Encounters with Truth

Sprouting Wings

If you don’t know my former housemate Jody like I know her, you’d think she was schizophrenic. For one thing, she’s sees fairies. She always told me there were fairies in my beautiful backyard in Canton, Ohio (see picture above). So when she called me last week and joyfully told me she’d sprouted a wing, I wasn’t surprised. Actually, Jody is very level and grounded, sane and competent to take care of herself and so many others! I believe that people like her are in touch with other levels of consciousness, and I accept all of Jody’s other-worldly stories as her truth.

Ground-Walker
In contrast, I’m a Mrs. Magoo Ground-Walker, blind to any other planes of existence. Any story like that from me would be a fabrication woven from the threads of my imagination. In an effort to become a truthful person, I deliberately stopped making up stories, or adopting anyone else’s stories as my own a number of years ago. Now I turn into an attack-Brillo Pad when someone offers an explanation for why an event happened. 

Once a friend told me that my mother had caused her own dementia because she didn’t want to look at her past (see my mother and me below). My mother had already written her life story by the time she started forgetting, which is pure gold for my family! I don't want to look at my past, but at least for now, forgetting who I was and what I did isn't an option.

 I refuse to make up stories around anything I don’t know about. I don’t know if some nebulous, unknown entity or concept, including God, Jesus, the Universe, universal mind, higher self, and Spirit, is orchestrating the events of my life and those of the planet. I'm comfortable with the idea that whoever or whatever is believed to be infused in and around us has taken an extended vacation and left us to the planet's tantrums and Killer-Goons stomping all over people for dominance and power; many of our own politicians are stealing our liberties on behalf of the multi-national corporations who will finance their campaigns and later hire them as lobbyists.

Yesterday's and Today's Event
So mid-afternoon yesterday (Friday) my new, perfect dog Connie, shown with me in the photo above, that I’d had for four days, bolted out the door after I brought her in from her walk. In the seconds it took for me to reach the back corner of the house, she was out of sight. I didn’t know which direction she had run. Three of my wonderful neighbors and I looked for her in all directions in our separate cars, even along the main highways. None of us saw her.

My friends might tell you she left for the good of both of us, or maybe that I unconsciously wanted her to bolt out the door, so I’d inadvertently left the door ajar. All I know is that she’s a runaway dog. For her, a home is a cage, and a walk on the leash is a form of torture. She spent the whole day asking to be let out. I was walking her every four hours, a large chunk of the precious hours of my life. The day before, I had taken her to the dog park where she ran like a free dog and played nicely with the other big dogs. I had planned to take her there again yesterday evening. I had also arranged for obedience training followed by agility training. And I was going to get her a kennel cough shot and have her properly licensed in Brevard County. My plans would have required an outlay of time, energy, and money.

Since she left (and hasn’t returned today), I’ve thought a lot about keeping dogs prisoners in our homes when all they want to do is roam freely. I don’t want another prisoner. I already have two feathered prisoners in cages, born in captivity, and totally dependent on me. Every time I clank shut the cage doors, I know I’m stuck in my warden role. I won’t have another prisoner.

I read on the Shands Hospital site that the average life expectancy for someone with my disease of CLL is 8-10 years--sooner if I fall and break my neck between now and then! It’s time to believe that my work will have value for someone and get it out where it can realize its potential.