“great period of revival of classical-based art and learning in Europe that began in the fourteenth century,” 1840, from French renaissance des lettres, from Old French renaissance, literally “rebirth,” usually in a spiritual sense, from renastre “grow anew” (of plants), “be reborn” (Modern French renaître), from Vulgar Latin *renascere, from Latin renasci “be born again, rise again, reappear, be renewed,” from re- “again” (see re-) + nasci “be born” (Old Latin gnasci, from PIE root *gene- “give birth, beget”).An earlier term for it was revival of learning (1785). In general usage, with a lower-case r-, “a revival” of anything that has long been in decay or disuse (especially of learning, literature, art), it is attested from 1872. Renaissance man is first recorded 1906.
I like the parts of this etymology that says “grow anew” or to be “born again” , “reappear.”I like it because it is true, time is not linear and more and more these days we are allowed to reconnect with deep soul kin… essentially elongating our interaction through these different wave lengths and time lines.
I am living this now and I want to share some of it with you. Obviously my series about My Best Friend(‘s Journey) is some of the amazing proof of this reality.
My creativity is expressed in many ways: these blogs, the journals, the scraps, the paintings, the music and the spoken word I can’t contain. So much content with context.
I wanted to create a post with all the links to the music up to now because my creative collaborator Alessandro Muresu is some sort of vibration soul mate born on another continent. He is precious to me because he brings out the best in what I struggle with in experiment AND his passion bleeds through his work, for whatever reason he also found me a compatible collaborator and what happens through sound files is soothing for us both. Feeling old and familiar, but new and extraordinary.
I shall not build it up too much more.
Preface- All of these sound qualities have a drone, which is the specialty of Ale. I am the chaos that interferes but can also create soothing. Ale brings all of the balance in composition. My success’ are accidental. I am sloppy but focused. I have no idea what I am doing, but I love manipulating sound. My voice is a tool to those ends. These are posted from earliest to most recent. I invite you to listen to the evolution of it over all and to visit the rest of Alessandro’s Archive of Wonder.
If you don’t want to listen to all of them, pick one for now out of what you are drawn to. It’s probably the right one for you in the moment.
Listen to Yourself
FTC Part 1
FTC Part 2
Squeaky Floor
Save
Ode (To Us)
173 Part 1
173 Part 2
173 Part 3
173 part 4
177
Karibu
Recording 21
Rudiments
Recording 15
*Credits to my late Grandfather Edward Lee Chapman for the heading photo in this post. He really had an eye for light and shadow.
mid-14c., “smash, shatter, break into fragments or small particles; force down and bruise by heavy weight,” also figuratively, “overpower, subdue,” from Old French cruissir (Modern French écraser), variant of croissir “to gnash (teeth), crash, smash, break,” which is perhaps from Frankish *krostjan “to gnash” (cognates: Gothic kriustan, Old Swedish krysta “to gnash”).
Figurative sense of “to humiliate, demoralize” is by c. 1600. Related: Crushed; crushing; crusher. Italian crosciare, Catalan cruxir, Spanish crujirare “to crack” are Germanic loan-words.
crush (n.)
1590s, “act of crushing, a violent collision or rushing together,” from crush (v.). Meaning “thick crowd” is from 1806. Sense of “person one is infatuated with” is first recorded 1884, U.S. slang; to have a crush on (someone) is by 1903.
According to etymology the use and context of the word “crush” is relatively new in relation to relationships. When looking at the greater concept of the word, we see why “a crush” is called “a crush” at time in life when hormones are racing and our experience of ourselves and the world is limited.
We crush ourselves through our mental/ emotional states as we ponder and yearn, only to meet rejection perceived as devastation.
At thirty-eight and still single, I still get infatuation, however my ability to navigate the world and my own emotional reality allow me to avoid crushes. I am too old for “crushes.” I know better.
This doesn’t stop me from occasionally roaming down Memory Lane as I rekindle those first rudimentary feelings of euphoria. I think the older I get, the less euphoria I experience. The thing about a “crush” when you are juvenile, is the newness of feeling in a multidimensional way that is beyond the norm. It messes with the psyche and the heart and the pattern of life before the feeling. Life simply feels more full of tangible sensation when one is fixated on a beloved.
I guess these days, I get that through my animals, minus the sexual attraction.
