What Moors You To This Life?

Yoga philosophy espouses high virtue on becoming detached from that which may cause suffering, not an easy accomplishment in our Western culture. Yet I've attempted to be a good student, reminding myself oh so ever gently, that material possessions are chains that drag us down into the pit of despair (without the 6-fingered man). Vairagya (renunciation) is also one of the ethical precepts yogis are meant to follow. We are supposed to be grateful for each day that we are given on this blue planet yet not be terrified of death. To accept when our time is up and become one with God.
It is this last part I may have taken too far. Who knew that not caring if you live or die might actually be dangerous?? When our 15 year old 4-legged child died last January, Brian and I were beyond devastated. We adjusted eventually...to the deafening silence at home (doggies do like to be heard), the missing soul, and most notably, not needing to care for that living creature any longer. As I plainly told Brian "we are no longer a family, just a couple." NOT being a family was sinkingly depressing for me. I am nurturing and loving by nature, unless you piss me off, and not having Shea to care for, worry and fret about turned out to be more detrimental to my emotional and physical health than I ever envisioned.
The sands of time slowly sifted down, and the changes within me became more visible. I was no longer concerned about being alive, didn't care if my life ended that day or not, felt completely untethered to this world in a way I never experienced prior. Mildly amused by this new sense of freedom from breathing, I thought I was progressing towards a state of enlightenment. How cool I mused, I think I understand this whole non-attachment and clinging to life deal! I felt like a Squarebob Spongepants helium balloon that slipped away from a tiny little hand at the state fair, floating aimlessly higher and higher into infinity. Giggling like a little schoolgirl, either from lack of oxygen or that new found sense of weightlessness, I failed to notice my precarious ascent. That is, until the close call with a Boeing 747.
My featherlight brushstroke with death perked my senses, yet did not sound a warning bell. Not until others expressed serious concern about my laissez faire attitude towards living. Delving deeper into the inky blackness of my ignorance, I blindly grasped onto the anchor of faith. I forced myself to root down and ground my feet firmly into the here and now. As a practicing yogi and teacher, I focused on foundation and centering from within, until I believed it.
"Take the hit as a gift" a teacher once said. I did. My soaring experience taught me that my reason for being is supposed to be selfless, providing seva (service) to others whether through my teaching or caring for those I love (including our new puppy, even when she is willful and contrary). Namaste.

For The Love Of Dogs

In Memory Of Shea, my blue-eyed baby boy, my "Snoopy", my hiking buddy, my loving companion. I will miss you eternally.
I received a second punch on my invisible punch card. There are no reward points or "Free" car washes when I fill it. In fact, I hope I NEVER fill it. Once you are a member of this exclusive club, there is no "opting-out". Like The Eagles song goes "once you check-in, you can never check-out". There are no secret meetings held in dark, waxy cold basements, no fees, no cards issued. Every group member desperately wishes they could bargain their way out, to no avail. No invitation to join, we are all unwillingly initiated, and it is painful. Searingly agonizing. As if a Solingen steel, serrated edge sharp folding knife were plunged into your soul and surgically carved out a slice of it.
The paradoxical question being - why would anyone want to experience such paralyzing, suffocating pain ever again? One punch hole in your heart should be lesson enough. Lesson being to never, ever, ever go through this living hell again. Yet the answer to the question is - for the love of a four-legged creature. In my case, for the love of a dog.
Our personal experience with the death of our pets has not been a storybook ending. Neither one died in his sleep or had to be put down for terminal illness. Disneyesque bluebirds whistling simple tunes didn't hover around and cover them with caramel-hued blankets when they passed. Both times the grotesque decision of euthanasia was vague and wrenchingly painful. Nobody tells you this part of owning a pet. Nobody warns you of the end. Nobody shares their intimate, raw emotions of the experience. Probably because we all want to blot out the stain of guilt, shame, anger, desperation and bottomless grief as quickly as possible. But I AM going to impart our emotional journey to the hell of euthanasia so that others may be better prepared than we. Here goes:
Your vet will not tell you when it's time unless it is an emergency situation. Both our dogs could not walk or get up on their own much, but no vet ever TOLD us it was time, we had to ask.
The day you put your dog down, you will feel like shit. You spend the rest of that day wanting to TAKE IT BACK. Nothing will make you feel better, no matter how numb you want to become. So I stayed sober, the kind of sober only death can bring. The soberest I've been since February 10th, 2011 (when Annie died).
You walk out of the vet's office in a zombie-like haze. I don't even know how we got home. I just know I walked in with a dog and left with an empty leash and collar white-knuckled to my left hand.
You have the choice of staying and holding your dog till he's dead, or leaving him there...alone...with strangers. Both times we stayed and assured our old boys that killing them was the most loving action we could do for them. Yeah, right. You will never believe that one either. For as long as you live. Be prepared for the guilt of killing your pet, nobody tells you this part.

