Synchronicity

The young dog jumped up and strained at the end of her leash, tail wagging so fast it was almost a blur. Her friendly beagle face smiled up at me as I walked past the outdoor table where her owner and a couple of friends were chatting over their Sunday morning coffee. I smiled down at the beagle and went inside the coffee shop. 

I got my latte and sank into an easy chair to enjoy it. As I finished my drink, I heard a crash and the unmistakable sound of dishes breaking outside. I glanced out the window. The exuberant young beagle had apparently knocked over a small metal table, causing the mugs and saucers on top of it to fly off and smash on the sidewalk. A college student led the beagle by her leash away from the broken glass while her boyfriend stooped to pick up the pieces. Another friend who was sitting at their table came inside the coffee shop to tell the owner about the mishap.

The beagle stood next to her owner with her head down and her tail between her legs. I’ve always been a rescuer and a comforter of the crestfallen. I remembered that I had a dog biscuit in my purse that someone had given me the previous day at an art fair. One of the artists, obviously a dog lover, was giving away the home baked canine treats in little zip lock baggies that also contained a business card with information about the artist’s website. I had intended to gift my own dog with the treat, but forgot about it by the time I got home.

So I went outside to the dog’s owner and asked if I could give her dog a treat. What’s her name, I asked. Lily, the college student replied. I bent to stroke the beagle’s head and tell her she was beautiful. Her face reminded me so much of other beagles in my past. Some of those memories are fond, a few are sad, and others are bittersweet.  I handed the biscuit to the owner and explained to her how I got it. She and her friend smiled and thanked me. 

As I walked back to my car, I thought about synchronicity.  Beagles have come and gone from my life, as well as a blue heeler dog named Lily. But nothing is ever really gone. Whatever is lost comes back around in another form. An artist gave me a dog biscuit, and I met a beagle named Lily who needed to be given a treat. It worked out perfectly. One moment of our lives flows into the next, today becomes tomorrow, and tomorrow becomes the day after. We can trust that our needs will be met and that whatever comes along, it will all be okay. All beings are a part of the whole. Everything works together in the long run to create our highest good, and in spite of a few sad memories and broken coffee mugs, it’s all wonderful.  

Goodbye to Curious

I found the ancient pink tattered Easter bunny among your things a couple of years after you died. He was barely recognizable, with no ears, eyes, or other distinguishable features, and barely any fur left. You said when you got him as a gift one Easter morning in the early 1960s that his facial expression made him look curious, and so you gave him that name. Curious was your favorite toy, but he was so much more than a toy to you. You tucked him into bed with you every night until you went off to college, and then he went with you. I never saw much of Curious after that, but I was not surprised to discover him stored in a box after you were gone. You always clung to the important things, my sweet, sensitive, sentimental girl. Letting go is one of the hardest things for humans, and you found it especially difficult. I think you found it easier to let go of life itself than to endure the endless cycle of changes life forces us to face. Even after Curious became shabby and worn and sad to look at, you kept him and never let him go.

Curious was cute and cuddly in his earlier days. He filled a huge void in your young life, in a home where there was sometimes little affection or joy. He gave you comfort and companionship. He was your confidant and knew all of your thoughts and dreams. He waited patiently and silently for you on your pillow every day while you were at school.

I also found an old plush blue Easter bunny among your things. I didn't recall ever having met this bunny while you were alive, so I was not sure when you got him. He was tattered also, and no longer in good enough condition to donate to Goodwill. You and I loved our stuffed animals when we were growing up, especially our Easter bunnies. The Velveteen Rabbit was one of our favorite childhood reads.

I was tempted to keep both the blue rabbit and Curious forever, wrapping them in a cloth or tissue paper and tucking them into a closet or drawer. It took me a long time to realize that I need to let go of your childhood toys, you, and all the sad memories. I need to let you remain in the past and move forward, if I am going to have a future. I've been mired in grief and sadness at times for almost five years since you died, and maybe even to some extent ever since our Mama left us almost fifty years ago. My recent inability to cope with my feelings and reach out for help almost led to the end of my sanity, my career, and my life as I know it. I need to release the sadness and work like crazy on bringing more happiness into my life.

I built a little fire in the copper pit on our back patio, and gently placed Curious and the blue bunny in the flames. Smoke curled up towards the bright summer sky as the fire consumed them, releasing their essence into the universe. I hope somewhere your beloved stuffed animals will find your spirit and cuddle with you again. You were my sister and my closest relative in the world. Although you will still always be my sister, I must now also find sisterhood among the living. Maybe I will see you again in another life. I wish you joy, peace, and happiness where ever you are.

Seeing God

We gather in a circle of folding chairs in the church fellowship hall. The title of today's seminar is "How Do You See God?" Our moderator asks the twenty or so participants to spend about ten minutes writing our own description of God. After the time limit is up, he asks us to share what we've written with the group. I share that I have often felt as though I cannot see God and I feel alone in the universe. I wonder if I somehow landed on the wrong planet, and I don't understand why I can't find my way home. I confess that when people ask me where I'm from, I tell them I'm from Pleiadies. If someone asks me where it's located, I jokingly reply that it's about an hour west of Louisville. This breaks the ice and soothes my discomfort about feeling alienated from the world.

I explain that I see God most clearly as the Goddess, like Quan Yin in the Buddhist tradition. This Goddess is known as "she who hears the cries of the world". I love the feminine, nurturing aspect of the divine. It comforts me. I grew up in a family with an overabundance of yang energy, and the Goddess creates balance for me when my world feels out of kilter. She is compassionate and kind. In my nursing career, I have sometimes experienced a side of the feminine personality that is not so nice. Nurses can be mean-spirited, petty, and unsupportive towards one another. This makes me sad. It is wonderful when I find a kindred spirit at work with whom I can share my joys and sorrows. The Goddess is always there, like lyrics from a Sinead O'Connor song, to mother me and see me through. This is an important aspect of my spirituality.

At the close of the seminar, I share that I've been touched by the wide spectrum of participants' feelings about the concept of God, ranging from sadness, fear, doubt, longing, anger, joy, comfort, and love. I point out that God is important to all of us, even if we experience God as being absent. I tell the group that I believe we are all a part of God. Another woman says she wishes this group could meet every week. A man says he appreciated the joy of not hearing intellectual bullshit in the group. Our discussion has been sincere and heartfelt. We leave feeling a little closer to one another.