In the past, a crush was always someone who caught my eye physically with traits I couldn’t identify. That would be a starting point for finding the best parts of that person. Unless they went out of their way to do me wrong, I would realize they “just weren’t that into me” and I would continue to love them from afar without expectation. That is the best possible ending for a crush in my opinion… I could never imagine it working out; I am sure eventually I would be seen as intolerable.
As I get older, I wonder “Do single men my age even find me attractive superficially? Will I always be one of those people you have to get a deeper feeling for, to appreciate? Am I still as intimidating to people as I was proclaimed to be 10-20 years ago?”
I don’t know. I don’t ask. I am afraid of the honest answers in that realm, but I am dying to ask; at times I reserve myself out of the comfort of others. It’s easier to be alone and not think about those things. It’s easier to walk around naked in front of animals as I change from shower towel to everyday clothes. I have no reason to think about my sexuality or what my relation to men has to with being naked or living life. I’ve consciously and incrementally shut off a “valve” of sorts.
Today I caught the eye of one of the butchers at the grocery store. He is a really nice looking fella. When our eyes met, I just right-quick fixed my eyes forward as I continued my excursion except I slipped and I looked back, and he looked back at me. I kind of close mouth smiled. It was innocuous. It made me feel curious but not curious enough to make a fool of myself or visit the counter to pretend to be interested in items that I didn’t intend to buy in order to do something as cliche as look for a wedding ring on a butcher ( who probably wouldn’t be wearing a ring anyway, if he is at all up on safety protocol.)
At this age it’s easier just to abide by the fact that most people are taken, and I had to learn that the hard way… not the hardest way, but a hard way; Do nothing wrong but flirt with the wrong guy- get labeled a home wrecker.
Back in the day they would say if you were looking for a date- put two nice steaks and a bottle of wine in your grocery cart and wander around until you find someone you want to talk to. I wonder if that worked for anyone. Kinda sounds creepy to me.
I’ve attempted to follow up on body language with people who seem to be attracted to me… but it’s been a disaster and just like my attempts at flirting and the exploration of internet dating soooo very long ago, the results are not encouraging- I’ve given up, on following up.
This is a great topic for me to write about ad nauseam because it’s one of those things I just stuff down into the crawl space of life experiences and I use my age to avoid examining it or going back to the worst parts of being crushed. I am sure I am not the only one.
Once upon a time our hearts were actually inside of ourselves. Now you may say, “Our hearts ARE inside of ourselves.” And you would be only partially correct.
We do have our internal, biological hearts and we must- in order to live this physical, biological life. However, our heart, isn’t just some blood pumping organ and it wouldn’t be immortalized so poetically if that was it’s only purpose.
The heart is the cross roads of the body and the spirit that lives within the body, pumping life force miles a day through the blood.
“The Sacred Heart”
“Bless Your Heart”
“Home is Where the Heart is.”
“Heartfelt”
“Hearth”
There is an undeniable feeling when something “hits you in the heart” or perhaps you feel “heart sick”.
Over time these emotional connotations calcify into biological dis-ease/discomfort/ illness. The ability to transform becomes the chaotic output we experience as dissonance. Healing is eliminated to the unseen end of a broad spectrum. Life becomes cold, the hearth is empty or piled with coal.
You can say you “love” all day. But where is your spark? Do you even acknowledge your Hearth? Do you know your Sacred Flame?
The Hearth is the the middle ground cross road. The Sacred Heart/ Flame is the inner eye, yet another cross roads of perceptions- leading further north the the crown which acts as a beacon to the Ever After and All That Is.
“To be woke” doesn’t mean to be falling head over heals in MDMA love over everything. Nor does it mean to be knee deep in historical controversy without any attachment to Source/Spirit.
You become a different sort of conduit of perception when you are woke, because your heart helps process the mind with assistance through Spirit. The entire biological and spiritual mental systems attach to the greater All as it aggregates information that seeks to know Truth.
That is it.
Truth has proven that it has been divided. Truth has shown how that division has expressed itself on the micro and Macro. We represent all of it from top to bottom, free will is each of us choosing a direction; simply put acknowledge the hearts and cross roads and act on the high road, or not. Maybe there will be another time for you to re-evaluate in the future?
What is the cross road? Left. Right. Forward.
What determines outcome? Intention. Perspective. Adaptability.
