Prayers for my teacher

Funny how the Universe works sometimes.  After writing my last post, “I Get It Now”, I suspected that there would be more opportunities to integrate what I was now embracing.  Yesterday, one of my spiritual teachers, Anita Pathik Law, experienced a death in her family.  I am sharing a portion of her blog post about it to illustrate that even the most grounded among us can have a difficult time with “the flow.”  The entire post can be found on her blog, Power of Our Way.

Ani writes:

I’ve been through my share of losses. Death is not a stranger to me.  Yet, yesterday, its visit took me some place entirely different than I’ve ever been before, and it sucked big time. I’ll tell you right now, that this sharing comes thru swollen eyes and tears of deep sadness. I will not edit, nor attempt to make perfect what just needs to be processed through writing.  I will share, openly, a very human moment and a re-emerging pattern; one that you may relate to, or judge, or have compassion for.  For some, you may be surprised that someone of such incredible faith and deep groundedness in purpose, can still experience a crisis of faith and get messy on occasion. I make no apologies, rather, I just write what comes.

Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling, for lack of a better word, rather “pissy.” I even shared, quite vulnerably, my current foul mood during a monthly call with my fellow Beloved Community Ministers.

During the call, my ministerial mentor, James Twyman, had invited us to share “what we are grateful for.” Although I could have stated a hundred or more things, there was such a sadness in my heart, that I found myself opening up and asking for prayers.

I shared my frustration and deep sadness for having so much that I wish to share with the world and lately, feeling a sense of futility. “Why bother?” was the thought I had woken up with. “Why bother recording our next  music cd when no one ever buys our music? Why bother completing these four damned books, only to be heartbroken to find no one valuing them? Why bother doing what I do at the expense of our security and financial stability? Why work so hard for so little?”

For whatever reason, I woke up threatening to quit. “Look God,” I said, “I can’t do this anymore, not like this. I can’t justify sticking with something that seems to be less and less valued (financially). I’m getting more scholarship requests than registrations. I do what you tell me to do. I’m tired of the struggle. I’m tired of writing music that everyone loves but almost no one wants to buy. I’m tired of writing articles that almost no one reads. I’m tired of wondering, from one month to the next, if the bills will get paid.”

I was not unconscious of the “not enough” theme that was wreaking havoc and causing me to question everything. I was aware of the self-judgment and regret that was stirring underneath the surface. I am ridiculously tough on myself.  I still need to regularly re-wire the “not enough, not good enough” pattern that seems to have been born to me, and aptly reinforced (by me more than any other) for what seems to be multiple lifetimes, and at any moment of perceived failure.

So, when asked to add to the conversation with my Beloved Ministers, I asked for prayers to support what I saw as a huge need for self gentleness. I said, “I am not practicing gratitude towards myself. I need to forgive myself for making decisions that haven’t worked out so well.”  My fellow ministers thanked me for my vulnerability. As uncomfortable as it was to share my pain, I was glad I did. I needed to, and had needed to for weeks, evidenced by the tears that seemed to come from nowhere. Thirty minutes later, my irritation had not really subsided. I took a hot shower. I prayed some more. I was still feeling angry at myself and was feeling very, very alone.

And, then, in an instant, everything changed focus.

In a moment of frustration, I ran to the front door (half dressed) to give Brent a check that he had just asked me to sign, yet forgot in the bathroom. I turned and slammed the door, and my sweet and innocent kitten, Kayden, was crushed by the weight of the hurricane resistant door. I fell to the floor and scooped his little body into my bare chest, and heard myself singing a prayer song.  He died in my arms, with Brent by my side. I don’t know that I have ever seen, with my own two eyes, something so devastating.

This amazing little creature, who spent probably 6 hours a day curled up in my lap and loved pizza, gorgonzola cheese, and salad (he actually was known to dive head first into the salad bowl), was dead. This little guy, who loved to join me while I was drumming (ohhh, he loved it when I drummed), or singing, or meditating, had become a constant companion. Kayden, an amazingly social, playful and adoring kitten had somehow won over 4 of our 5 family pets, including my Belgian Sheppard, who became his instant mother and protector, was gone. And, I killed him.

