In Love Again
"Friend, you are not separate. The happiness you cannot share is spurious. Only the shareable is truly desirable."
Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
I'm finally in a new committed relationship, y'all.
Her name is Vida and she's a 5 year old shepherd husky mix. Below is our love story.
When I awake on the morning of Tuesday, September 7, 2021, some ancient urge, moving just below consciousness, has already taken charge.
It is this urge which ignores every item on my day's to-do list and googles local animal shelters. That pokes the address of the closest shelter into my cell phone, drives my car there, parks and walks inside.
On the drive over, the inner scene goes something like this.
Mind: Wait. Why are we driving to an animal shelter? That wasn’t in the plans!
Heart: We are doing some research. We keep saying we need a pet but not moving forward. Remember that book you read about avoidant behavior? We agreed not be avoidant.
Mind: Ok. I’m with you. But we also agreed not to be rash, impulsive and chaos-making. May I remind you tha we have rehearsal later tonight. And every night for the next 2 weeks. And now we're behind on today's list. Which I had so meticulously pla—
Heart: Hey, hey. I hear you. Let’s slow down. Why don't you follow your breath and repeat a mantra, ok? Inhale. Exhale. "I am." "I am." "I am."
Mind: ....
Heart: Good job. Look, we're just going to spend a little time seeing what it's like to meet actual animals instead of just gaping on the internet. That's a waste of time.
Mind: I suppose you've got a point. I hate wasting time.
Heart: I know you do, honey. This is preparation for this most serious and sacred responsibility of adopting a pet! Isn't this worth doing well? Slowly? Step by step over time?
Mind: Why, yes of course. One day out there in the future when we are perfectly prepared we will adopt a pet. We ought to be ready!
When I walk in most of the dogs take up howling and whining and throwing themselves around their cages, clamoring and competing for a sliver of my attention. A few others are slumped despondently in their cages, barely looking up.
Heart: Awwww. I want to adopt them all!
Mind: Oh, brother.
I find one dog sitting perfectly still and stately, clean fluffy white in a handsome shimmering coat. Her eyes are huge, icy sky blue with navy pupils, and they lock with mine as I approach and halt in front of the crate. I feel a deep recognition, like I'm not meeting someone new at all, but reuniting with an old, intimate friend.
Immediately she reminds me, in different ways, of my three previous dogs. Maude, the black Belgian shepherd, was another stunner, who projected grace and noblesse and commanded the room. When she died back in October 2017 I sat with her in disbelief as she breathed her last breath. As I drove the hour home alone from the animal hospital with her remains in the trunk, as we buried her outside my study, and over the weeks of longing that came after, I learned that grief comes with profound and healing gifts. Healthy grieving made me more tender toward others, and more awe-struck and appreciative of every precious moment that we get to share with a companion.
The other two I left with my ex husband in 2019. There was River, also a white husky shepherd mix who looked very similar to this dog, but with a skinner build, a far more timid demeanor, with brown eyes instead of blue. And there was Tula, a smart and playful German shepherd puppy, adopted just in time to be my most steady, tangible emotional support while the last, painful throes of my marriage played out in our remote mountain home. I was in deep confusion and grief. And she provided the most wonderfully consistent and vitally effective reminder that I was loved and lovable. I really can't articulate how much I credit her devoted companionship for keeping me alive long enough to leave.
This being sitting here before me, so unafraid and so fully herself, demands that I leave those old dog memories behind and return to the present. Her radiant realness rejects the weak projection of my own past chapters' ghosts. My past doesn't exist for this being. She really could give a shit. But I exist. And I'm the only thing in the room for her. Not a past version of me, or a fantasized one. But the realest one. Whoever it is that I am right now.
I say a tender, familiar hello and I stand and she sits and we look at one another, sharing a cocoon of still, quiet presence while the pitiful cacophony of a dozen desperate dogs shakes and pierces the space around us. When I finally pivot to dutifully greet the next sweet beast begging for freedom and affection, only then does she make a quiet whimper sound and one decisive gesture. She lifts her right paw onto the crate wall between us and keeps it there as I walk away.
Heart: Wow. Swell. Sigh.
Mind: Yes, she's very pretty. She reminds me of Maude and River and Tula. That's nice. But can we handle such a big dog in the apartment without a yard? Can we afford to feed her? Are we sure a cat isn't easier? We really haven't weighed all the options. Should we make a spreadsheet? And, I mean, definitely not today right? I just worry that we're not--
Heart: YUP! Sure. Absolutely. We'll see a handful. Research. We'll be thorough and methodical, etc, etc.
I tell the volunteer on duty that I want to spend time with a few dogs and a couple of cats.
For various reasons--a missing dog crate key, a scratchy cat whom this particular volunteer has sworn off for the week--she leads me first to the crate of the regal white wolf-creature with skies for eyes.
"This is Vida," she says, unlocking the crate.
Mind: Vida means "life" in Spanish.
Heart: Vida? Of course! This is what we came here for. Life! We came here to choose life. To fall in love again with living.
Mind: Wait. We did?
Vida sits in the foreground looking toward my aunt with the camera. I pet Vida with my left hand and my aunt’s dog, Cappy, with my right.
Remaining in my marriage was not possible. And bringing one or both dogs with me never registered as a real option. While I would be thrust out into a chapter of fluctuating short-term living arrangements and great financial insecurity, their world could carry on pretty much the same.