There is no “One” cross road. We encounter them daily to some degree.
I don’t remember the exact year that Maggie came into my life. She was a childhood dog. I think I must have been nine or ten; My first childhood dog Pepper, was reaching up there in age and I suppose my parents thought it was a good idea to bring in another dog so the death transition wasn’t too traumatic for young children who had their mother die.
There is no way I would ever be thinking about this if it wasn’t for the here and now, and the timeless nature of things.
Okay, so, Maggie was a Brittany Spaniel my folks picked up from the local shelter. She was young and energetic… she really liked to jump up on people, which is an “unwanted behavior”. I was at an age where I had to perform chores for an allowance, and one of those chores was picking up dog shit. I would try and have fun with Maggie as I cleaned up the dog yard. One of the things I would do is try and get her to not jump up on me, that is like dog 101.
Maggie didn’t have a super long life. She died in my New Kids On the Block blanket, it was my prized possession about the time she came into our life. It seemed right she passed on in it.
I didn’t realize that I have been working with her too. I never thought of her as “my dog.” I wasn’t allowed to even if I wanted to. She was a “family dog.” Probably so that my brother and I didn’t argue about such nuance. I’ve literally been picking up animal poop in some capacity for the last 28 years. You only do that stuff for true love, and in return, a true Love will try and make that as easy on you as possible if they are aware of how you struggle with it.
Maggie knew that I thought picking up crap was horrible, but I think she also sensed my magic and imagination tied to the desire to try and make a miserable task bearable. True durability of connection.
When I was a kid, I wanted an animal of my own SO BAD! I wanted something that was my own that I loved deeply. When I finally was able to do that- the situation was so weird.
I rescued a meat rabbit from the neighbors. They had hired me to feed their animals while they were out of town and I fell for one of their rabbits. So my dad built a hutch and I was able to have this Hunny Bunny. She was reddish and had a black accent and this little bald mole spot above and to the side of her right eye. It was that spot that made me want her.
Our relationship didn’t work out. She definitely needed more attention, and she had to sleep outside in the hutch all of the time. It isn’t the way I would treat a bunny. But my parents were more about having domestic “outside” animals and rules for things like that. I wanted to cuddle with furballs.
I remember telling my dad that the rabbit was getting vicious and we needed to send it back to nature so we let her go down by a pond near our house… where I didn’t think she would last very long. And that is what we did… we gave her back to nature.
I now see Hunny in Quantum Dream Cat. So this story isn’t going to stop. If animals are here to assist us in being elevated humans, I am full on board. I am listening.
I don’t remember how I felt with Maggie passing on the couch, in my blanket. Once she started seizing, my parents made us leave.
I’ve been well acquainted with death while also dealing with it many times over my lifetime from an early age.
Claddagh was my first real experience with it all suddenly and first hand with extreme emotional attachment. Everything else has been leading up to facing that moment and knowing that “The End” is never REALLY “The END.”
Again I will say, I am so full of love right now. This is quite the experience. It is certainly meant to be shared and understood for the vastness that it is. This Truth swept beneath rugs meant to accumulate sorrows. It is hard to talk about because it is hard to conceptualize that the whole thing is one beautiful conversation with All That Is.
These gifts, despite tragic ends, are proof of that which is hard to speak.
It is Tuesday night. Journey has had two full days with me.
Here, I am going to compile a list of similarities that I have seen in her that I knew to be distinctive Claddagh traits and other interesting synchronizations that I have observed. It is like Claddagh 2.0… maybe this is what happens when you get animals near Roswell…
The first time I ever took Claddagh in the car, we mutually wanted to hold hands. On drives, we would often “hold hands.” – Journey did the same thing on her first car ride with me.
The “give me a hug” prompt- paws on my lap, “full hug” paws on shoulders.
Same gentle nature about taking treats, and transporting her “baby doll” (new stuffy.)
Played Bastille “Pompeii” and sang full volume with her and the cats and they acted like this was old news. Which it is… or was like back in June or July I was on a kick.
Her type of breed is Mountain Cur. A type of hound used to tree small animals and hunt small game. They were prized during the times of the American Settlers and are considered the original Pioneer dog. Pioneers would bring puppies by caravan, at times carrying them to the next destination. This is Journey’s litter-al story. And there is a sacrificial squirrel here, meant to taunt and teach her- that is a whole story in itself.