Our way of coping with the rest of that good-for-nothing day was to come home and clean his bowls, crate and toys. We separated what we could donate to a rescue group, including all his meds, and placed the rest in the attic with the dim outlook that someday we may have another doggie in our lives. We even cleaned the house, not to wipe out Shea's memory but to give us closure. I recommend you take the day off as your brain won't be thinking coherently.
The memory of your pet dying in your arms after a lethal injection of the most vibrant lavender pink poison, will be hot-branded in your conscious memory forever. You will not be equipped to handle this, it will haunt you. Know that choosing to stay and do the right thing, will also cause you extreme remorse and sorrow. Euthanasia is final, there is no going back. This seems like an obvious point, but my husband seemed stunned when it happened. Taking your pet's life strips away the protective layers of your emotional soul. It is now a raw, large open wound that will take months to heal and form a scab. And that slice that was cut out, will never return. You also discover what you are capable of and what your limits are.

Someday, you will have to forgive yourself for what you've done. When, I don't know. Forgiving and forgetting are two distinct paths. I still haven't forgotten the last one back in 1996, but I eventually realized his death was inevitable. The only way to fully receive forgiveness, is to fully forget that day. Which would require amnesia or a partial lobotomy. Making peace with ourselves and accepting our actions is a step towards forgiveness. Keep focusing on the joyful times you enjoyed together whenever that dark euthanasia moment skulks into your mind. Find a way to aid other pets, whether it's volunteering or donating money to your local rescue group . They are amazing organizations. And that vast ability you possess to love and care for another, needs to be shared again. Consider adopting another pet in the future, for the love of dogs.

Cloudy With A Chance Of Hope

After a brutal, beyond infernal week of 110+ degrees in Phoenix, I awoke to partly sunny skies. Could it be...clouds? In this arid desert, clouds are a God send, nature's way of teasing us with the remote possibility of rain, of which we've only received an inch this entire year. These cumulus clouds signal the arrival of monsoon, our version of the rainy season. As I gazed up into the heavens and welcomed the sight of dark grey clouds, the simile did not escape me. Almost 5 months since Anne's death and the darkness that I was shoved to live in, slowly recedes giving way to a cloudy outlook. A change I embrace after such a long exile.

Grief is a stubborn unwelcome guest and fickle, too. Just as I think I'm in the clear, it whacks me on the forehead and almost unconscious. It must possess the gift of invisibility, as I NEVER see it coming. Grief has no manners either, or it would know how rude it is to enter uninvited via a closed front door. No noticing the none too subtle doormat stating "LEAVE". Grief took no hint from it, evidently it's illiterate or it would be reading my blog posts relating to its visit. Don't you think 5 months is way too long for a house guest?? One of its most annoying traits is insomnia. This killjoy will sneak into my bedroom in the dark of night, and invade my dreams until I wake up with a nightmare. It seems misery loves company, especially at 3AM. I can't even shower without grief skulking in, and really, that's just indecent. If happiness were poison, grief would be the antidote. Life too good? Don't worry, grief to the rescue. If grief were on match.com, its profile would read: Lookin' for a lousy time? Call me, my no. is 555-PAIN. I am done with this visitor, but nobody wants it. I placed an ad on Craigslist partly stating " Free house guest to a good or bad home. Doesn't eat, drink or speak. Can be depressing, rude, overbearing, and a general pest." Maybe I'm being too honest. Perhaps I'll change it to say the following " Feeling lonely? This roommate is the perfect companion, always around. Will not leave food in the fridge for months because it doesn't eat. Got rowdy neighbors? Send this roommate over. Guaranteed party pooper!" I think I'll repost it today.