Brent and I did ceremony, and wrapped him in sacred red cloth. We sang and blew sacred smoke onto him. I held him in my arms for almost an hour before Brent buried him. The worst was telling my 14 years old daughter, Kiera, my animal loving “Kiera Doolittle,” who had sheepishly brought him home just five weeks ago. At first, she said she hated me and would never forgive me. I knew this was the grief and did not take it personally. In some way I felt the same things anyway. I canceled my next appointment and postponed a class I was scheduled to teach. Waves of grief hit me over an over again. I prayed with my friend Lorraine Cohen and one of my treasured clients, Donna Poler, an animal communicator, and gifted healer, called me. It was the only time I picked up the phone, other than when family called. She did some EFT with me and shared some beautiful and much needed sentiments.

I wanted him back, I wanted to erase that moment. I wished I had been more present. I wished I had not been so frustrated and angry that I slammed the door on my innocent friend. I waited to wake up from the nightmare.  Honestly, I probably cried more than I have since my father died 22 years ago. It is awful to lose a loved one, regardless of whether he or she is a two legged or four legged friend, but something about feeling responsible for someone else’s death, even by accident, is exponentially devastating.

A little later, Kiera, my 14 year old, called me and said, “I’m sorry for what I said mommy. I am so sorry this happened to you; I can not imagine how you feel mom. I’m sorry if I made you feel worse, I know you loved him as much as I did and took good care of him. I know it was an awful accident mom. I feel so bad for you and wish this didn’t happen to you.”

She then said to me, “Mom, he’s in a better place and you know that everything happens for a reason. Maybe he was just supposed to be with us for a little while. Now he’ll be able to eat all of the pizza and potato chips he wants!” We actually shared a few moments of smiles and laughter, in between the tears, reflecting on this odd little creature who had blessed us with some wildly un-cat like behavior since he moved in.

Rather than coming home, Kiera decided to go to church with a friend and opted to stay the night. We called each other many times, cried, and each time, she offered such incredible empathy and compassion that I felt as if she was an angel herself. I witnessed my baby sharing messages of faith and wisdom and my husband kept affirming, “Well, she is your daughter…” Over the course of the evening, every single one of our pets came to me as if to console and say, “Its ok mom, we’ll take care of you.” My dog looked for baby Kayden several times, each time coming to me with questioning eyes, as if asking, “Where is he, where’s my baby?”

For hours, every time I closed my eyes, the awful scene replayed in my head and ears. I would feel the rush of sadness and sob, still hoping I would wake up and realize it had all been a bad dream. Then, suddenly, I realized that the grief I was feeling was not just about this loss. I was aware of the synchronicity of prayer request earlier that day. I could feel all of the fractured moments of my life coming up to the surface – to be felt and healed.  I felt deep compassion for others who may feel responsible for someone’s death, even when an innocent accident, and several people actually came to mind as I extended myself into their experience.

All of my regrets and losses flooded into my awareness. I knew that the most important question to ask was not “why did this happen, or how did I attract this (the dreaded law of attraction/metaphysical malpractice approach)?”  Rather, it was “how can I grow from this?” For what purpose was I being offered in this unusual and immensely sad gift? I was being given a grand, albeit awful, opportunity to practice the self gentleness and forgiveness that I requested in prayer just 30 minutes before Kayden died.

As f%*#!d up as it all was, I knew, somehow, there was something to receive and honor, if I chose to. At the moment of this thought, I felt an invisible and loving hand touch the top of my head, not unusual for me, yet, incredibly comforting. We went to bed and Brent massaged me as I prayed for some rest and cried myself to sleep….

As I read Anita’s post, I cried and cried.  I can’t even imagine what she must feel like.  But I do know that she will find peace as long as she is willing to 1) experience her pain and loss and 2) decide and act on who she wants to be going forward.

We don’t get through this journey without a few scars, that much is certain.  But as I am learning, how we choose to move forward from those wounds can make a profound difference in our experiences of the life, both “good” and “bad.”

And what if it really is, ALL good?

Much love to you, Ani, Kayden and Source for another opportunity to “get it.”