My uncle is fearful of pits, but an absolute lover of hounds.
Everything that I transmitted about this living situation to this dog, though my heart is playing out like it’s already been lived.
When I look at her I am 100% comforted and satisfied like being with an old friend and she treats me the same way. My bed (or ours?) is her favorite spot in the house, besides being by my side.
I know when her tail is in the proper position she is “integrated.” Tonight, she was sitting like a normal dog, tail out, and not tucked under herself. She is whipping it around like a very happy entity.
The first night Journey was here, she peed and pooped in the garage. She peed on the box of all the stuff I removed from the Malibu before taking it to salvage. The car I had as long as I had Claddagh.
She fell in love with my dad right away.
She enjoyed having a conversation with my Uncle today, in the sunshine, in the same spot Claddagh would hang out with him almost every day.
Claddagh had the cutest little underbite, Journey has the most perfect teeth I have ever seen on a dog. Almost like she had braces.
Both of them have the same intersection of “third eye kiss zone”. Claddagh’s was her black dot. Journey’s is her brindle radiation.
Claddagh knew what it was like to be spayed before ever getting pregnant, like Capricious. Journey knows what it is like to lose her litter and be spayed like Quantum. (Like I am saying, it’s Claddagh 2.0)
It took years for Claddagh to learn to be patient for the door to open, and even when she got it, at times she would be pushy. Journey steps aside and prefers to be invited in. (There is no reason this dog should have been on death row, right? Maybe that is the first place you should look for your soul animal. )
Claddagh going to the animal shelter about a month before passing and acting like a complete confident dog when I picked her up. Like “I mastered this. I can do it again.” And me making mental note of that at the time.
All the things you should absolutely not do when meeting a dog for the first time when you know nothing about them- I did confidently. I can dress this dog up and she acts like the same limp noodle I use to know. I can get in her face and I know she won’t bite it off. I can touch her paws and look into her mouth. The eyes really are the window to the Soul.
I mean, you can take it or leave it… but why would you want to, if you know that your reality is bigger and better and more amazing than you are taught to believe? Why?
I constantly talk about my dedication to Creation, all of this is confirmation of my faith and trust in the extraordinary. Extra Ordinary. There is still more to be explored.
I suffer the affliction of the heart. At times how to express it. This contract with this animal soul allows me to channel it and stay grounded. She isn’t just a “pet”.
‘Claddagh’ is the Irish wedding band. Hands holding a heart with a crown. You can show if you are taken or not by its position. It stands for “Love, Loyalty, and Friendship” the circular band is Infinity. When I finally knew what Claddagh’s name was, I was committed 100% for FOREVER past the Apocalypse. I know it sounds crazy… but look at the times we are living in.
My soul has work to do and I can’t do it without that companionship.
In December, it happened- all of the scrolling through FB pages looking for the “perfect dog” while daily breaking my own heart looking at all those fur balls that need furever homes- I finally saw her.
I knew it from her eyes. No picture of any dog spoke to me like this one did. She had recently been posted for rescue, and I wanted to be first on the list. So late that night, I filled out an application with magnanimous amounts of hope and love brewing within my soul. When I looked at this picture, I knew that I knew this dog even though she was rescued 622 miles away. Then I looked at her number. The last four digits are the same as my SSN. Weird right? Not to me- just a sign of synchronicity to come.
Over the course of the next day, my application was put into the process, but Nina (as they called her) was tagged by a rescue based in the Colorado Springs area with fosters all across the Front Range. Usually, they don’t deal with interested fosters this far North because they don’t have many connections in the area to make transports easier.
Perfect timing was that application was filled out right before Christmas and most people were entrenched in their holiday plans, making transport a bit more complicated. At first, I thought it would only be a few days before she would head my direction, but after further assessment, they realized she is not spayed and had kennel cough. They would be unwilling to do surgery until the cough was cleared up… So, my baby had to sit in quarantine for a few days until she was cleared for surgery. I was told it could be a couple of weeks.
It was fine. I was willing to be patient. Patience comes easy when you are sure it is The One. I wanted to make sure that she was healthy enough to travel and if we had to wait a little longer, then it would be worth it.
Finally last week she was cleared for transport. She would be here Sunday, January 13, 2019.
