on a conversation she is too afraid to have.   For the most part, I was able to avoid judgment and impatience.

·     A  defined spiritual path or faith community:   I have found without variation that every time I introduce myself to patients or families, I am asked one of three questions: “what denomination are you?,” “what is your church?,” and “are you Jewish?”  The first two questions come from Christians who automatically assume when I say “chaplain” that I am a particular brand of Christian.  The last one, obviously, comes from Jews who want to make sure I am not imposing an unwelcome faith on them.  I answer them all one of three ways: “I am an interfaith minister,”  “I don’t have a particular church. I’m comfortable everywhere,”or “I am Jewish but work as an interfaith minister.”  Not one of those answers ever stopped me from engaging patients in conversation.  The few  times I was not invited in to chat further happened with Catholic families who had already called in a priest or with Jewish families who had their own rabbi, and even in those cases of people with very specific religious preferences, I would make an offer to call a priest or a rabbi if they needed.  Most of the time my own practice never interfered with my work, and a couple of times, my metaphysical practice actually enhanced it.  One dying patient told me how she loved Unity, which started a discussion that was right up my alley, and another one said something about Reiki, which led to the two of us doing Reiki on her mother together the day before she died.  The woman was so excited over that that she told  our team manager, who came looking for me shortly after, and it actually worried me because perhaps I thought I’d done something wrong.  Instead, she said, ”I didn’t know you did Reiki!  I wrote  my thesis on the use of Reiki in nursing.”  At that moment  I knew that I didn’t have to seek a more mainstream religious affiliation because I am fine with my beliefs, which are fully congruent with all the principles of the Metaphysical Churches and Buddhist philosophy.  If we as chaplains must meet patients where they are, then the Association of Professional Chaplains should also be able to meet me where I am, and that was the primary reason I sought a more mainstream affiliation.  My path is not amorphous, I have found.  I don’t need a institutional name and address to  be valid.

·       Dialogic engagement: This is where I did the bulk of my work and this is where I found the most success.  I am surprised that I never gravitated toward sales because that field requires good talking.  I guess my 35 years of classroom experience have shaped me as a good talker.  I can talk to anyone about anything, and that is exactly what I did when I engaged patients and families.  I was afraid to open up difficult subjects in the beginning and gradually learned to ask the questions I needed to ask and move on in the conversation so it wasn’t stultifying.  One of those questions was “have you made final arrangements?”  If the families had not expected the death or denied the patient’s terminal diagnosis, I feared that question would shock them, but I learned to ask it.  I learned to ask a loved one directly, “how are you doing through this?” and respond effectively when he replied “How do you think I’m doing?”  I answered, “I think you’re probably doing terribly,” which opened the conversation door.  He looked up at me tearfully and began talking.  When a patient asked me, “How would you feel if you went to the doctor and he told you that you had only two weeks to live?” and I said, “I would feel sad at first, and then scared,” and the patient said, “You could not have answered that question more perfectly!” and we had a long talk over two or three days about life, death, afterlife. 

 

·        Prayer: Because I have no formal training in religion and prayer, it was an area in which I never found comfort.  Silent prayer, yes, but praying aloud and more specifically, leading others in prayer was intimidating.  I did learn to do this with people of varying religions and denominations, first with my mentor, and eventually by asking the patient and/or family if they would like a prayer.  The first time I did this was in January, with a Pentecostal patient.  Apparently I didn’t die from it so I tried again with other patients.  I did extemporaneous prayers, the Shema, the Lord’s Prayer, and in every instance the family and/or patient was appreciative no matter their particular religious background.  In a few instances with an unconscious patient, I went in and prayed aloud by myself because I knew the patient would hear it.

 

CPE is described as an intense experience that is not for the squeamish.  In fact, I know a couple of people who were unable to make it through the program, not because they couldn't handle deathbed encounters but because they couldn't handle the personal scrutiny of the weekly five hour class and additional individual supervisory hour which entails very intense probing and questioning, much like therapy.  The unexpected reward of  CPE is that these intimate interactions among the group and between the supervisor and student mimic  the best kind of therapy, promoting self evaluation.  Particularly in the beginning, even years after I’d been through therapy, subtle causes of my actions and reactions would emerge when my supervisor asked a  harmless question about a step  I took or avoided:  “Where do you think this comes from?” It was like a pin puncturing a balloon.  I’ve learned to see myself differently.  As a professor teaching a subject most often met with resistance if not downright hostility from underprepared students who blame me when I identify their 12 years of  deficient writing skills, I earned a reputation as being hard-line, “bitchy,” “tough,”  (although good at what I do)….and had come to believe these as descriptors of my whole self,  not just the narrow tube of my career.   This is my most critical gift from the past seven months: CPE has allowed me to meet me . 

 

  I am not adversarial in this capacity.  I am an ally, and I am compassionate and cry with patients and their families, provide support, distract them from the overwhelming pain of watching a loved one die….not hard-line or bitchy and actually quite the opposite.  I have learned I am not my profession.  My heart is much larger and more generous than the hand that grades the freshman essay or that withdraws the student with 6 absences and 4 missing assignments.  I am learning to become more confident with who I am and present myself as such in many areas.  Last term I had a confrontation with  a a 48 year old student who already had a B.S. in nursing but who took my literature course for professional development credit.  We got along very well,  but I found that she had  plagiarized her last assignment, a journal assignment, a reflection, and I took it very personally, feeling angry and betrayed.  I was going to fail her in the course. I happened to get a phone call from the college Provost on another matter – she’s a former English professor who is quite familiar with hospice.  She called just as I was about to explode, and I did explode to her on the phone.  She said, “Lisa, don’t be so harsh.  You’re a chaplain.  Have you considered why she felt she had to plagiarize?”  Wow.  That was a CPE question.  I reconsidered.  I saw the student the next morning in the elevator and asked her the hard questions instead of just entering a failing grade, and I gave her the option to do the assignment over on her own because I wanted to know her feelings, her thoughts, not something she stole in its entirety from the internet.  That was a growth moment for me.  I also confronted my mother with some long standing issues that I’d held in for years, years, years, and I was able to express them in a non-accusatory and non-threatening manner which I believe strengthened our relationship.  During CPE I never felt threatened even when I was asked probing questions or criticized for something I did or didn’t do in a verbatim (a screenplay-like reenactment of a complete patient visit).  I was able to accept criticism and suggestion from the group, my supervisor, and my mentor without feeling defensive.  Another byproduct of CPE has been the tempering of my volatile and sometimes hysterical nature when there is a crisis.  I’m the first to “lose it” and become an emotional, worried wreck, and the last to return to a state of normalcy.  That has not happened.  I had a dog crisis a couple of weeks ago that could have resulted – should have resulted in  a bloody death  -- by veterinary and all logical standards – and I didn’t fall apart as usual (and my dog, God bless him, is fine.)

