Skip to main content

Why I Chose Animals

I suppose my mother had something to do with me loving animals. From the time I was five, she was bringing home creatures small enough to go undetected in our Brooklyn apartment: turtles, tortoises, and a half-moon parrot with whom I bonded so deeply that the memories of having to give him up (I had severe allergies) still fly at me like unwelcome shards of glass. I remember crying in the back seat of the car, my father double-parked with the engine running while my mother returned the bird to the pet shop. When she came back outside, she was holding a large tortoise, waving it at us, a permission seeking gesture for my father, who banged his hand on the steering wheel and yelled, "Goddamn it, Rhoda!" But we won. The tortoise came home with us.

The parrot story goes deeper than simple loss of an amusing companion (which is never simple, anyway). At the time, I was five and silently enduring molestation at the hands of my paternal grandfather. I won't delve into the psyche's way of insulating us from such memory as we plow through life, but I will profess mightily how the Universe graces us with love that outperforms the medicinal or therapeutic by bringing us winged, furry, and four-footed angels. The layers of divine love uniting a wounded child (or adult) and an always innocent animal is realm-of- God stuff, gauze for the soul.

So it was no accident that I have always lived with animals (dogs, lizards, birds) and that my mid-life metaphysical education brought me to recriprocation: as they were supreme healing agents for me, I chose to devote my practice to them. In the first ten years of my work I was reading tarot and doing psychic readings for people, and then I consciously shifted direction and clarified my purpose.

While I was guided by the command "find your bliss," other not-so-Godly reasons steered my decision, and I don't apologize for them. People are a pain. They get sharp and cranky. Animals play and nestle. People are critical. Animals accept us. People become selfish. Animals remain selfless. People manipulate and calculate and restrict Animals just are. They love without condition and as they teach us, they heal us.

I trust that all the time I spend with my own and other people's animals intensifies the Divine spark that lives inside me as it does in all of us. People who love and care for their animals float just a little higher than the rest of the mundane world. What great company to keep and how blessed I am!

Please watch the God and Dog video on YouTube.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

God's Covenant with Animals in the Old Testament

What is our human responsibility to the earth and its non-human inhabitants? Traditional Biblical scholars would say one of master-servant and ecologists would say one of caretaker. However, using either frame, neither movement has responded in full view of the evidence presented throughout the Bible that God clearly included animals in covenantal relationships with Biblical scholars neglecting the sanctity of animals and secular environmentalists neglecting God. A closer look at the Old Testament reveals that God designed humankind’s role in relation to the animals as one of stewardship rather than domination. Traditionally religious people often cite Scripure justify a master/servant relationship between humans and animals rather than one of partnership, but deeper investigation invites us to see texts rich with references, both literal and figurative, to the partnership between humankind and the animal world. From Genesis through Prophets and Wisdom Literature, the writers of the Ol

Animals, Divorce, Picador: Living in the Moment

I once heard George Carlin say dogs can't tell time; they don't differentiate between one minute and one day, so when we leave them, upon our return we get the same exuberant greeting whether we were gone for three hours or three seconds. This merits some thought. Is it that animals don't recognize time or that they don't worship time the way we do? We obsess over time lost and time coming; we struggle to retrieve the past, seeking some previously missed key to consequences we endure in our ongoing life sagas. Or we project and fantasize about the future, what will be, what could be, what we want. Doing so, we miss the present moment, the essence of a happy life. The Buddhists teach us that by living in the moment, we have no expectations and feel neither sorrow nor disappointment. So sensible. So difficult. Do our animals experience disappointment and resentment? If they do, such states are momentary. I am still winding through my fresh divorce, which I know in my hea