Swim At Your Own Peril, The Ocean Of Grief is Uncharted

I am completely out of my favorite element, earth, and submerged in my least likeable one, water.  I say this just as my toes palpate a grainy sandbar, gripping on to terra firma. My short lived elation is washed away as a forceful, rogue wave shoves me back into the deep waters. My head bobs up and down like a cork, catching a glimpse now and then of land ahoy. Grief, it seems, comes in waves. Small, unassuming waves, and monster waves. I steady my sights on the refuge of dry land and begin to feverishly swim towards it. At times, the ocean coaxes me along easing my journey and grief begins to subside. At times, a riptide sucks me under and spits me out as if it swallowed a bad clam, throwing me off course. How did the ocean get so big and how did I get so small?  If I stop fighting the tide and give in to my sorrow, will the current eventually deliver me to safer ground? It's a game between grief and joy, a tug of war of sorts. I reach for joy, and grief sweeps me out to sea.  Ungrounded and disoriented, I find solace in knowing that I am not alone. The ocean of grief is vast and unmapped, even if you've been there before.  There is a lot to be said for feeling the ground beneath your feet. A solid foundation provides comfort and security in an unsteady world. I miss being centered and grounded. When I do eventually reach the shore, it will be an unfamiliar one. We can never go back once we've been swept out by the ocean of grief. But I will be a much stronger swimmer, already am.

Walking The Path In Go Go Boots

Preferably thigh high black patent leather ones. Nancy Sinatra wore white ones in her classic video "These Boots Are Made For Walking", but as any fashionista will tell you, white shows dirt. And trust me, those boots are gonna get dirty.
Walking the path of enlightenment isn't for sissies, it requires body armor to deflect the arrows of hate, sloth, greed, temptation and desire. Sturdy boots to trudge through all the knee deep in manure chasms life dumps in our path. A brave, bright heart  to position you back on the path once you've lost your way in the darkness. Finally, a lifeline to pull you out of quicksand (unexpected tragedies) that swallows you at the blink of an eye, paralyzes you and knocks the breath out of your lungs.
Walking the path is the yoga of action. Our everyday actions or inactions determine our way, change our course. Our reaction to unexpected and/or unwanted events shape our future. My path was forever altered after Annie's death and slowly my new world is revealed, one layer at a time. Life's small inconveniences don't bump my ride anymore. I don't take my friends or loved ones for granted these days. On the odd side, my threshold for offensiveness is 100% higher (not that I was a delicate flower before). Not much could EVER offend me after Annie's tragic death, that was obscenely offensive. I also couldn't give a fig what anyone thinks of me, living life fully demands snugging on my go go boots, holding my head high with a sweet smile and doing my thing.
It's a long and winding road embarking on the right way, yet it is also the ONLY way. There are no shortcuts or bypasses, those all lead to unhappiness. The road to spiritual joy is at times rocky, its journey uncertain during turbulent storms, yet the path is always lit with the beacon of faith and trust. I choose to walk the path in style, 'cause those boots were made for walkin'!

When Earthquakes Strike

Ever been in an earthquake? It is a terrifying experience when the ground beneath you is not solid. Nothing to hold on to, at the mercy of outside forces. My heart goes out to the people of Japan, they have a long road to recovery.

When our foundation is shaken to its core, what do we hold on to? When the outside world is not safe, what centers us from within? A life-altering event can have the same effect as an earthquake. A death, divorce, financial crisis, marriage, a baby are all life changing events. Even though some are positive, they are still frightening and throw us off our axis. When tragedy struck my world last month, I felt I was shoved off a moving train. Bruised, screaming, shocked, amazed that such a powerful force didn't actually kill me, I'm in awe of the human spirit and how it can survive such a blow to the soul. What empowered me to get up after being thrown off a moving train, dust myself off and start walking? My answer was faith, trust in the unknown. Because I don't know what else to call it. It was not hope, I had none. Hope requires positive thinking about the future, as in "I hope for a better tomorrow" or "I hope we win the lottery". What is hope anchored to? Hope is light and airy, and needs to be weighted down for substance. I believe hope is anchored to faith. I had faith but not hope, so can we have hope without faith? I'm not sure. Faith and trust sustain us through the darkness, even when we don't understand how, even when we can't see. For some, faith means God and religion, to some of us it means trust in the all-knowing, that which is beyond mortal understanding.

