I haven't run in years. In the cabin, I ran with Ginger.
She was a creature of ineffable energy. I'd run for miles with her, and she'd come into the cabin, and start running circles again. Wearing her out became one of my obligations, because it was the only way she'd get a decent sleep. With wild animals prowling all around, she was ever-vigilant. I've had many dreams pierced with a high-pitched bark.
Anyway, I'm running again.
One long run on Sundays. Last Sunday I made it about 10 miles, running alongside a river. Still sore.
On the way home I thought of Ginger and sobbed. I was imagining caressing her head as she passed, and I wished I would have sung her this song about crossing a river and seeing her on the other side. When I saw the river, flecked with light, I bawled. The heart was moving grief through my system, too.
Every strong emotion ‘anchors’ somewhere in the body.
I remembered many years before, when I broke up with someone... I couldn't run because my heart would start pumping, and I'd cry. I also ‘couldn't’ sit still1. It was a conundrum.
I want to live in world without suffering. In the meantime, I suffer some and I feel a lot. I wonder how much of my identity has been defined by it? I mean, how much have I anchored in my heart?
The heart, by the way, is a profound organ of great esoteric and energetic significance: transmuting fluids into vital life force and external impressions into life2. It’s not a ‘pump.’
I've worked with many clients around their traumas, and this Ginger-loss is one of my gateways. These are traumas through which we can access others that we couldn’t access before.
Knowing what I know, it'll not last forever. I mean, I work hard to feel fully so it can complete itself in its natural course, so that I can be free; continue to live in the present, into the future.
This vision of her eyes turning from their amber-brown to gray as she passed, her little tongue out, I don't know how to get that out of my mind. It strikes me down with grief.
I know how compelling the story of suffering is; it saddens me to even think about forgetting her. In truth, she's been a part of almost every memory of mine for a decade.
I feel the pull of a lifelong mastery coming to the surface: I know how to suffer. I'm so gifted at it, I can suffer on vacation, I can suffer alongside the love of my life, I can suffer with the perfect dog. I learned it from Kurt Cobain, from Van Gogh, from Jackson Pollock, I mean, I celebrated it.
And then once they're gone, then I can really suffer.
I know she was a dog. She had human eyes. I've complained about her barking and surging out into the street to threaten the dog of anyone passing by. Yes, uncouth. Still...
Rules for not suffering (in no particular order)
“The code is more what you'd call 'guidelines' than actual rules.” - Captain Barbossa
Look back at actions that lead to regret…. and don't do similar things.
I’ve never regretted going out to meet a person, or choosing to socialize over laying at home on a screen; I’ve never regretted writing a song, or going on a hike.
I’ve regretted wasted evenings in the digital fray; I’ve regretted selling the soul for a little side cash.
Complain less.
I've never regretted not-complaining.
Complete every experience: feel more in the moment.
Express what is most real to the ones you love.
Use the head, heart, and instinct in blessed combination. Know what center is sharing, and adjust accordingly. Do it until it is second nature. Practice vulnerability, not in the fake e-book way, but in the visceral way that resonates with you.
Say 'no' less the ones you love. (Or say 'yes' more).
Jumping on the trampoline with Rose even when I don't want to, it's raining, I'm sore or injured, and also have a lifetime of work to catch up on. Jump!
Massaging my daughter’s feet or C.’s neck.
Answering the phone calls from my father.
Say 'no' to more ; do fewer things.
It's can be sad to be scattered across a thousand ambitions while your child looks with lonely wild eyes waiting for you to come back.
Most things are done for the wrong reasons; need not be done at all.
Keep in mind what matters most. You're going to die. A few things will live on. Remember.
When we wake up and come down the stairs, we listen for Ginger and there's too much silence.
I remember her running up to me with a ball, and me brushing her away.
I remember Rose asking me to go bike ride thorugh the rain; it’s cold, I complained.
Wrong priorities. I can’t even remember what I did instead.
Refrain from filling the silence.
Rose wants another puppy. Her life revolved around Ginger until recently. Yes, of course. Not yet, though. We need to feel this emptiness, space, and honor the dead.
Create rituals that matter.
Game night. Shooting arrows with my older daughter. Art making, writing. That long run. Church, prayer, meditation, songwriting. Build your life around rituals that matter, I tell myself.
I can feel a tear on my cheek, because we still need to do a ritual where we buried Ginger, to say our final goodbyes, and lay down a stone of some sort. Meek gesture. Still…
Refuse to become negative.
Become more and more positive. There is such much beauty and grace to live for: find a way into those things. Breathe magic into every life experience. Fall in love again and again with everything you see.Decline the gravity of the world at large.
Don't wait for what you can start now.
Patience is a necessity; waiting is a myth. Either start, finish, or let go.
Express your deepest emotions sometimes, and not in the form of a 'complaint', and not always to the same person. (Spread out the love and the burden).
Many clients tell me about their grief, and they’re astonished because it is the first time they’ve EVER said it.
Less digital, more real.
MAGIC moments are defined by the sensation and emotion. Don’t sacrifice depth for breadth.
I'm talking mostly to myself how; however I'm glad you're still here.
Most sincerely,
Steven Budden Jr.
Technician of Ecstasy - Existential Detective
Next week... The More Magic Moments Challenge is my five day life reset challenge. Join us. It’s free.
Translation: I didn’t want to sit still.
Read Thomas Cowan’s Human Heart, Cosmic Heart