In the weeks leading up to Nina’s transport, I began a process of talking to her through my psychic centers, just like I use to with Claddagh. I told Nina about my home life, the people in it and my other pet friends. I told her about the expectations I have for a calm house life. I told her about Claddagh and how much she meant to me. I told her, that I would be her last spot. I am her Home.
Every night before falling asleep I would tell the kitteries about our new friend. And, as I drifted to slumber I would send all the healing love energy to this new but suffering companion.
Jump back to 2007, when Claddagh came into my life. I was living with friends in Gilpin, Colorado. Friends who are on a higher wavelength when it comes to spiritual discussions and how spiritual dynamics affect our reality. Friends who, themselves are animal lovers.
During one of the animal discussions, the topic of animal reincarnation was brought up because even at first I was afraid of losing Claddagh. I was already preparing for her death in my psyche. This is when my friend Lindy started talking about animal reincarnation and soul companions in the form of pets.
That we contract with the souls of animals for lessons and companionship in learning those lessons. That once we fell in love with an animal it was imparted with a Soul Personality. Given the duration of life is much shorter for an animal, their Souls are allowed to return in different bodies if the contract is still active.
I always felt like I would be with Claddagh forever and ever, amen. I certainly didn’t feel like our contract was up when I had to say “good-bye.”
In spiritual communities it is talked about that animal reincarnation can take one of three forms. The soul being born into the body; the soul “walking into” a body that is already established in the world, and Soul Braiding.
Soul Braiding is when say a dying animal Soul contracts with another animal soul that is living. They contract to share a body and a personality in order to continue the initial soul contract with the human the first animal Soul was tied to. Essentially the living animal Soul agrees to bind with the dying animal Soul and facilitate a continuation of where things left off.
Far left, right? Totally fucking Woo-woo, right?
I don’t think so.
Due to a scheduling conflict, I was unable to pick up Nina from transport and I had to arrange for someone else to bring her to me. I noticed my dad was working near Fort Collins that day, and I offered a homemade quiche for help in the matter. I asked him because the last time Claddagh disappeared, my dad arrived at the shelter before I did in order to help locate her. He also said to me “Mandie, you need to get another dog.” I figured if he was a strong advocate, then he would be of excellent assistance for uniting me with my newest friend. Plus he really likes dogs, and I think they know that about him.
Finally, around 8:20pm they walk through the door. Nina is apprehensive as all get out. Her tail curled between her back legs, even when sitting down. She was easy under my dad’s control of the thin leash. She wasn’t sure about me. She wasn’t sure of anything except that she was comfortable with my dad. Ha! The man was worried she wouldn’t like him, and now she was thinking that she was supposed to leave with him… Sorry, puppers, you are staying with me.
After my dad left, she wandered around looking for him. Going back to the front door and just standing there giving little whines.
Where did Bob go?
My pupception tells me that Soul Braiding began sometime between November of 2017 when Quantum adopted me, and March 2018 when the kittens were born. I also assume this is when the slow-growing tumor began on Claddagh’s heart. Claddagh being 100% Love, wasn’t going to leave me stranded and alone. And in fact, the cats were the best support in my mourning.
Nina, in my estimation in between 9 months and a 1.5 years old, and seems to me that she is part of the timeline. This is why the process for her to come to me, despite the distance, has perfectly aligned.
The piece of Claddagh’s Soul that is in this Nina, began to wake up on the drive with my dad. She sensed a familiarity that was safe.
After he left, I let her wander around the house and check everything out. Then she snuggled up on the sleeping bag in the garage and I read to her my Letter to my Future Dog. As I did, she stared at me. Giving me direct eye contact, which took Claddagh years to become confident enough to do. And we just stared at each other, me with tears in my eyes catalyzed by the overwhelming love and familiarity that I was feeling.
Shortly after that, she began to unfurl. Her tail still seemingly timid in its expression, was now starting to go outward, instead of under. When before she wasn’t interested in coming to me, now all of a sudden she wanted to be right by my side.
There were some tests. I kept taking her outside, hoping she would go… but it was still overwhelming her. She came back in, and I ran inside to put Gma to bed. When I came back out there was a very fresh and large pile of poop on the concrete floor. Claddagh would never make a mess on the carpet if there was an option, and that wasn’t something that I taught her, just like she would never poop on a trail.