They wouldn't really be without a "mom," just without one particular source of love and affection. Their "dad" had always been the one to pay for their food (and mine too for many years) and he owned the house and the 33-acres that they took pride in roaming and protecting together. The dogs belonged to a whole world that could support them. My vagabond self could offer no better comfort or kindness than the gift of simply letting them continuing on as they had been, uninterrupted in their belonging to this rich, stable, vast dominion.
Long after I had made peace with everything else that I lost in the divorce, my yearning for those dogs persisted in a visceral haunting. On especially lonely nights I restlessly nestled into a small, sad pack of phantom dog limbs and muzzles and rib cages. The pillow not quite breathing between my arms, refusing to grow itself a more satisfying thickness of fur. My face feeling the almost-imprint of a dog's nose--that firm, cool squish which lands and stays and presses itself against me in victory. "You are what I was sniffing for! Your face is exactly where I want to be." It sinks me to discover the cool wetness is only tears sitting around in their own puddle too long. On the other end of this sensation, nothing of soul or substance was seeking me back.
I never felt guilt or moral confusion about leaving the dogs behind, because it seemed so clearly the right thing to do, the most loving thing to do. Nonetheless, I was left with a dark, hard process to face on my own. The process of grieving.
Grieving is not pleasant. But we are all called to experience it eventually. When something is natural and inevitable, I have learned it's best to face it straight on. Attempts to avoid, thwart or stall just create more suffering. Grief is part of the deal when you are a bonding, social creature, in a mortal, temporal world. Everyone and everything that we love must part from us eventually.
And yet, we must bond. We must share. We must love.
Consciously practicing grieving has helped me to make peace with all this FEELING that happens inside of me. I am learning to accept that I am a feeler. I am one who dips deeply into the emotional human experience. I am learning that this does not have to be a bad thing.
Since adolescence I have had these dark, challenging episodes. Stretches of time where a spectrum of emotions which are labeled negative in our culture--fear, sadness, anger, anxiety, numbness--tag-team and combine to overwhelm my inner world.
What pervades and coheres an "episode" is the aching, unshakable sense that I don't belong in this world. Like I'm a ghost here. Or a robot. Like, instead of a person I am one of life's things. Instead of a subject I am an object with nothing of true substance or value about me. Inconsequential and inorganic, I am vulnerable to being ejected from this reality at any moment. I can discover no way back into real safety or belonging.
Mild episodes ride in on the hormonal waves of each menstrual cycle. More severe or long-lasting ones arise during phases of big crisis, doubt and fear. Since I started living solo in February 2020 I have really become a student of these episodes of deep feeling. I have spent the last couple of years meeting them in their rawness, without other beings constantly around to help cushion, muffle, relieve and distract.
I have learned that they are not completely terrible. I find that I can surf them without getting sucked under. Even when things are really uncomfortable emotionally, I can still tap into a sense of safety and trust. I can remember that it will not last forever.
I find that, when I can approach them in this gentler way, fascinating insights arise about my feelings, my mind, my body, and the universe itself. I find that my creativity is very alive and awake during this time. I find that they make me more humble and compassionate. I find that they contain opportunities for shedding old stories and habits, and for pressing the re-set button on old patterns and conditioning.
Heart: Oh, not another fucking episode! This is bad. I can't handle these at all! How can we get out of this one?
Mind: I've been reading Nisargadatta. He says that pain is not bad. That we ought to remove that label of "bad" and practice being present with the discomfort in ways that feel safe. That this helps us not only survive it, but to come out with wisdom and strength and greater capacity for love. That, with this approach, we may actually feel grateful for this episode when all is said and done!
Heart: Oh I can't even think or talk right now. I don't know what to do. I'm a mess. Hold me.
Mind: I keep telling you, darling. I can't.
Heart: Well, before the next episode strikes, we need a plan for finding someone who can. There are moments when a human heart just needs holding.
Mind: I'll work on it.
Heart: Thank you.
I spend 2 minutes in a tiny room with Vida.
A vast deep longing rises to the surface, one which has been living with me for the last 2 years, either covered up or coped with, but never truly satisfied. It's the craving for a consistent, committed, loving relationship. The desire to belong to a social unit again. To share my space and time with another being, real and tangible, who might rise bright with me each morning and to stay close by each night.
We play and nuzzle. I rub her belly and ask her questions and try out some basic dog commands. I find her incredibly bright and gentle and funny and engaged. I discover that someone has already trained her very well.
It is here the mind syncs up with the heart and fully and admits that there need be no further research into potential pets. And that we won't be going home alone.
Mind: Right then! I'll start working on the paperwork!
Life with a dog means less control but more connection. More chaos but less depression. My house is a lot messier, (ooh do huskies shed) but it actually feels like a home. My savings is depleted, but I’m more excited and hopeful about tomorrow. My schedule is more crammed, but I’m more present and grateful for each dear darling moment.
I don't mind organizing my days around her needs, or hastening an engagement's end to rush home to her. There is nothing that makes me feel more connected, successful, celebrated and worthy of belonging than to find her in the doorway, waiting just for me, wagging and wiggling around my feet in utter joy, while she drinks me into her skies for eyes. When her excitement subsides enough, she rushes strong and soft and solid in my wide open arms.
I am once again wound up in trusted, loving bonds. I am daring to share with another in daily, intimate, committed ways. I am giving myself permission to love her without holding back. And to receive her love without wondering if I'm worthy. It feels wild reckless and silly wonderful to love this way again, but also so incredibly safe and nourishing.
For our interdependence forms a world for me to belong to. My job is to keep letting this world flow with love, trust and mutual respect. We have made a little shelter to share, and we're here now, rescuing one another a little more each moment.