I have expanded my behavioral repertoire.  I’ve never been a hugger.  It is not my nature to be demonstrative with people, especially strangers, but I’ve learned that some people need hugs to be comforted and I’ve learned when to offer a hug.  We recently had an actively dying patient admitted from the E/R  and the extended multi-generational family was present at his bedside.  His daughter, his caregiver for 30 years, was inconsolable, sobbing in her uncle’s lap for over an hour while the family stood vigil bedside and a Catholic chaplain spoke with them and led a prayer.  I was there for presence and observation but about an hour later the family was assembled in the family room.  The daughter was no longer sobbing but was sitting quietly.  I went to her and asked if I could hug her and she was receptive.  There were no words to offer at that time.  I did sit with her the next day and ask her questions about her father and their life together but I knew the night before it was not a time for words.  I’ve sat with a patient who revealed in the first minute that she had terminal metastasized ovarian cancer and said she was hoping her death would come soon.  I probed and found her reason was fear of pain, and I was able to assuage that fear for her.  We had what was probably the most authentic conversation I’ve ever had with a patient after that. 

 

I’ve also learned to relate to patients with dementia, something I truly  feared at the onset of the program.  One Romanian Jewish patient who was so adorable (she reminded me of my grandmother), became animated when I came to visit her.  I couldn’t understand a word she said, some in Romanian, some in Yiddish/Hebrew, some in English jibberish. But she smiled whenever I talked, and really, all I talked about was my grandmother’s cooking which she may or may not have understood, but since she was smiling and making sounds, I stayed and kept her happy. Another confused patient was so anxious, fearful, and confused, claiming that someone stole her telephone, something sinister happened to her son in South Carolina because he never showed up to visit, someth crime was about to happen to her in her room.  She then tried talking on her TV remote, insisting it was a broken telephone.  I just sat with her and held her hand and reassured her.  I told her we had cameras monitoring the hallway outside every room and that she was safe.  She kept holding my hand and said, “I wish you could stay in this room with me.”  I just gave her the gift of company, which she needed.  At another time I developed a relationship with two sisters who sat vigil at their mother’s bedside for two weeks.  Our talks initially centered on the patient and their feelings but eventually veered into general discussion…they were so happy to have someone to relate to.  We were all in the same age range, lived in the same areas earlier (we found we lived across the street from each other in Lauderhill at the same time), had the same background.  When I would come in they would get so excited, and I think it’s because I was able to simultaneously provide pastoral presence and provide distraction from watching their mother slowly die.  I have learned distractions are a good thing.  They are not avoidance but necessary momentary respite from quite an emotional overload.

  My relationship with families and patients is easy, respectful, conversational, open.  Even when there is not an assessment to be made or a visit to do, if I see families in a patient’s room engaged in conversation, I’ll go in and ask them if they would like me to make a pot of coffee or if they want some tea.  Often they take me up on it.  One afternoon I saw a patient’s spouse sitting bedside with his head in his hands, and later I saw him standing almost lost in thought outside the room, and then I saw him wander into the family room and just stand around.  I called the daughter earlier, who said although he was confused and living in an ALF, he still took the bus twice a week to go to the Hard Rock to gamble.  I asked him if he would like to join me in a cup of coffee and we sat down.  I asked him some simple questions and then said I’d heard he liked the Hard Rock and that was a huge opening for him….I got to hear about his years of gambling exploits and his wife’s reactions to his winnings and learned so much about the couple I wouldn’t have gotten by asking prescriptive questions.  He was thrilled and relieved to have someone take an interest in him personally.  Then I could ask how he was feeling with his wife being in her condition and he trusted me enough to share.  My relationship with the staff is also very good…I enjoy them and I believe it’s mutual.  The nurses have helped me when I have cried (after I witnessed my first death), we have laughed and shared patient stories, personal stories, argued over TV reality show stars and storylines.  They have come to me when they felt a family member needed extra support, and I always felt free to go to them for patient information and advice.  I will never forget the image of me walking down the hall after that first death, sobbing, with Kathleen putting her arm around me and saying she understood, or Yvonne telling me “it’s all right,”  that she cries every time  she suctions a patient.  I have a tremendous respect for the nurses and will miss their camaraderie.  I even forged a friendship or two that might continue after my unit is over.  Last weekend my mentor and I had a theological discussion in the team room.  We disagreed over the randomness of tragic events.  I said that everything happens for a reason, that there are no random events, and she said she can’t subscribe to the  fatalistic view that someone dies at a pre-appointed time, that we have free will and the universe is full of accidents.  I guess I disagreed respectfully enough for one of the nurses to say, “This is one Jewish person that I really like.”  I made a joke out of it.  “ONE?  You like only ONE Jewish person and I’m IT?”  and she backtracked and said, “No, I like how accepting you are when you talk to people about religion.”  I felt that was a validation of my theology in practice.  I am an interfaith minister and believe many paths lead to the same source and respect them all even when I disagree with the details.  I think my theology comes through in my interaction with patients and staff in this way.  Spiritually, I am led by my intuition, which is connected to the Divine, so I have learned to be in the moment and nonjudgmental and go wherever the conversation takes me.

