My Awakening

I was driving home from the grocery store a couple of weeks ago when it struck me that Home/Heaven for me was here on Earth—that to return to where I originated from would seem empty and colorless. I gazed around me, remembering how amazing it is to be able to touch and to feel and to behold all that I love—that even the searing pain of losing a loved one was worth it all.

I recognized the truth for me of that old adage: It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. While I know love is always present, regardless of the realm, it’s in this physical body that I get to witness and experience it in action. I have a sense of that being priceless.

That was a huge shift in perspective for me—especially having so recently lost someone so precious to me yet once again.

This time I’ve decided to walk through this whole loss to death thing in a new way. I’ve realized that the old platitudes and approaches aren’t enough for me. I don’t give a crap about the four steps of the grieving process, and I’m sick of believing it all as unchangeable just because of millennia of unquestioning acceptance that “that is the way it is.”

I’ve heard others say over and over again that they can’t wait to die in order to be reunited with their dead loved ones. But that’s not making sense to me. If I’m looking forward to getting this life over with, then am I truly enjoying and living the life--the gift of experience--that I have right now?

After losing enough people in my life to make it easy for me to let go and die myself, there’s something strange going on—I’m still here, and I’m not suicidal.

And I remember the story of Job in the Old Testament—the man lost everyone and everything dear to him to the point that this God-favored man got outright angry with God, with his circumstances. Platitudes and mental rationing (why and how this could happen to him, what he “needed to fix” about himself, how “he should be”, even sympathy) didn’t mean squat to him—none of the old ways and perspectives mattered to him. He got authentic and honest with himself—let his perception of the moral rightness and wrongness of everything go. And in the end, he lived--and what he’d initially lost was restored, but way better than what he had before he lost it all--because his experiences enriched all of what was once just airy, insubstantial concept. That story encourages me to awaken each morning with hope.

And then there’s Jesus. He died and yet he lived—and he also said that those who came after him would do “all these things and more.” So I’m standing here, hopping up and down, my arms waving wildly, yelling, “Pick me! Pick me!”

And then it occurs to me that really I’m the ONLY ONE who can pick me for the job. And so I have.

In Ecclesiastes, the poet came to the conclusion that there was a time for everything under the sun. In other words—my own words—every way IS a WAY TO BE. Each form of love in action provides us with insights and understandings inconceivable in any other way.

I believe these stories of life after a physical death stay in our world for thousands of years just maybe because there is a truth in them. And frankly, I’ve got nothing to lose in exploring their possibility of being a reality today—for me, they represent hope for my own enjoyment of this life, to create and to be my own unique Heaven on Earth.

I’m not willing to just get through another day without being able to connect with Molly. That death wound for the Little Human never truly heals with just the passage of time—the emptiness ache is still there, and sometimes it’s knife-sharp pain.

I still talk to my parents and to Arlen. My relationship with each of them has continued to evolve and expand just as much as it has with those around me who are alive.

In the past twenty plus years, I’ve had all kinds of dreams of interacting with those who have crossed the Veil. But during the dreams my heartache was horrendous because my mind would get in the way and remind me that they were “really dead and that I had to accept and get used to that.”

So instead of enjoying the moments I had with them, regardless of the dimension I was in, I was miserable at the prospect of knowing they would be gone soon. And I’d awaken to this world in a state of deep sadness. I hated those mornings after—despair hung around me like a cloud.

When I remember the look in Molly’s eyes that last day with her and the many things she communicated to me intuitively and physically, I KNOW that despair is NOT what she wanted for me. She wasn’t dying in order to hurt me beyond being able to breathe again—she was reaching out, touching me, showing me moment by moment how much she enjoyed her life with me and how much she loved me. And it seemed important to her that I recognize that she was choosing that path in order to help me go beyond—to help me transcend death.

Molly and Max came into my life when I first began to make choices to live my life my own way—and they have played supportive roles through this whole process I look at as being my awakening to remembering who I really am.

The roles I’ve acted out and felt stuck in for so long are just dramatic scripts that I’ve immersed myself in for awhile in order to understand the energies and concepts we think of as LIFE. But ultimately, they were all just roles; no one acting part was completely reflective of all that I am.

And my two precious furry friends continue to support me—Molly on one side of the Veil of Forgetting, and her brother Max with me on this side. I’ve seen her twice in dreams—and she’s very much alive and well. Max leaves wet food in the dish for her to clean up each morning like he always did when she was alive.

The only time he didn’t leave food for her was the last day she was alive. She could only lick up and swallow the gravy, so he’d come by afterwards and clean out the drier remains left in their bowl--this was completely opposite of their usual way of eating together. When she was gone, he then reverted back to leaving a bit in the bowl for her.

Max also seems to allow her to use his body as a way to touch me—he’s done “Molly acts.” One night he lay next to me on the couch with his paws draped over my legs like Molly used to. And he now sits on Kel’s lap in the evenings like his sister used to, but only after looking me in the eyes to make sure I know that he’s sharing himself with both of us.

In moments, my heart still hurts with her not being here teasing me, scratching on my calf for butter or traipsing towards me with that smile—whiskers on a lady never looked more darling. And I’m not always certain which aspect of myself is running this particular show. Sometimes I wonder about letting myself wail out my grief like the gypsies and just immersing myself in feeling it all until the emotions are spent. Would it somehow release me? I’ve moved a great deal of pain through and out of myself that way in the recent past.

And sometimes I wonder if maybe I should just stay calm and watchful and keep my drama queen in check. Always I’m reminding myself, Molly’s right here—she never really did die—this is all just illusion, after all. And if that’s so, then HOW DO I want to walk this journey between her seeming to leave and her being here?

I see how Max allows himself to continue to enjoy his days on Earth and he works to make us laugh, too. I talk to Molly and tell her I’m watching for her—that I’m open to all of us being together again soon—and I’ve no idea how that looks. But I choose to explore the possibility that I don’t have to die in order to be reunited with her. I’ve got nothing to lose—I don’t care if I look foolish, and I don’t care about having a reputation.

And I hope it’s here—that Heaven is here on Earth wherever I am, for me…and wherever you are, for you…

Because when this is all said and done, it's truly been an honor...