I'm not telling you what you should believe, I am merely tossing a few thoughts out there for you to chew on. In Japanese, the word "shin" encompasses faith, belief and trust. In Sanskrit, that word is "shraddha". Beautiful aren't they?

I wish I could tell you a personal earthquake will never strike you, but that would be naive of me. All I wish is that when it does, you can find a little faith, hang on to it for dear life and wait for the quaking to stop.

My Begging Bowl

What to do when your bowl is filled with something you don't want? When I was little and my mother would feed me a food I disliked, it got secretly tossed behind the fridge next to my chair. That worked well until the cleaning lady moved the fridge one day and my secret was uncovered. My dinner chair got moved.
I was introduced to the concept of Buddhist begging bowls in a small but lovely book titled Everyday Sacred. The monks depended on the kindness of people to fill their empty bowls with either food or money, but some days they were never filled. Plus, no choice on what they were given. On a philosophical level, what are we supposed to do when our life bowl is forcibly ladled with foulness so vile you want to vomit? Not allowed to toss it out or exchange it for a better choice. When every cell in your body rejects what's been placed in your bowl, yet you are forced into accepting it. Such is the world I live in right now. I don't want to accept Annie's gone, yet I can't bring her back. I am wedged in this corner of rejecting something abhorrent and yet knowing it will stay in my life bowl forever. How do I make peace with this? Accepting yet despising every moment of it, swallowing the bad medicine, clutching onto my soul as it screams in pain from the gaping wound still raw, I will survive the suffering and eventually heal. Through meditation and yoga, acceptance will coat rejection with the nectar of higher goodness. My begging bowl still has room for sweetness, love and peace.
May your begging bowl always be filled with all that you need and is good in this world.           

Darkness Settles In For A Long Stay

Remember my past post from 5/2/09 about a dark, damp tunnel with bats? I'm in it. A few yards in from the entry of the tunnel, I am paralyzed with fear. I can't turn back, yet I am terrified of taking a step forward deeper into the darkness. Processing grief is an individual experience, and I know I must work through it not over it to move on in my life. For the first time, I'm afraid of the space I've been slammed into, a space I know nothing about. A space NOBODY should ever be in, who knew there were levels of death that were better than others? The last time I felt pain this raw was the suicide of a dear friend of mine from high school. It all flooded back with a vengeance after Annie's death. The darkness I must blindly tread through to reach the light on the other side is uncharted for me. No GPS to state the length of this tunnel, it's possible pitfalls or curves. A mind path I must endeavour alone, deep into the recesses of my soul and uncover whatever landmines I missed in the past. This time to reach the other side, there are no shortcuts and my soul will be stripped bare.
For now, I wake up every day, I meditate and give myself permission to be in whatever space I will be in that day. Not pushing for revealment, accepting the dark tunnel, the screaming bats that I can't see and taking comfort that I am loved by so many.

A Bright Light Extinguished, My Soul Is Dimmed

One of my dearest, oldest friends was violently murdered last week. Annie was larger than life, with a vibrant energy that was palpable. Her smile contagious, her laugh unforgettable and her eyes could pierce right into your soul. A fiery temper to match her beautiful red (now blonde) mane, a porcelain complexion most women would envy and a goddess in the kitchen. Annie would give you her last dollar, her kindness was infinite as was her love for animals, especially doggies. Her flare for decorating and hosting fabulous parties were just a few of her many talents. She taught me how to host a party and entertain, making it all seem effortless, a skill I never learned to master. How she could take a bath right before 50 people were to show up at her home amazed me. I'm always running around like a crazy person!

Annie was my touchstone, the one who could always talk me off the ledge and make me laugh at the same time. She was the older sister I never had, I am now left to navigate this life without her wisdom or colorful wit as a compass. When we joked about the gradual signs of age, I'd taunt her and scream " You first!". I was supposed to grow old with her as my friend, yet that is not to be.

My life's path is forever altered, in ways still unknown. Annie would say the best gift I could give her would be to live fearlessly and fully. A gift we can all give Annie to honor her memory. Live every day as if it were your last.