The small  group is a key component of the CPE experience.  We are each assigned a mentor to work with in the hospital or the field, but the shared experience combined with the weekly support and analysis we give each  each week creates an early and strong bond among the interns.  Five hour sessions once a week = profound intimacy.  I felt very comfortable in our group of five.  What I appreciated was the ability to share my opinion and my theological viewpoint without fear of judgment, which I had in the beginning. I was able to find common ground among all of us.  I was careful to ask questions that didn’t threaten the other group members as well and maybe in the beginning I was too timid to confront anyone but learned to do so in a gentle way.  I felt safe enough to bare my emotions and cry (but I didn’t cry as much as ONE pastor who will remain nameless!).  Our group consisted of  Cuban Presbyterian pastor, an orthodox Jewish woman, a Chabad rabbi, a Haitian Baptist minister, and me.  The orthodox woman, who lives in a very sheltered community, awakened to a world she didn’t know before: dealing with AIDS patients, promiscuity, drug abuse, Christian prayer.  Every week she came in more excited.  When she shared stories of her mentor, a  Buddhist, she glowed with a sense of wonder and amazement so she truly embraced the interfaith element of chaplaincy which is so important. We  would meet in the parking lot after  CPE class and “schmooze,”  analyzing the evening’s events, and despite our differences in practice, there is much we share and as she says, “We get each other,” which is always an affirmation. 

The Presbyterian pastor came in kicking and screaming admitting he was taking CPE only because he needed it for ordination.  He prefaced every statement with,  “I’m a Presbyterian and we believe ….” but completed the unit by volunteering to remain with the program and demonstrated a true devotion to interfaith chaplaincy.    I’ve seen him laugh and cry and felt honored to be a part of both.  He is truly a people person with the rare ability to draw people into his energy so that they feel both comfortable and befriended.  I felt this way and I know patients have as well.

The rabbi affected me in unexpected ways.  I have a deep, deep respect for the learning and knowledge of  a Chabad rabbi but learning and knowledge do not necessarily complete the recipe for wisdom.  I saw in him the gift of wisdom, generosity of spirit, purity of intention,  non-judgmental acceptance, and an appreciation for if not the possession of the mystical.  There were times he was quiet in the CPE class, particularly early on, but when he did speak it was, as the Buddhists say, “right speech.”  I went at his invitation  to the Chabad seder,  the first traditional seder I’ve been to in over 10 years.  I was even more honored that he selected a special spiritual annotated Haggadah for me.   His understanding of my theology and his recognition that outside of the brick wall details of the Law, we share the same belief and principles, have helped me to see that I may not be as estranged from Judaism as I thought.  I have considered my own dying and what I would want in terms of a service and prayer, and I have told him that I would like his presence and leadership at the end of  my life. 

 

Our Baptist minister struggled a bit in CPE,  a blurring  the lines between pastor and chaplain,  two different positions requiring two different skill skill sets.  He sees it as his Christian duty to go to the ends of the earth spreading the good news and felt constrained distinguishing that call from the mission to meet people where they are, which involves putting aside our own theology.  Putting aside our particular theology is temporary and a more inviting gateway to others.  It doesn’t mean abandoning his Christian mission but it means making the work more important than the theology. The theology should naturally emerge through the work.  I know that Jesus led by example more than by doctrine and even repudiated some doctrine, boldly violating the Law with which he was raised when the situation required that he go with his heart and do what is right instead of doing what was prescribed. This is a tough adjustment for some people to make.

 

I learned much from my mentor and enjoyed our time together, particularly our theological discussions.  She helped me a great deal with procedure, patient and family interactions, reflection.  In the beginning she served as a teacher; after a session with a patient or family, she would ask what I noticed about this, about that, what the person might have needed help with that he/she didn’t voice, where I saw conflict, where I saw opportunity.  It was very helpful.  We get along well and had many conversations about many subjects which made me comfortable. I’ve seen her angry, hurt, forgiving, compassionate…the whole range of emotions.  She is direct and honest and I’m glad I was able assigned to be her mentee.

 

My supervisor was always supportive but persistent.   I felt like I was in therapy sometimes, which is a good thing!  (I can’t afford therapy these days, so my $500 for CPE was well spent in this regard).  She asked tough questions and gave sound advice.  I consider myself pretty reflective and honest with myself but she managed to stump me a couple of times, hitting on areas I hadn’t seen.  The sessions were very valuable.  I think I cried through most of them.  These were life changing sessions when taken as whole and somewhat of a luxury because in my busy life I haven’t had time to reflect on and release some old stuff that lingers even after you think it’s gone.  As the unit progressed I think I became clearer and clearer due to such questioning both in session and in the CPE class.  I was always impressed her sharp insight,  zooming in on something that got by most of us…”go back a minute, go back to that line…..,” opening the can of worms we really wanted to keep hidden in the garage.

 

Our CPE director explained to us that only a few people who go through CPE become chaplains.  Some people do the internship as a prescription for ordination, others for personal growth, others for academic credit in a theology program.  I wanted to explore this as an option for part time work after I retire from teaching. However, that is somewhere between 3 and 7 years away, and in the interim, I don’t want to disconnect from the field.  I have decided to remain with the company as a spiritual care volunteer working in bereavement and some patient care, so I will once again be the colleague of my Presbyterian minister buddy.

This was a good and valuable ride that I'm climbing on again.

 

 

 

 

Six Months At Hospice: On Spirituality and Dying

Let me say that I ended up working at Hospice because for years the animal communication and Reiki sessions I did with animals prepared me for this work.  A growing number of clients wanted end-of-life consultations, and I obliged, honored to do so, honored to speak with and hear the wisdom and love of the animal ready to die, honored to share  the grief and sorrow of the humans releasing their greatest love.  It was a natural fifteen year training program leading me to work with dying people.  I can say the animals have taught me how to live and how to die.

Why do I do pastoral care?  How?  Why do I  do it this way?

