I immediately wanted whiskey. I have no idea where this came from - if you know me in real life then you know I barely drink at all, definitely never anything past a beer. Then, shortly after that thought: dogs. Whiskey and dogs would be my chosen medicine. So naturally, it was off to Brooklyn with me.
He brought him out from the back where the cages are and I just about melted into a puddle of love. "His name is Staples." We walked together, he and I, for awhile. Up and around a building that houses a bed I used to sleep in. Down to the area by the water where one of my favorite weekend activities is held. He slid snout-first into the grass as though he had never experienced such bliss. It was one of those moments where you feel your heart break and fill up with even more love at the same time. I eased down next to him, careful not to startle the little guy. As I touched ground, he moved closer to me, slowly but surely letting me scratch behind his ears, slide my hands along his back, give him a good long belly rub.
We had only known each other less than an hour but already had something major in common: we each recently lost our person. My best guess is that his was a touch more traumatic as I hadn't been left in a box somewhere in the Bronx, unable to speak the same word language as anyone around me. Yet despite that, within the hour, he slowly opened up, scooting closer to me each time we took a break, breaking into a smile when I looked down at him. He took my presence in and assessed the situation, knowing it would be okay, that he was safe. He learned to trust me in less time than it takes to bake a cake, to wash a car. Easily (and correctly) believing I would walk him back to his current home, that he would not be left again. He had a love in his eyes that I don't see in very many humans - he was freely expressing a deep desire to belong, to be held and touched and to be loved back.
How many of us could ask for those things from another so quickly? How many could do it after having just been abandoned? Let down and mislead by the person you thought loved you best. The person you thought you were safe with. Furthermore, how many of us could do this while we weren't totally sure what was going on or why we were where we were? I sure couldn't. But this tiny, furry baby did these things with ease.
And there, with the wag of a tail, was the very reminder I needed: we may not get to choose what happens to us but we absolutely get to choose how to handle it. We can hold on to painful feelings, create stories for ourselves to live by, refuse to trust again after having it broken. OR we can let it go, roll around with joy and immediately open up our hearts to more love. We can panic and let our fear run the show OR we can see that where we are is for a reason, even if it isn't very clear yet, and trust that it will be okay. We can think we aren't good enough or worthy enough to be loved OR we can see that we are enough, we are deserving of being loved and giving love. We can analyze for months OR we can shake it off in minutes.
It made me sad to finish my walk with Staples (who seriously needs not only a new family but a new name!) but I left our time together with more wisdom and peace than I had started it with. The incredible wisdom and love that comes from dogs - all animals - never ceases to amaze me.
Next up on the list: whiskey. But that, dear ones, is a story for another time.
Showing posts with label tuesday's thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tuesday's thoughts. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
truthFULL: tuesday's thoughts
i was en route to the movies. feeling like a six year old is a perfectly wonderful excuse to go see the latest children's movie. so, Brave it was. i was a few blocks away when a gust of wind picked up out of nowhere, wrapping up and around me before moving on. goosebumps settled on my skin from head to toe and in that moment, with the wind as it's messenger, the entire Universe quietly spoke a truth into my ears:
everything is going to be fine.
i was running along the river. feeling like it's time to go for a run is a perfectly wonderful way to make the decision to start running again. i was a good while into it when i felt the energy of another being running with me. all of the tension in my body released and a wide smile spread across my face. i felt like i was floating and with a resounding reassurance, it was as though i was being told:
everything is going to be fine.
there is magick everywhere if you pay close enough attention. there are messages being sent to you all the time. put your ears away and listen with your soul, with your being. close your eyes and see with your heart. give your mouth a rest and speak with your body, with your actions. let your brain settle and make choices from your gut. i am telling this to you, but mostly i am telling this to me:
everything is going to be fine.
everything is going to be fine.
i was running along the river. feeling like it's time to go for a run is a perfectly wonderful way to make the decision to start running again. i was a good while into it when i felt the energy of another being running with me. all of the tension in my body released and a wide smile spread across my face. i felt like i was floating and with a resounding reassurance, it was as though i was being told:
everything is going to be fine.
there is magick everywhere if you pay close enough attention. there are messages being sent to you all the time. put your ears away and listen with your soul, with your being. close your eyes and see with your heart. give your mouth a rest and speak with your body, with your actions. let your brain settle and make choices from your gut. i am telling this to you, but mostly i am telling this to me:
everything is going to be fine.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
truthFULL: tuesday's thoughts
class had just started when a warm-up was announced. i settled back in my seat as the actors around me headed up to the front of the room. then his voice rang out:
"everyone here to audit class can participate in the warm-up, too!"
my heart fell into my stomach as i felt myself stand up and walk over to join the circle. the warm-up was explained: a particular combination of sound and movement. it went fast, woosh woosh woosh, out, out, out. i found myself in the final few participants. what's more, i found myself laughing. enjoying it. since there were so few people left when i made my next move, everyone else could hear what i had heard all along: the meek, barely audible sound that came out of my mouth.
it was as though we were instructed to be lions, to roar with all our might, and what i came up with was the squeak of a tiny mouse.
i laughed as i sat back down, having enjoyed those few minutes of participating in an acting class. not being able to use my voice was nothing new to me and yet, in the safe/terrifying environment that is an acting class, suddenly it hit me like a punch to my gut: i wanted my voice back.
