Soul mate… the sticking point

I love animals. I have been told that I have a unique connection to animals that others don’t have. They are important to me. I see the beauty in their forms and faces. I see them in my dreams… and when they are in trouble, they find me there, so I can send them to the Light. I love my pets… and yet for years, there has been a block.

Blog_151213_hjordis_by_kristbane

Image: Hjordis by Kristbane, DeviantArt 2015

** This is what Cricket looked like when she first came home.

I hunger for connection. I love them when they are small. I fret over them when they are sick. I make sure they have what they need, but I struggle with just being together. I don’t seem able to reach out for the love that is right there for me.

How did I get here? There was a lesson of love to be discovered.

I have always had a dog… and I have lost my dogs in a series of heart rending tragic events. It makes sense that these experiences have erected a wall between me and the love I see shining in their eyes. It’s like they are patiently waiting for me to put the pieces together. But is that the whole picture?

As a baby, I played in the tall grass in our backyard. It was a new house in a new development. It was farming land. There was no lawn, only tall grass. Mum says that she knew where I was because she could see the grass rustling. Me and my dog, making tunnels and loving each other.

I don’t know what happened to him. I have no memory of him. I regret it.

Later, I sat in the middle of a mass of wriggling bodies. They crawled over my legs and sucked my fingers. It was pure joy. One of these would be mine. How could I choose? They were all wonderful. My little sister was making a fuss about why she couldn’t have one too, but Dad explained that this would be my puppy. I called him Buster. He loved me… until she took him for a walk to the shops and then left him on the front lawn. We drove around and around. I called his name in heart broken accents, the pain in my chest was so bad, but he never answered me. My heart was empty. I don’t know what happened to him.

More wriggling puppies, but there was a distance for me now. It was not a joy. I was only eight, but I had been raped, made a pariah and outcast form my community, moved to a different town and lost daily contact with the grandparents I needed. Her name was Zara. She survived Cyclone Tracy with a twisted hip but had to be shot because Mum and us kids had been evacuated and Dad couldn’t look after her while re-building the city. I was not spared the knowledge of what happened to her.

Fade to grey… Dad finally rejoined us in Adelaide. My brother insisted that we get a puppy from the same breeders. He insisted that the new puppy be the same colour and same name. Zara II loved me when I hit rock bottom. I know she loved me. She lived to a good old age. I just couldn’t step outside my losses.

I understood all of these experiences. I accepted them. But if acceptance and understanding was the key to new behaviours, why was I still stuck decades later?

Cricket was waiting patiently for me to have the necessary breakthrough.

“No matter how close we are to another person, few human relationships are as free from strife, disagreement, and frustration as is the relationship you have with a good dog. Few human beings give of themselves to another as a dog gives of itself. I also suspect that we cherish dogs because their unblemished souls make us wish – consciously or unconsciously – that we were as innocent as they are, and make us yearn for a place where innocence is universal and where the meanness, the betrayals, and the cruelties of this world are unknown.”

Dean Kootz, A Big Little Life: A memoir of a Joyful Dog

Blog_signature

Soul mate… everyday miracles

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” Albert Einstein

The tiny warm bundle that snuggled with room to spare in my cupped hands was deeply asleep. I could feel the boneless way she was lying. All babies did this when I held them. Eventually, their little bodies would just… relax.

She has sucked urgently on my thumb while the Reiki energy poured into her body. She recognized it. It was life. It was love. It was what she needed to survive.

The breeder watched in amazement. “I don’t know what you are doing there and I don’t know how she recognizes it as nourishment… but she does.”

Time to put her back to bed with her sister.

Lizzie’s babies were in the laundry.

“I had to put her in here to whelp” said the breeder. “I couldn’t trust her not to abandon them in a bigger pen and its too cold this time of year for the babies not to be close to their mums.” I had already had a tour of the shed where the ‘good mums’ had their babies, their happy little faces enquiring of me what I might want.

Lizzie tried to bolt out of the door. “No, no” said the breeder sternly. “You stay here and look after your babies. That’s your job.” And then quietly added “…and this is the last litter for you. You are clearly not enjoying it and it’s not fair on the puppies.”

Lizzie eyed us speculatively.

“My biggest worry” said the breeder “is that I cant get her to eat, and if she wont eat, there’s no milk for the puppies. She’s making colostrum and her milk should come in shortly, but not if she wont eat. I don’t hold out much hope. I think the biggest puppy will do OK hand reared, but the little one… she has a slight underbite… oops there goes the phone! I’ll be right back.”

I squatted down on my haunches. I looked Lizzie dead in the face. Compassion poured from my heart for her. I felt so sorry for her. I felt sorry for myself.

“I know it’s hard” I coached her. “It’s hard birthing them. It’s hard raising them, but you have responsibilities. There really isn’t a choice. They are relying on you.” I laid symbols over her to comfort her and energise her for the job that needed doing.