I do it because I'm called to be a conduit between the spiritual realm and earth realm. For 20 plus years I had a spiritual practice and did readings and counseling on the side and eventually grew more concerned with my own gift to the world than with being a professional psychic earning supplemental income.  I watched friends of mine blossom as successful  metaphysical “entrepreneurs,”  and I never fully placed myself on that road for whatever reason: no time, no sales ability, devoting more energy to my teaching profession.  Although I was trained as a writer and am a writer by nature, the Universe did  not present me with reward and opportunities for commercial success after a few years of publishing in small literary journals.  I tell people I stopped writing poetry when I began seeing a therapist after a trauma -- and I no longer had the need to craft confessional, drama laden lamentations.  Therapy cured me of poetry.  But my therapist was more than anything else my primary spiritual teacher and through her invitation to explore a healing, living God and spirituality, I began questioning my purpose. (Thank you Joan Lieberman!)  Evaluating my life path, I found that when I was successful, it was strictly in the field of education and service, not in self-serving endeavors,  and I heeded the message.  There is nothing wrong with serving the self.  This is not a judgment.  It was just that I was shown  over and over again through experience and disappointment that it was not to be my path in this life. So really, what was I giving the world that could be considered true and valuable service that wasn't motivated by career  advancement or profit? 

In my years of metaphysical study and in my own psychological healing journey, I learned to recognize and listen to the Spirit – or God – or whatever you call it – and saw how smoothly my life flowed when I followed the subtle hints sent from the Divine Source.  Then my question became, "how can I take what I have learned about God and Spirit and use it in a practical way to help others?"  I finished a second M.A. in Pastoral Ministries specializing in Loss and Healing, and the next logical step was to get out of the classroom do the work.  I have been interning as a Hospice chaplain since October 2012.

How do I take the knowledge (not belief but knowledge)  that we are never alone and that this world is not the lasting one?  How do I assist others as they cross the bridge between these two worlds?   How do I sit in the center of someone’s most critical life moments and turn the experience from one of fear to one of  love?   I stare at death and say “you are not a door closing but a world opening.” I do this by being present and standing in what I know to be truth . My pastoral presence – even when I don’t have the right words to say (and often I feel I don't) —means that I stand in God’s Light and channel that energy.   If  I am truly a transmitter of Divine light then my intention and presence become healing tools on their own, and guided by this, I can accompany others where they have to go.  I help people go home.  With patients’ families I do this by talking with them making them feel at ease with me even if the conversation begins on a pedestrian level.  Eventually it opens to allow deeper conversation.  I do it this way first because it’s natural to me ( I'm a good talker); secondly because  I feel people need and even welcome a slight distraction from the emotional burden of sitting bedside and watching their loved one slowly die;  and thirdly,+ because it builds trust. People are more likely to share their feelings once they know me on a casual level because I am no longer a stranger imposing myself in their sacred moments, and witnessing death is as sacred and intimate an act as dying itself.

How does my faith tradition inform or not inform my  theology/spiritual perspective of pastoral care?  Are there main themes, images, concepts that I draw from…?

 I draw not from just my inherited faith tradition but from many. I am inspired by the God in Hebrew Scriptures whenever I read that He has not forsaken his people no matter how they may have strayed, particularly the promises to lift us up "on eagles' wings."  The image of Elijah being swept up in a whilrwhind and carried home brings me comforting tears and reassures me that we do elevate beyond the earthly plane. I still recite the Shema aloud every night before I go to sleep. I see this as my personal covenant with God, an ancient one, which keeps me grounded and connected to my roots... and even though I stray from practicing Judaism, it does connect  me to many Jewish patients whose first question of me is usually “Are  you Jewish?”   and I can say yes because I cling to that very important tradition.   They are then more inclined to talk to me.   And further,  because I do have knowledge of the Gospel  and the message of Jesus, and because I do appreciate the universal beauty and truth in his words, I  connect with Christians equally.  Ironically, my Jewishness makes me receptive to Islamic prayer (I love the physical metaphor of praying with cupped open hands ready to receive).    And because of my meditation experience and Buddhist leanings I can relate to Buddhist and  Hindu patients, and vice-versa, and because of the many metaphysical beliefs I hold, I am equally at home with those who honor tribal or earth traditions.  When I first meet patients and families and they ask me what my denomination is, I tell them I am an interfaith minister and share my Jewish background, and in every case so far, we have all agreed that in the end, we all go to the same place and  share the same Divine Source no matter what we call ourselves in his brief life. 

How does my understanding of my life history, experience, and gifts inform my theology/spiritual perspective of pastoral care?

First, let me say quickly that I have suffered much in my life, a private suffering, and my healing has been an intimate experience between me and God, an experience that  I know is shared by others. “With God all things are possible.”   Regarding loss, I have lost four significant people: two friends that I knew only for a short time but whom I loved deeply,  and my grandparents,  the two greatest people I have ever known. Three of them died on hospice and the other in a hospital after battling a brain stem tumor for years.  Having experienced such loss  helps me understand others facing loss.  Add to that the seven dogs (my only children) I have lost, four of whom died in my arms. 

1What are the strengths and weaknesses of my theology/spiritual perspective of pastoral care?

Clearly I see my theology as an inclusive circle but others might view it as too amorphous.  As a matter of fact, a chaplain who addressed our CPE class proudly proclaimed that anyone who professes to be “spiritual” rather than religious is full of b.s.  He is an example of someone who judges  my theology as weak.  I view it as a strength, so elastic a band that it doesn't snap or break but flexes and extends.  My weakness is not a weakness in my world but perhaps in other people’s estimation it is.  My weakness, really, then, is caring what they think.

AFFORDABLE DOGSPEAK (or catspeak/horsespeak/birdspeak)

I understand, feel, and witness daily the effect a strained economy has on the average American, a struggle that has lasted at least five years.  In the greater Ft. Lauderdale area, I pull into familiar strip malls and small shopping centers to be greeted by empty storeferonts where businesses once thrived.  Every time I have to pay another bill I emit an audible groan.  Working people have had to pull back, conserve, shop in the no-frills stores for basic necessities.  Then consider the millions who have been unemployed and under-employed, how their despair continues.

