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Is It "Good" or "Bad"?

Is It "Good" or "Bad"?

It's amazing how death can bring new appreciation of life. That has happened for me. City View Ranch's beloved little white, spotted dog, Milk, is dead. She was two years old.

Earlier in the day she was twisting in the air leaping at a passing butterfly, earnestly trying to catch flying buzzards, and barking at me for attention, rivetting me with her piercing blue eyes.

In a burst of exuberance, she made a full speed freedom run through the invisible fence as we were leaving the ranch. Bounding like a gazelle with her hilarious trademark joy, she ran in circles sniffing the grass at the excitingly unfamiliar roadside, then gleefully darted into the road at full speed. In the rearview mirror, my friend Michael saw a truck hit her. Then she was fully free.

Her freedom wasn't my first thought as I let go of a burst of uncharacteristic epithets. It was rage. Anger. "No, no, no, no, #%@^#* NO!!!"

We stood there as Milk's spirit lingered in the irreparably damaged body for another minute. As her spirit left, it brushed the back of Michael's leg, as she often did, with a jingling of dog tags that made him whirl around on the side of the road to see who was behind him.

Numbness, disbelief, and shock soon descended. We moved her body, then met our friends for dinner anyway. We talked, laughed, and cried. A deep, unexplainable heart opening made the world look dreamily infused with light. In my head was another vaguely familiar sensation -- intense and thick, soggy and pressurized.

I know that movement of energy is vital. Our Larger, broader-perspective-selves were soaring in the high vibrations as they always do, but our slower, denser bodies and emotions were still numb, so we went out dancing to some wild, loud soul music.

Slowly the energy began to flow and we could feel our bodies. An indescribable mix of heaviness and aliveness, tears and joy, peace and struggle flowed through us. But it was flowing, and that is the thing.

The knowing unfolded. On the way home we saw more ambulances than we've ever seen. They were everywhere, lights flashing, sirens screaming. Crushed cars, EMS techs scrambling, traffic slowing to look ......

I vaguely got it, and it gave me an uneasy feeling. "I'm experiencing my resisted fears about the physical body's frailty."

The next day, Milk's spirit brushed Michael's leg again during his meditation. He opened his eyes and smiled, "Underfoot again." No one in sight.

We walked around Town Lake, and again, I had the dual perspective of my Large Self in ecstasy, as it always is, but my body as heavy as Milk's limp body times ten, and my soggy head was getting heavier.

Then a recent memory came. Two months ago while riding, my spunkier horse threw a fit when I wouldn't let him run. He bucked me forward, then tossed his head back and broke my nose. I heard a crack, and felt blood flow down my face. I instantly asssured myself, "Move the energy, move the energy, move the energy. Be with it, let it be, and move it, be with it, let it be, and move it."

"I'm fine," was all I would say. Michael, a 5th degree black belt and former martial arts instructor, has seen many a head shot land, and later he said denial is the first indicator that someone has had their bell rung pretty good. We rode quietly and calmly back to the ranch while I, with cowgirl stoicism, poured water over my face.

Inside I was stunned. How could this happen? I've been riding for 44 years, usually like a wild Indian - fearless, exuberant. I've had my horse slip and fall flat on his side at a dead gallop, right on my leg, and we got up and galloped off unscathed, without even a bruise. Never slowed down except to marvel at the miracle.

But something changed the day my nose was broken, and now I haven't ridden for two months. Plenty of other things to do, I told myself. 

Although the concussion (I guess .... I don't go to doctors), the broken nose, and multi-colored bruising healed miraculously, without a trace, in seven days, the soggy, heavy head lingered for weeks. The guidance I could access at the time felt like I had been trying to control a power that could not be held back, and this was the physical manifestation of that resistance.

There were other insights too, but the energy obviously wasn't restored to full flow yet: I wasn't riding.

So here it was again after Milk's death; the familiar intense, soggy, stuck, pressurized feeling in my head.

I don't analyze things anymore. I don't run to heal it or fix it. I relax, and let The Divine do the heavy lifting. The pieces do come together, and when they do .... you KNOW. Suddenly I got the whole picture - the broken nose, recent concerns about an aging body, Milk's death, the ambulances.

In a flash it was clear how much I was still buying the illusion of matter, insecure about the frailty of the bone and flesh body, letting age make me feel less free to live full out, contracting instead of expanding in that area. I was giving it all far too much power.

A new lightness came over my body. And that was just the beginning.

I notice feeling softer, more allowing, more appreciative of everything and everyone.

Had we appreciated Milk fully? Had we focused too much on her barking and her often-disruptive and inconvenient amusements. This is said now without regret or self-blame, but with thanks. Yet another gift she brought. Now we appreciate it all.

We certainly had our share of giggles at her waking us up by tirelessly squeezing her squeaky toys. At her racing us home up the 1/8 mile long driveway, proud of her prowess. At her absolute certainty that life was created just for her, and that she deserved everything she wanted. At her defiance when she was scolded. She would stop doing the forbidden thing, but she'd stare you right in the eye, lift her chin, tilt her head, and bark once, talking back, "No! I want what I want, and who do you think you are to tell me no!?!"

She was a role model for how to live joyfully, fearlessly, full out. A life isn't measured by its length, but by it's joy. Now I smile that I worried so much when she taunted the horses, barking and nipping at them as they all ran at full speed, barely escaping the stomping and kicking hooves. She loved it. What good is a long life lived timidly anyway?

Facts, knowledge, teaching. Mind stuff. Nothing compared to experience.

Milk demonstrated joy. She gave me a beautiful experience from start to what we call finish (she is not finished).

In only 36 hours since the accident (accident? ...are there any accidents?) life has unfolded into a richer dimension.

Most of us think we want our enlightenment to explode instantly, but my experience of the past few years has been so beautiful, so gradual, so stunningly rich. I've savored every new feeling, every slowly unfolding dimension, every new aha, the ups AND the downs. (There are so few downs now, and they are short and not deep, mostly due to the fact that we know how to release resistance to them.)

It's good that lifetimes of seeking are over, and that life is increasingly smooth now, but there is no rush to the finish line. What finish line?

I notice that now we know in our hearts, from experience, the difference between a body animated by a spirit, and the spirit itself.

We saw and felt what was there when the spirit lived in that body. We saw and felt the lifeless thing that remained when the spirit left.

We're seeing that spirit more now, instead of the bodies. It's as if the bodies have been a distraction from seeing what's real.

And isn't this physical world a most clever distraction? How often does it mask what is real?

Isn't it fabulous to reach the long-wished-for time when we feel in our hearts what is real?

It's good to be free. Thank you, Milk.

I think I'll go riding.

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The rules" of reality differ depending on the level you're currently vibrating. At one level, you need medicine to heal, or must watch your budget -- at another level, you just heal, or can spend all you want and won't run out."
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