I notice the poop, and Nina notices me notice the poop and she hunches into herself again, acting as if she will get reprehended. Instead, I got excited! It looked like really healthy poop, and I was happy to know that she was able to clear her bowels. I told her good job, cleaned up the mess and put down some enzymes so she knows that isn’t the location for that in the future. She unfurls, even more, it’s confirmed she “Is a Good Girl.” She need not worry about abuse for mistakes or accidents. Her comfort comes out in abounding waves.
We stay up until 4:30 in the morning, playing a sort of “getting to know you.” But do you know what she wants most of all? Just to be cuddled with me. When we finally went to bed, she was right there in the bed with me, like it’s been forever.
Today, she was a completely different animal from when she walked through the door. We went on a car ride, and she is perfect. We went to the feed store and she was perfect. She is observing the other animals and people, and still showing some timidness, but also a sort of excitement… she wants them to like her.
Quantum isn’t impressed with me currently and I think it’s because I relocated her and Capricious downstairs while we figure out introductions and dynamics. I think in a week everything will go into a normal routine and the kitteries can come back up to my room and we can live like the weird little family that we are.
Current things that have happened in the last less than 24 hours that give me confidence in Soul Braiding;
1. When I ask her for a hug, she puts her paws on my knees. When I say full hug, she brings her paws to my shoulders, and we give a full hug.
2. She wants to hold hands while driving.
3. Her favorite spot is right next to me, regardless.
Those three things were a daily component of living with Claddagh for almost eleven years. How is it this timid dog just walked right into that alignment without me asking her to?
The answer is The Soul Knows.
I’d like to introduce my new best friend; Journey.
The vibration of the soul, and the blood combined brings forth our flesh, in this spiritual contract we manifest in form, the features of history within us.
It’s true that they are attempting to kill off certain bloodlines. To suppress certain peoples. Those peoples feel the Truth in their own life blood. It’s required that they meet a certain range in vibration in order to be activated.
There are many yet to activated and they are being drawn in various directions in order to harvest the life force they have left while being blind to their own brilliance.
In actuality the frequency and vibration is killing off those who seek to kill off the “Natural Light.”
This is where we meet the trans-human agenda. The desire for clones and all around trans-formative manipulation geared toward infinite longevity.
Those of Natural Light in Creation know the Truth. It was contract as such. We don’t need modern technology to utilize it, once we remember it exists.
The best thing technology gave us, was the ability to reconnect instantly. The result is an archive of shared remembrance. If this medium goes away, know that your heart has an internal voice that needs no words to speak. You have internal eyes that see beyond your dreams. You have a gut that brings awareness to things that are amiss.
We are already full operating systems that have to remember how to get back to the home feed- alone. That is Heaven, or Infinity. The journey is singular at your own pace until it isn’t.
If you have been feeling something is amiss; it has been. If you feel a strange shift; it’s shifting. If you feel a calling for Higher Truth; follow it.
I went for a walk today, obviously sans dog. And something happened in my brain that I haven’t experienced in the decade I had walked with Claddagh. I became aware of what other people may think about me, as I walk along, alone.
When I had Claddagh, our walks were interactive. It was just her and me in the world. I have no thoughts to the perceptions of the individuals passing me in cars. They only existed as obstacles in crossing the road, completely depersonalized inside their automobiles.
Occasionally someone might hoot out at me, grabbing my attention but mostly I would choose routes of alleyways and side streets without much traffic.
It’s a pretty straight shot along a busy road to walk for a pack of smokes. Dog-less the short trip is mind-numbing. I feel the cars pass, and I become extra aware of the expression on my face, my posture, and gait. I’m in this thought and I avoid eye contact with drivers. I think about this solo jaunt and I’m sad and lonely. I am sure my face has that “melancholy far off look.”
Each and every normal thing that I do, for the first time, again- without my friend, I make note of.
“This is the first time I have put gas in my car without Claddagh.”
“This is the first time I am popping into Goodwill, real quick, without Claddagh.”
“This is the first time I am going through a Chick-fil-A drive through without Claddagh. No one told me how cute she is and if she would like a dog treat.”
“This is the first time I am walking around downtown without Claddagh, and no one strikes up a conversation about her.”