Our animal companions, to many of us, are family, and even in the most lean times, we don't compromise the well being of our family members.  But the shelters are full, and my facebook page is a growing host of photos of abandoned pets at kill shelters begging for another chance to live a life in a loving home.  It's heartbreaking.

Of course luxuries fall by the wayside as well.  Few people are willing to take a financial risk seeing an  animal communicator, holistic healer, or any  kind of intuitive (not I -- I still make sure I go to someone for semi-annual readings myself...for me this is religious necessity).   I am blessed to earn a living as a professor and not have to rely on private consultations for my main income, but I know many others whose metaphysical livelihood was the first sacrifice in this economy.

My readings are comparatively affordable, which you'll see if you do a search.  Some communicators charge by the minute and even charge for mileage and phone connections.  I've never done that, but I have created a very simple and low, low, low to no investment opportunity for those whose animals need an intuitive consultation or spiritual "tune up."  No one should find a spiritual session out of their reach.  I'm a counselor and worker, not an entrepreneur. 

I invite you to take advantage of two opportunities that will benefit both you and your animals:
       
                    1)  the FREE Distance Reiki Circle for Animals on Facebook.  We meet twice every
                         Sunday, at 9 a.m. Eastern and 6 p.m. Pacific.  Come join the group, receive distance
                         energy healings, and enjoy the support of a group of over 230  like minded people
                         from around the world.  Here's the link:
                          https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/152536941490184/?fref=ts

                  2)  $11 Mini-readings for your animals. Yeah, that's right.  $11 ( power
                        number!).  Sometimes  you have only one pressing issue or one question or concern
                       for which you need clarity, and I'm happy to do it. The $11 donation keeps my web
                       page and Reiki circle live.  This is not a profit-making venture by any means.  Here's
                       the link.  http://www.reikidogs.com/MiniReadings.html
                      

What Will You Miss?

A couple of years ago on an early spring afternoon (not that we really feel spring as a distinct season in Florida), I was driving home, listening to an NPR program about  assisted suicide in Switzerland, where its legality permits euthanasia clinics.  The reporter followed an elderly woman who had made a dying appointment (and carried it through).  One question she was asked sent me into freeze-mode so the entire rest of the program became a blur and I focused on my response. When she asked the question, "what will you miss most?"  I was surprised by the answer that jetted forth without hesitation:

Birds.

Then of course I did my usual thing and cried.  (Don't tell my endocrinologist. She'll write another prescription for Effexor, and I'll have to throw it away again).

Turning onto the road leading to my development, a road lined with glorious ficus and banyon trees that get annual county mandated "hurricane haircuts,"  I thought, "this is a truth I had not expected."
A stream of my life's significant bird encounters gracefully moved like a wave before me, and I welcomed them all:

• My first bird, Charlie, half moon parrot, sitting on my shoulder.  He was removed from my life when my allergies became unmanageable, leaving a gaping wound I never quite closed until I acquired a parrot when I was 49.
• My being circled by a flock of almost celebratory male peacocks at the Lowry Zoo in Tampa
• My rescued crow, Melinda, dancing up and down in her cage when I opened the front door (dont' fret -- as soon as she could feed herself and fly, she returned to the skis)
• A family of trees full of welcoming crows outside Blarney Castle in Ireland
• The many ducks I have rescued as a volunteer.  The one who lay dying in my car while I drove with my left hand and Reiki'd her heart with my right all the way to the vet's office
• My macaw, Baby, seeing a tear fall, licking it, and whispering to me, "It's OK.  It's OK."

Now sometimes when I'm in a particularly stirring and poignant moment, a moment to which written description would never do justice, I deliberately stop and freeze and tell myself, "This moment you will remember."

Because what I have learned is that the deepest love defies capture by description whether by words or paint brush.  The deepest love cannot be reproduced or named.  It originates within through that spark that connects us to a greater force.  When people ask what my religion is, how can I explain?
This love that comes through the natural world is a manifestation of that great Spirit, and that is my religion.


Take a mental inventory.  If you were to leave the earth tomorrow, what would you miss?
What emerges for you?  Close your  eyes, shake of your stress, and get ready for Divine surprise.


 Please share.

Graceful Dying: The Dogs, Me, and Hospice

Here's some background on my spiritual journey.  Years ago, discovering the healing and vibrational powers of crystals, I entered the metaphysical world full force, taking classes,  trying different modalities as a client and patient (full body smudging, auric cleansing, rebirthing, past life regressions, meditations, and more) and then as a student and eventual practitioner.  My favorite tool was the Tarot, preferably the Hanson-Roberts deck, and I'd supplement this with pendulum work until I became confident enough in my clairvoyance to use psychometry (a gift I received from Carol Romine) and inner vision.  I worked at The Crystal Garden in Boynton Beach along with  Carol, Amy Volkers ( a great astrologer), Linda Kanin (an intuitive and teacher), owner Margaret Ann Lembo, and my friend Robin, who entered metaphysical work with me, both of us novices.    I did readings and taught classes in Tarot, Automatic Writing, and Intuitve Development.  At the time, Robin had developed a unique method of picking up information by holding and pressing various points on a person's palm, calling  it "psychic palms," and she astounded me with her accuracy.  I wanted so much to be as clear and precise in my readings and felt deflated when I wasn't.  Here was my first lesson in listening to Divine guidance.  As I meditated on this and asked why I wasn't as psychic as my friend, a voice from Spirit told me:   

                              Work on your spirituality, not your psychic ability, and everything
                              will come to you as you need it, in its proper time.


I listened and shuffled my priorities.  I worked on  healing, first myself, and then others.  The personal healing was a traumatic and painful journey  I wouldn't wish  on others (see some of my earlier posts about the buried memories that surfaced).  But it was necessary and promising as it cleared out blockages and brought in more Light, more Light, more Light. (We can't see well in the dark.) I took Reiki I, II, and III and then began teaching it.