The breeder walked back into the laundry as Lizzie snatched a couple of mouthfuls and then laid down for the puppies to suckle.

She looked at me in round eyed shock “What did you do?”

DSCF0148.JPG

Image: Lizzie by Anne Marie McGlasson, 2004

Blog_signature

Soul mate… with four legs

“Be the person your dog thinks you are.” JW Stephens

When I met her, she fit in the palm of my hand… so tiny, so perfect.

“I’m not sure what is going to happen,” said the breeder. We sat together in the cosy warmth of her farmhouse kitchen, the steam from our teacups humbly rising to the heavens, as she explained to me the ins-and-outs of Border Terriers.

“Her mother, Lizzie, didn’t do very well with her last litter. She could probably be described as neurotic. She refuses to eat, and she just won’t lie down for the puppies to suckle. She runs out the door when she can and is never in a hurry to come back to them. It’s not normal. On top of that, she is particularly rebellious if it is a man asking her to do something.”

Boy, could I sympathise! Challenges with mothering… check! Cranky at men telling me what to do… check! Desperately wanting to run away from the responsibility of it all… check! check! I had a marriage on the rocks, two traumatised children and something had to change…

So I went looking for someone to help me keep my dreams alive…

And I found this a sleepy little bundle of warmth and hope.

I tapped into the energy that was singing in my body and I gave it to her. She was so tiny. I drew symbol after symbol and laid them over her little body like a mother covering her child with a blanket. I held her to my heart so she could hear it beating. I let the strength of my life force be her guide.

“Three puppies were born, but two weren’t hardy. The little boy has already died and I’m so sorry, but this little girl is not looking strong either. She may not live. We’ll know in the next day.”

She latched onto my thumb and started to suckle. She wanted to live.

Blog_151211_Cricket 2011

Image: Cricket by Chandler Meakins, 2011

Blog_signature

Soul mate

It was a time for healing relationships.

She was small and cute, and loved me with all her heart.

And from the moment I first saw her, I loved her right back.

I loved her sense of humour and how she skipped with joy when she was happy. She was my rock, she was my safety net and she forgave me all my mistakes. She was always just quietly… there. I held her in my arms and cried. She was getting old. I wasn’t ready for her to go yet. I hadn’t had enough of her time and attention. I needed her still.

There always seemed to be some drama, some urgency that got in the way of us just spending time together. She never complained and she was always glad to see me… She always radiated a gentle acceptance of anything I had to offer. I was so sick of the various dramas that got in the way of us being together. Why was it so hard? I knew all the excuses but I just couldn’t seem to get past them to work it out.

“It’s time” I thought. “Time to change, and time for her to come first. Time for both of us to be first with each other – so we can heal. She needs more of me… and I definitely need her.”

Blog_151210_heart-beads-1183299

Image: Heart beads by Bas van der Wiel at freeimages.com

Blog_signature

Past Life Regression Therapy training

I love the beginning of workshops and conferences. The hushed expectation – people finding seats in a dance of mystery that places together the people who have natural synchronicity, whether they like it or not. And when the workshop has been organised with full support from the teachers who reside on the higher sub-plane of the mental plane, then miracles are in the air.

I was still bemused by my morning meditation. The image had been quite clear in spite of my way of perceiving things. My feel-sense-see way of doing things showed me a crystal palace of the most beautiful and colourful hues radiating the purest of energies and floating over the top of the hall. It was a promise of wonderful things to come. It was something I could trust.

All my senses were heightened and I was glad that I was staying at Omega, at the workshop venue. From years of meditation and Reiki and experiences in the desert, I was quite aware that I was in a heightened state. I gave myself full permission to do exactly what I felt inclined to, and not worry that I may be too vague to connect well socially. I was grateful not to have to navigate roads and cars. Putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over was enough for me to be content.

Breakfast with Bhavi and friends had been a pleasant social occasion and I was happily scooped up into the group walk from the dining hall to the workshop. To my Southern Australian eyes, it was all so green and lush. Each footstep was a celebration of life. The summer humidity nurtured plants and animals alike – the wild ones quite unselfconsciously helped themselves to the organic vegetables in the garden.

IMG_6329

Image: Groundhog, Anne Marie McGlasson, 2015

“Please sit with us.” said Bhavi, and I found myself sandwiched comfortably between two Indian women. The room was a kaleidoscope of people of different cultures and accents, everyone finding their place and finding themselves, centreing themselves in their experience, and locating the connections past, present and future.

“OK” I thought, taking note. “It could be an Indian past life that is important.”

I was under no illusions that my conscious mind had any say in it at all. After all, I had gone to the experiential workshop with Brian and Carole Weiss in Coolum (QLD) the year before. At the end of my time as an adult educator, my conscious intention was to learn new work skills. But what actually occurred threw me into a positive healing trajectory that was entirely personal.

I knew that I could not predict whatever was about to occur…

Blog_signature