This new internal narration doesn’t make a good movie. I am having a new conversation by myself with the world around me, and I am the only one who knows the inside jokes.
I was barked at by a squirrel for a good five minutes today. Claddagh would have been amused.
When Claddagh and I would walk, I would try and see the world through her eyes and engage in that way. The only time I would suspend this reality, would be on “athletic” jaunts where I would want to keep a steady pace and an elevated heart rate; other than that we would be as lackadaisical or as excited as she wanted to be while trying to maintain a lead that wouldn’t choke her.
It was only in the last year or so, that she was beginning to walk on a leash like a well-paced partner, no pulling forward for the lead. I was really starting to appreciate that shift in her maturity, but now I just think it may have been a side effect of her heart tumor.
If you are ever deciding to get a dog, get one that is young at heart and really foster that personality trait. Much like people, they may age into later years and be mistaken for younger because of the youthful and playful nature they exude. That is precious energy to embody or be surrounded in.
My dog was already a submissive… she was “put down” in many ways in her early life. I am still disgusted at it all.
But, you know what? I will only talk about it here. I bombarded FB for the first two weeks with my pain… and now in modern decorum I will pretend it doesn’t rip me apart on the inside. Oh, geez, am I following the steps of my forefathers, who chose to sweep inconvenient truths under the proverbial rug?
People don’t know how to mourn, these days. Our fast paced society urges us to “get over it and move on” as quickly as possible. We treat ourselves like processed food with defined expiration dates that serve as suggestions. You might be cool eating an out of date yogurt at your own house, but if a host of some other house offers the same thing, you cringe.
“Keep it in house.”
See, I don’t feel like I am allowed to mourn my dog companion for more than a couple of weeks. It isn’t allowed to break me, because their life expectancy is so much shorter than ours, and I should have known better.
I don’t feel like I can allow Claddagh to be the portal in which my previous pain, loss and suffering is filtered through. I just don’t feel like I have permission to fully feel, even though people say “take your time” and “feel it fully.”
I don’t feel permission because I am always trying to integrate and get along, and no one likes a Debby Downer, or a Miserable Mandie. I don’t feel permission because the extent of the pain is mine, alone to bare.
After day three, I told myself, “You HAVE to stop crying. You HAVE to buck up. No one cares as much as you do about it, and no one wants to hear about it.”
If you make it a mantra, I guess it makes it easier to adhere to, just through repetition.
If left to my own devices, I look out the door and say “All I really want is my dog.” And I imagine what that looks like, only to further upset the state of my heart.
Honestly, I don’t care if I upset you if I end up crying in reminiscence of my dog; but because I am empathetic, and I know you don’t want to hear it, I will self censor. I am not looking for your pity or sympathy…. I know you don’t know exactly what to say and it may be uncomfortable for you, that every topic you excavate leads back to me and my dog.
I am sure it is annoying, or at least uncomfortable.
I’m sorry, but I’m not.
I suppose if you don’t know what to do in the awkwardness, just smile. Know that I experienced a facet of love in life that I would have otherwise avoided, and that in and of itself, is bound to make me a better person in the long run.
I know she wasn’t as interesting to you, as she was meaningful and profound to me, and that is okay… but try not to sweep her memory away in your urgency to bring me back to whatever you feel is your self perceived center. I will take my time, and I require no rush on your end, for it will not bring any benefit.
She was “my girl”, ya know? I don’t even know if I am allowed to use the same distinct whistle if I find a new dog friend… I feel bad for chiding my cats with her same belly rub rhyme. Things are flowing into each other with my other animal friends, where it once was distinct and individual.
And I liked that, ya know? When her whistle was our whistle and not like any of the other whistles that were common for the other animals we mutually knew.
I kinda wish I got a Chilton manual on how to deal with this,or a “When your Dog Dies for Dummies” book, even though I know, internally all I need to know.
Life cycles are beautiful, until you see the shame in loss. My dog should have lived forever… I mean, that is how I feel. I never thought about getting another one, even though at times I thought about re-homing her due to my own personality flaws.
I’m looking at rescue dogs, trying to find a face I recognize. Not Claddaghs’ face, per say… just a face that feels familiar in the rustic part of my being that is perfectly adapted to animal companionship. I know it will happen when it is meant to… if it is meant to.
No worries here. I just miss her so damn much and rightly so.
Madge Midgely 