One day, riding in the car, I rummaged through old hopes and desires and lamented the lack of scientific ability and squeamishness that made my becoming  a veterinarian impossible.   "I wish I could work with animals."  That same Divine voice said, "You can."  And it was like, WOW!  I COULDA HAD A V-8!    I CAN use my metaphysical gifts with animals and the people who love them.  In fact, I would PREFER to.  And the Universe supported me fully.  From then on, I reserved my Tarot readings for myself and close friends upon request and since then have devoted and limited my practice to animals, doing communication sessions, Reiki sessions, pre-and post life readings.  More and more, my clients were looking for end-of-life guidance, which is where direct communication with the animal provides the correct answers.  I have loved every minute of my work.

Through this path, I  "grew up" and learned with each new experience.    I have since lost five of my own dogs to death....actually transition.....I'd lost others prior, but with these I became an active escort, accompanying them as they left their bodies, never leaving them alone or uncradled.  I held each of them as they took their last breath and long after, which was a sacred privilege.  I would like to honor them my naming them here: Angelo, my standard poodle; Kasha, my mini schnauzer; Seamus, my Irish Water Spaniel; Frenchie, my French Bulldog, and Gracie, my last mini schnauzer.  I can still close my eyes and see each of them as their spirits left them and their bodies became empty carpets in my arms.

So it was not a difficult adjustment to become a Hospice chaplain.  People  react differently to death; either they are emotionally burdened thinking of it or they take steps to distance themselves from such thoughts.  But what I learned from the animals about the grace of being present at death led me to Hospice chaplaincy.  Instead of remaining  "Lisa Shaw, the quirky one who thinks she can talk to animals," I enrolled at St. Thomas University where I completed a traditional M.A. program in pastoral ministries, specializing in Loss and Healing.  I finished in December.  The next step was to enter a Clinical Pastoral Education program, a requirement for chaplaincy that entails class and a 7 month clinical internship.  I have been working as a chaplain intern  in a hospital Hospice unit since November. 

Last night, 3 months into my internship, I was present at a death for the first time.  I knew it would come...but I didn't know when...and it came with a family I'd spent time with in the afternoon.  I stood at the foot of the bed and watched as the nurse checked for a pulse for one full minute, then touched his face, positioned his head to the side on the pillow, and gently pulled the sheets up to his neck.  There the foot of the bed and actually felt as if we were all in a sacred temple enveloped by Light.  He looked truly peaceful without the belabored breathing and "death rattle" I'd heard an hour earlier.  His daughter, a woman in her late 40s or thereabout, bent down, kissed his hand, and said, "I love you, Daddy."  And that was it.  I think I was more emotional than she was at the moment, and she looked at me, tears on my face, her eyes red rimmed, and thanked me for being there. 

Some people --  no, most people -- aren't able to do this, and I still can't quite fathom how it is that I can.  Had I been told 20 or 30 years ago that this is the work I'd be doing today, I'd have dismissed the predictor as cognitively impaired. 

How is it that I can stand still in the presence of death?  Because what the animals have shown me in their transitions is that confronting death simply means being still in the presence of God (or whatever name you want to give the universal Mystery that gives and takes life). When we are there, we believe and become our true nature: holy.

Happy 2013

At the end of this year, use the energy of the waning moon to bid farewell to the energies that no longer contribute to your growth: this can be ideas, feelings of guilt, shame, or blame, perception about self and others, anger, excess......

Try these simple affirmations for release.  I will start with mine and then leave a few statements blank so you can fill in yours.    If you read them aloud, your voice will give power to your intention and the Universe will hear you and help you cleanse and heal.

I release my need for anger.  I release my anger.
I release my need to react.  I release my reactionism.
I release my need to feel hurt.  I release my hurt.
I release my need for excess weight.  I release my excess weight.
I release my need to worry.  I release my worry.


Now fill in your blanks:

I release my need for __________________.  I release my ________________.

I release my need to ___________________.  I release my ________________.

I release my need to feel ________________.  I release my _______________. 

Now light a candle for the new year and as you stand over it, say aloud those things you want to manifest for yourself and the world.  Again, voicing them will strengthen those intentions. 

In 2013,  let's try to be more like our dogs: unburdened, joyful, satisfied, loving, forgiving, playful, "in the moment." 

I wanted to leave 2012 by completing a project and sending it out into the Universe, so I have!  You can download my e-book on Amazon. It is divided into three sections: one collection of essays on lessons from our animals, another with sample readings and afterlife communication sessions, and a third section with exercises and meditations for you to increase your own intuition and do this very work.  It's $5, a bargain.  I ask for your support.  Here's the link:
              
  http://www.amazon.com/Illumination-Lessons-Animal-Companions-ebook/dp/B00AQYC68O/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1356987689&sr=1-1&keywords=illumination%3A+life+lessons+from+our+animal+companions

Have a great New Year.  Ring in the joy.  Don't forget to join us on Facebook every Sunday in the a.m. and p.m. for our Distance Reiki Circle for Animals.  Search for us and request an invitation. Namaste!

On Prophets and Purpose

My favorite Biblical story has always been the Genesis tale of Joseph, abandoned by his brothers and left for dead, then imprisoned by the Pharoah in a strange land.  Joseph survived the abuse by his siblings and not only discovered  purpose but reinvented and elevated himself by interpreting the dreams of the Pharoah.  People often assign psychic abilities to Joseph but I agree with those critics who see this error: it was not Joseph who was the psychic; it was  Pharoah.  Joseph was merely the translator of  dream.  The dream itself was an expression of the Divine.

Joseph Campbell identifies dreams as a great source of the spirit, and those who do metaphysical work know this.  Dreams are vivid and visual and often more revelatory than waking consciousness. The irony is that we sometimes go through our waking life in a stupor while our dreams shock us into the more potent reality.    I cherish my dreams; some of my most profound recognitions occurred in the dream state.  Many of them involved animals, like the wolf who came to me during a physical attack in which I defended myself violently.  I picked up a pillowcase full of bricks and was swinging it wildly to neutralize my attackers, when  suddenly the contents changed shape and I felt something soft and warm and alive inside.   I opened the pillowcase to find wolf pups. One of them emerged and said,  "Stop.  When you hurt one of us, you hurt all of us."  I carry this message in my heart every time I am tempted to strike back at someone who hurts me, and believe me, I am often very tempted.

