Animal Voices

Chapter 28

The Landscape of Loss

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A fleeting moment of happiness upon waking: soft bamboo sheets, warm dog beside me, the promise of a new day…

 

And then I remember: he’s gone. It’s like walking down the stairs, your foot missing a step: that stomach-dropping second of finding only air, no foundation, lurching forward, about to tumble. That’s what it’s like when the realization hits. Suddenly the rug is pulled, the step is lost. He’s gone.

 

Tumbling down into the black hole of despair — disillusionment, dread. I feel empty, and nothing makes sense. 

 

I find a photo of us. We are on the back porch, my arm around his back, fingers curled around his shoulder, and we’re smiling good, deep smiles. We look so happy. I can’t remember what was going on or why we took the picture. But I’m glad we did. 

 

The memory makes me cry and I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze. It’s him. As I hold myself tight, I feel he is there, embracing me in the way he used to — firm yet gentle, reassuring with his touch. How strange. How sad and wonderful all at the same time. 

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Was that you hugging me? 

 

You know it was. You also felt me squeezing your hand in a dream. Remember? 

 

I sometimes feel your presence in my arms or hands — as though it is really you.

 

It is really me. But what’s real? Part of you knows it is me, and part of you questions if it is real. What I’m learning here is that reality is different than I thought.

 

Right? So many versions of reality on this planet alone! Our experience of reality  determined by what we think — but I don’t want to think too hard about this. I don’t want my mind stretched this morning. 

 

Sometimes these talks overwhelm me, you know? I’m just writing down our shared thoughts, but later, when I read what I’ve typed, I’m blown away by how far and deep we’ve traveled. My mind pulled and stretched. That can be tiring. 

 

It’s like that here, too. ‘Getting stretched’ is a good way to put it. Just like time is stretchy, reality is stretchy too. Or maybe we are being stretched to understand time and reality in a new way. Are there limits to how far you can stretch?

 

Good question. Maybe that’s why we say someone who has gone too far has ‘snapped.’ They followed some rabbit hole and got stretched too far and snapped. I don’t want to snap. I don’t think I’m in danger of snapping. What I don’t understand is why I feel so empty and depressed after our talks. It’s getting worse. How about you?

 

I’m floating. There are a lot of choices here. Remember the different lands and realms we talked about? Sometimes I float just above the land, exploring and observing. Yet I’m watching myself too, aware of my spirit consciousness watching me explore. What does that mean? 

 

I don’t know. Maybe it’s us being stretched? Both of us going through our experiences but aware of another part of ourselves that is observing.

 

It’s like right now, I’m talking to you in my head and typing it down. I’m listening to what you are saying and what I’m asking and how I’m feeling. Yet at the same time there’s another part of me watching all of this, observing.

 

We’re feeling that together right now. Maybe it’s also how you felt me when I was holding you. It was your arms that were holding you but it was me too, my presence. You know what I mean? 

 

I don’t want to make my brain explain it, but I feel what you mean. Maybe it’s about being okay with being in several realities at the same time. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I’m explaining it after all! 

 

Before in life, I would not know what you mean. Maybe I couldn’t understand or didn’t even want to understand, but it was important for you, so I’d listen to you try so hard to explain. I was listening to you more than you know sometimes. 

 

I know. I could feel when you were present and when you were thinking about other things. We all do that at times. Not really listen. Or, listen deep. 

 

You like to listen deep, have deep conversations. I’m sorry I couldn’t always do that with you. But we’re doing it now. So, really,  you can’t complain about being stretched. If you want to go deep, you are in danger of getting stretched.

 

Don’t make me laugh when I’m depressed!

 

You’re not depressed. Not like they mean it for most people.

 

Okay, I’m feeling sorry for myself. Sometimes I need to push the release valve on the pressure cooker of Dawn and cry. I miss your laugh, your presence, your goofy way of being. Even your rants about politics and bad drivers. 

 

I don’t think so! I think you don’t miss those rants. 

 

You’re probably right. I’m just remembering you fondly now. 

 

I can relive those events here, as if I am in those states of being — getting heated and upset, thoughts churning. I would get so angry or frustrated, and I’d just keep talking, like a wheel racing round and round; I couldn’t stop. 

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That’s true. You had to let the angry thoughts and frustrated feelings race around enough times to finally settle and stop. But here’s the thing — if we don’t get to the core of those thoughts and feelings, they will come out another time. Another unexpected trigger will start it up again. 

 

Maybe that is why we are talking about being in an experience and also floating above it! That’s our observer self, the one who knows how to get out of the turning wheel that keeps us locked in obsessive thoughts and feelings. Maybe that’s my answer of how to be with this sadness: to observe it, to feel it fully, and to ask it what it needs.

 

See how smart you are? I’m smiling with you. And now I see how conversations can also be wheels that bring an answer. We start with a question and drive around as we talk and talk, suddenly arriving somewhere that shows us what we need to know. 

 

That’s exactly it!  See how smart you are?!

 

We laugh. We’re in many places all at once. On the cruise ship, feeling the salty breeze caress our faces; in the aqua pod, him winking as he smiles at me; sitting on the back deck, looking over the inlet, laughing as we sip our icy margaritas. 

 

And here now, him floating around the room, me at the laptop, tears in my eyes — sad and happy tears all at once — as I type. 

 

You’re in my heart, he says. And it’s real. All of this is real. 

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