__
i was speeding down a back road toward my high school. the windows were rolled down to let the wind whip into my little red car, drowning out everything except the soundtrack blaring through my speakers: Wicked. Defying Gravity, to be specific. i was nearing the run of the last show of my high school career and had so many mixed feelings about it that i chose to just sing louder and louder the more i felt. i had reached the point where i was done with the place i'd spent the last four years. actually, i'd hit it months ago, and endured the last rounds of 'best friends forever' talk with an understanding that i was already so far gone.
she had advised us to watch our voices, not scream or sing too much outside of the show. after all, 'joseph & the amazing technicolor dreamcoat' is no easy beast to tame. i played the female lead, the Narrator of the show, and sang almost the entire three hours. any sane person would have absolutely watched their voice. instead, i belted my lungs out every time i got in my car and driving to the show was no exception.
__
we sat on the couch, my knees tucked under me as i told him about the class and the lack of sound from my mouth:
"it's almost like.. i spent these past few years... gutting myself, ripping it all up and out of me and then slowly putting it back together, you know? and now, like, i'm there, right? i've got it all together-- well, no, i mean, no one ever totally has it all together but, like, i'm there.."
i was rambling. naturally, finding my words was proving to be difficult. he stayed with me, his eyes following mine as i danced them up to the ceiling, over to the wall, floating around, searching for what i was trying to say.
"it's like i've worked on everything up to here," i set the side of my hand against the line of my collar bone, "and now i've reached this place and i get to work on this next thing."
__
she walked over to me with a big smile on her face, "you do know that i drove by you on the way here and totally heard you singing 'defying gravity', right?"
i smiled and started laughing. of course i'd been caught. she laughed, too.
"be careful, okay? can't have you losing that voice."
"i will be, i promise."
__
it was a couple of days later, as i drove to the beach, with the radio blaring and the windows down, when i felt the truth rush into the car with the wind: it isn't something that can be lost. simple as that.
and with the ease of a single breath, i opened my mouth and sang as loud and as full as i could, letting the sound fill up the car and ring in my ears.
there's something to be said for being introspective. for being a person who can sit still and be alone with their own thoughts, with themselves. the kind of person who lets their truths drip out slowly, one by one, until it's all revealed. and yet, there is something undeniably grand about hollering as loud as you can. barreling into a room, full speed ahead. laughing from the place in your gut that you don't venture into very often.
and bravely, loudly, wildly, freely singing at the top of your lungs.
"everyone here to audit class can participate in the warm-up, too!"
my heart fell into my stomach as i felt myself stand up and walk over to join the circle. the warm-up was explained: a particular combination of sound and movement. it went fast, woosh woosh woosh, out, out, out. i found myself in the final few participants. what's more, i found myself laughing. enjoying it. since there were so few people left when i made my next move, everyone else could hear what i had heard all along: the meek, barely audible sound that came out of my mouth.
it was as though we were instructed to be lions, to roar with all our might, and what i came up with was the squeak of a tiny mouse.
i laughed as i sat back down, having enjoyed those few minutes of participating in an acting class. not being able to use my voice was nothing new to me and yet, in the safe/terrifying environment that is an acting class, suddenly it hit me like a punch to my gut: i wanted my voice back.
__
i was speeding down a back road toward my high school. the windows were rolled down to let the wind whip into my little red car, drowning out everything except the soundtrack blaring through my speakers: Wicked. Defying Gravity, to be specific. i was nearing the run of the last show of my high school career and had so many mixed feelings about it that i chose to just sing louder and louder the more i felt. i had reached the point where i was done with the place i'd spent the last four years. actually, i'd hit it months ago, and endured the last rounds of 'best friends forever' talk with an understanding that i was already so far gone.
she had advised us to watch our voices, not scream or sing too much outside of the show. after all, 'joseph & the amazing technicolor dreamcoat' is no easy beast to tame. i played the female lead, the Narrator of the show, and sang almost the entire three hours. any sane person would have absolutely watched their voice. instead, i belted my lungs out every time i got in my car and driving to the show was no exception.
__
we sat on the couch, my knees tucked under me as i told him about the class and the lack of sound from my mouth:
"it's almost like.. i spent these past few years... gutting myself, ripping it all up and out of me and then slowly putting it back together, you know? and now, like, i'm there, right? i've got it all together-- well, no, i mean, no one ever totally has it all together but, like, i'm there.."
i was rambling. naturally, finding my words was proving to be difficult. he stayed with me, his eyes following mine as i danced them up to the ceiling, over to the wall, floating around, searching for what i was trying to say.
"it's like i've worked on everything up to here," i set the side of my hand against the line of my collar bone, "and now i've reached this place and i get to work on this next thing."
__
she walked over to me with a big smile on her face, "you do know that i drove by you on the way here and totally heard you singing 'defying gravity', right?"
i smiled and started laughing. of course i'd been caught. she laughed, too.
"be careful, okay? can't have you losing that voice."
"i will be, i promise."
__
it was a couple of days later, as i drove to the beach, with the radio blaring and the windows down, when i felt the truth rush into the car with the wind: it isn't something that can be lost. simple as that.
and with the ease of a single breath, i opened my mouth and sang as loud and as full as i could, letting the sound fill up the car and ring in my ears.
there's something to be said for being introspective. for being a person who can sit still and be alone with their own thoughts, with themselves. the kind of person who lets their truths drip out slowly, one by one, until it's all revealed. and yet, there is something undeniably grand about hollering as loud as you can. barreling into a room, full speed ahead. laughing from the place in your gut that you don't venture into very often.
and bravely, loudly, wildly, freely singing at the top of your lungs.
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