Thus the wolf comes to me as a prophet.  Fundamentalists of any religion restrict use of that word to Biblical context and appear indignant when it is used outside of Scripture (Isaiah, Elijah, Jeremiah -- these were the only prophets).   Last week this came up unexpectedly in a chaplaincy  course I'm taking with five clergymen  and a religious school teacher from various Christian and Jewish traditions.  The Baptist shared his calling to ministry.  An Orthodox Jewish teacher asked, "What's a calling?"  He said, "It's a calling from God."  Perplexed, she continued, "I don't understand."  I jumped in as mediator:  "What's that smoke on the mountain, Moses?"  The African Methodist Episcopal supervisor agreed, "Yes, like Moses getting the call from God."  The confused woman looked at the Baptist and said with machine gun speed, "But Moses was a prophet.  You're not."  I was disturbed.

After class she and I engaged in our usual 20 minute reflective chat in the parking lot.  She  worried that she might have reacted  abruptly;  her experience doesn't include people who hear God's voice.  She asked me, "Do you think God talks to you?"  I said, "Yes, you don't?"  She was adamant.  "No.  Never.  God doesn't talk to people.  We learn about God through the Torah.  No one is a prophet."

I took a breath and a risk because I would be demonstrating why I am no longer bound to Judaism, the religion of my birth.  "God talks to me.  God talks to the Baptist minister.  God talks to the young man who decides to be a priest or the woman who answers the call in the convent.  It's a voice, a message from a consciousness that is much higher than one's physical self.  In this sense we are prophets.  I am a prophet. I may not be leading masses across a raging sea, but if I bring one person to the Light then I am a prophet."

I hold this truth to be self evident (with apologies to Jefferson).   We are all prophets when we listen to  higher consciousness.

Webster defines prophet in multiple ways:
one who utters divinely inspired revelations: as

a often capitalized : the writer of one of the prophetic books of the Bible

b capitalized : one regarded by a group of followers as the final authoritative revealer of God's will Prophet of Allah>

2

: one gifted with more than ordinary spiritual and moral insight; especially : an inspired poet 

I go further and  rely both on experience and Joseph Campbell's western articulation of mythological concepts: animals are often the messengers of that higher  realm.  Tribal folk, mediums, meditators, psychics will attest to that.  

Whether household companions, visitors in the wild, or teachers in our dreamtime,  animals are often our prophets, spiritual messengers bringing gifts of comfort and wisdom, even if that comfort and wisdom is sheer presence.

This week the Pope declared the Christmas manger  a piece of inaccurate  modern fiction.  For obvious reasons, I choose to discard this.  I like the myth, the love it propagates, the four legged and winged love, inter-species, inter-dimensional love.

The holiday season is upon us.  May you find feathers at your feet.

Mirror, Mirror

I've heard many times that those people who present us with challenges are really mirrors of our own frailties.   That means if I encounter a person who consistently stirs my emotions, it might not be that person who has the problem at all.  He or she is merely providing a mirror for me to see (and hopefully heal)  the burning ulcer inside me.  It makes sense when you think about it.  Assigning the negativity to the other person is just an easy way to avoid confronting ourselves.

Then imagine my surprise when I wrote an electronic note to my ex-husband's current live-in sweetheart in which I remarked how far we've come  in a difficult year.  Last year I was still reeling not so much from the divorce  itself but from the way it ended, with a third party involved but hidden from me.  I was furious with him and her.  He even came to my house for dinner in September,  sat across the table from  me, and told me how he'd found his soul mate, raving about her for over an hour.  I vascillated between shock and despair.  It played like a  Woody Allen movie with me stepping outside my body, watching the conversation, feeling sliced in half.

Between Yom Kippur and Halloween I purged every photo, every card, every remnant of him that still soiled  my house, and I prayed  and chanted and chanted and prayed for release from the burden of fury.  In that year, I've tried for some reason to befriend her  and move past the hurt (I still hear his cell phone ringing in my kitchen early on Saturday morning and after 10 on weeknights, and I still hear her loud voice on his phone as he tried to muffle it behind the door).  In that year we chatted amicably online more than a few times,sometimes at my intiation and sometimes at hers. All  my friends would ask "why?" and warn me, "Stop talking to them," but I didn't listen because I was going to show the world what an enlightened divorce looked like, making public my  quest to fix the unfixable.  Maybe my real motive was to emerge from the situation as the indisputable good guy. I continue to reflect upon this.  Maybe I have a bit of Stockholm syndrome and wanted these two brutes to like me.  Maybe, when I think about it, I realize that I was ready to remove him from my life but wasn't prepared to be removed from his.

 So now, precisely a year later, I wrote that note  saying "in the spirit of forgiveness, I wish you a happy new year," a note that was, surprisingly, met with silence.  Hmmmm.  What  I did see was a cryptic thread on her Facebook page in which she said she needed to eliminate toxic people from her life "even if they're only on Facebook."  And her small cadre of supporters said oh yes, oh yes, she's been too nice. 

Toxic?  Me? Too nice? To me?   How could that be after I wrote so well intentioned a note?   I waited a couple of days and  still seeing no response,  posted on her thread that sometimes it's not the other person who is toxic, that perhaps the other person is just the catalyst to draw out what  already festers within us.  No response again.  Double hmmm.  She must mean me,  right?  I scratched my head like a bewildered chimp.  My message, not just innocuous but intentionally kind,  landed smack in the crater of some ulcer she created that bore my name. .  Remedy? Unfriend.  It could be medicinal.

I mentally announce to  them,  Take your on seats the karma train.  You and he both.   

But now they inspire nightmares.  In one dream last week, I came home to find a daintily wrapped box  inside of which were two pink scoop neck sweatshirts (I never wear pink).  The box was from my ex-husband.  Someone in the dream said these are not for you. They are for her.  In a rage I threw the box out the window of my house in Far Rockaway, the house that rises from memory as Rockaway was decimated by a hurricane this week.