In 30 Seconds, You're Homeless

The sound and force of a freight train plows through your home at 165MPH, levels it and as quickly as it showed up the train leaves. Within seconds your life is changed, your belongings strewn for miles, it's dark, raining and you are homeless. Except it's not a freight train that ripped away your home, it was an F3 tornado. This is what happened in Millbury, Ohio recently. My girlfriend Sue lives in the neighboring town and the twister roared by a half mile from her home. After viewing the devastating pictures of the damage, I am eternally grateful she and her family are safe. Now it is time to grieve for the dead and help those who were injured or left homeless. Those who were lucky enough to escape the wrath of the twister are left to grapple with an array of emotions: relief, sadness, guilt, grief among others. Tornadoes are especially cruel when weighed against other natural disasters. They are selective on what they destroy. Just view the pictures of Millbury and see. One home is intact and the next door home is flattened to the ground. It is that indiscriminate characteristic of tornadoes that leads to the inevitable question: "Why me?" Is it a matter of luck, fate, God's will? It's none of those, of course. No matter how carefully we craft our lives, plan and organize them, life happens. There is a saying that states "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans". If the raw power of nature teaches us anything, it is that we do not have complete control over our lives. We are at the mercy of the unknown. Sometimes bad things just happen for no reason, not because of superstition, religion, punishment, karma or whatever other label our subconscious tries to slap on it. Accepting that the universe is chaotic and at times without rhyme or reason, is a concept I am coming to terms with. There is one word that sums up how to deal with the uncertainty life throws at us: Grace. And that is how the wonderful people of Millbury and surrounding areas are handling this disaster, with grace. To make a donation to the Toledo Red Cross Chapter, click here.

Flip It Over

Back in the days of records (those round, ebony, circular disks with grooves that play tunes), you'd flip it over to side B for the other half. That side was usually reserved for the lesser known tracks and didn't get played as much. Hence, the speed of light invention of eight track tapes, which didn't need flipping. They did, however, take a ton of space in my 1981 Mustang center console. But I digress. The universe is sending people my way lately who, against their better judgement, believe I can help them. I'm a good listener, give advice when asked, and for the most part, have clarity of thought. In other words, I'm others' sounding board. I don't mind. At a young age peers would come to me for advice and it's been ongoing. I should have become a psychologist as my husband points out, but I didn't want to listen to other people's problems at work AND on my off time. A wise yoga teacher presented me with the concept of flipping over an unsavory situation. When I find myself with a problem, I try the flip side. What positive aspect can I take out of this? If I am going to suffer, which I truly dislike, I might as well learn something. Say you've experienced a life changing situation (divorce, unemployment) and feel like a deer in headlights. Paralyzed by the floor falling away beneath your feet. I see it as an opportunity to start over with a new life. Move to a new city (my choice is Lake Tahoe), go back to school and reinvent yourself. Flip yourself over and explore side B. **Disclaimer- No, I am not getting divorced or unemployed, although being in real estate these days is kinda close.

It's Dark, Damp, with Screaming Bats!

Well, there are bats in my tunnel. It adds to the drama. Although this is a serious subject, humor and laughter are great destressors!

We all have moments or events in our lives we don't want to experience. We have no control or choice but to plow through the crisis. A job loss, unexpected health issue, death in the family... These acute stress events usually blindside us and throw us off our axis. One way to relieve the anxiety is to process the life changing circumstance through visual imagery. It is one of the methods I use to help me accept a difficult situation. It is my true desire that it benefits you as well.

I visualize myself standing, facing a one-way tunnel on the side of a high mountain range, like the Alps. I can't turn around, it's impossible for me to bypass the tunnel and realize I have to go through it. I know there is an end to the tunnel and there is light on the other side. I just don't know what will happen in the tunnel (here is where my bats come in) or how long it is. I take a deep breath, muster all my courage, shed my fears (as I know bats smell fear), and step into the darkness. The only motivation that keeps me walking down the tunnel is knowing there is another side. I don't know what's there waiting for me, but I do know there will be light, in the form of revealment, resolution, acceptance and knowledge.

Now, if I could just find that bat repellent spray...