So I'm not over it.  And avoiding my feelings by attempting friendship with  them won  me a prescription for anti-depressants this week.  Then I woke up depressed because I found out I was depressed.

I had a reading a couple of weeks ago to get feedback on the new venture I am about to begin as a Hospice chaplain.  The reader called this work the perfect bridge between the earthly and the spiritual, allowing me to walk in two planes at once.  True, I thought; this straddles two levels of consciousness that don't always work in harmony with one another, creating spiritual cognitive dissonance.

I guess this  is my purpose:  reconciliation.  I am confessing to neturalize the tension.   I am, as are all of you, a spiritual being learning to be human (not the other way around).  And as a human being, I experience the full range of  wooly emotions.  And as a triple Capricorn with Mars in Scorpio, armed with a relentless artistic temperament, I experience personal injustice as a prolonged, persistent, and unwelcome guest.  And yes, I admit it, when I feel attacked it's tough to resist those inner calls for retribution.    I become the ugly hydra-like bitch startled from a much-needed sleep.    And the godly side, well, that's the side that writes stupid little reflective notes that remain unanswered.

Rescue Love

This weekend I had the opportunity to offer my services at one of Palm Beach County's largest dog events, Pet-a-Palooza in Jupiter. Most of the tri-county humane organizations had booths, from A Second Chance Puppies and Kittens Rescue to Florida Parrot Rescue.

 I had an animal communication station where I offered free readings to all who stopped by (I thank you and my gas tank thanks youfor your generous donations!), and from 11 a.m. - 5  p.m. I read one dog after another, taking only one quick bathroom break around 2.  The event was sponsored by Sunny 107.9 and WIRK, and through  their very generous advertising, the turnout was enormous.  I apologize for having turned away people after 5 p.m.  even though they had waited in line.  The booths were being dismantled and honestly, after reading nearly 40 dogs, I would not have been as sharp as I had been earlier.

Gunner

I read every kind of "poo-" there could possibly be -- shihpoos, maltipoos, yorkipoos, whippetpoos, and read for some magnificent representatives of their breed: the most stunning and gentlemanly German Shepherd I've ever met, a couple of adorable, smile provoking American Bull Dogs, and one exquisite and cuddly large boned Golden Retriever.


Many people brought their rescues for a reading, seeking insight into their lives before their rehoming, and most came with "issues" as so many rescues do. Whether they are territorial or timidity issues,  each of these dogs entered its new home with a heart full of gratitude to their new caretakers.  Most of them were welcomed into homes with other animals, which satisfies their pack instincts. Trusting and open, they allowed me to enter their auras  to retrieve and exchange information.  A few times, as I sat  cheek to cheek with a blue nose pit bull, I thought about all the warnings we hear regarding space, including the recent attack on a Lincoln Road waitress who innocently bent down to give a dog water and was severely bitten  for "getting in the dog's face."  I released those thoughts.  I've been up close and personal with  many pit bulls over the last 25 years and have never found them aggressive or territorial with me, but I respect them as I approach them, always asking their permission and entering their space with love, so  they respond in kind.   Often the pit rescues  combat the emotional and physical residue from r previous owners who used them for fighting.  This weekend I read for some dogs who had major physical scars, one who looked like his snout had been ripped in half and sewn back (a hound that had been attacked, unprovoked, by a wandering pit bull)  and one lab mix who had a scar not readily visible....the dog wanted to make sure I knew about it and told me to look on the right side of his belly.  The owners verified this and gave me a better look at the incision. 

These rescue dogs want only to be loved and held and their joy after rescue is palpable.   To meet so many humans who have opened their hearts and homes to them, engendering that joy,  is encouraging,  a downpouring of Divine Light  in a world too often overcome by darkness.

Thank you all for allowing me into your Light.

A Dog's Love: How Important Is It?

Let me start by saying once again that I struggle with the busy little remnants of childhood sexual abuse, so that when I least expect it, they personify and scurry around my subconscious more noisily and mischievously than usual, when they just lie in wait.  On these occasions, I find myself walking with my head down, literally, or  driving the 35 mile distance to work and back in silence, or wandering through the supermarket on the verge of that something -- "what was it?" -- that Kate Chopin embedded in Louise Mallard, only the answer that escaped was strikingly different. 

A friend of mine who had to euthanize her dog earlier this week just asked on Facebook, "Who cries in Publix?"  and I nodded vigorously even though this was not a yes or no question.

So getting into tub today, I took a random inventory of all the ways I continue to pathologically butcher myself, both physically and literally, tearing myelf apart to bleeding point  from my scalp down, biting, scratching, picking, something I've done since I was 5.  (What happened to me when I was 5?  Ask my dead grandfather).   Why do I do this, I asked myself, and got a very honest reply from the advancing crone within:  because you hate yourself.   Of course, like every educator or therapist knows, the subsequent question  was why do you hate yourself?  The answer was because no one loves me.  I was tugged visually to a scene in my Flatlands home, when I was 7 or 8,having  something to do with brown socks and not wanting to go to school that day, hiding in the bathroom, hoping the bus would leave without me so I could  stay home and watch Topper and I Love Lucy.

As I watched this mental movie, I stood flanked by two Irish Water Spaniels who could not keep their paws or affectionate tongues off my arm.


Now herein lies the lesson.  A few years ago, we had a Southern Irish Water Spaniel festival at the home of my dog's breeder in Covington, Georgia.  We gathered our  twenty-plus Irish Water Spaniels from Ft. Lauderdale to North Carolina (and of course, their wonderful people!).  The dogs ran basic agility, chased tennis balls, romped in the yard in extreme joy, but Ingrid, my girl, seemed reluctant  to leave my side, hiding behind  my knees most of the weekend.  I asked her co-breeder, Deborah, a training whiz, "Why are all my dogs so needy?  Why must they be on top of me every minute?" She thought for a moment, then looked at me and said, "Maybe it's not their need.  Maybe it's yours."

Today I understand this.  As I stepped out of the tub with these two wooly dogs wagging alongside me, I got it. My dogs love me this way because I need them to love me this way.....because no one else  ever has, and it's likely that no one ever will.