More than once ...

My insatiable curiosity asked me to risk going too far.

Years ago - it was easy ...

I set goals; expected the outcome; then worked hard while keeping my eye on the finish line.

I knew it was possible to reach whatever I set out to accomplish. Others had. So could I.

But -

Waking-up is different.

The choice shows up unannounced.

It swirls inside chaos; begs to be tapped when obstacles mount. Then extends an invitation to walk side-by-side with it into an unknown future.

Waking-up is a solitary journey ...

It's uncomfortable. The final destination isn't clear - or if it's possible to reach at all. Waking-up asks us to discover just how far we can go ...

And -

My decision came on the heels of a three day drama.

Stumbling into My Unknown Future

His name was Buddy. He was a special bonding dog. You know - the kind that crawls into your heart; licks the soars and wounds; and, is a constant reminder to look beyond the bitterness of life.

He slept on top of feather pillows next to my bed. I admit it was an extravagant treat. It tickled me to watch him nestle inside. And, I consoled myself - like we often do giving animal friends human qualities - he liked it too. 

Day One 

Early one cold wintery February morning, in 1995, I wasn't particularly worried Buddy tossed and turned. In those dreamy minutes between being asleep and not yet quite awake, I'd often roll to the edge of the bed; reach out; then rub between his ears.

When he was quiet again, my hand rested on his back; his body warm against my skin; the rhythm of his breath lulling me to sleep.

But this time -

I felt it ... a twitch.

I convinced myself it was a figment of my imagination - or leftover dreamy image - when all at once tsunami-like cascades beat against my palm.

The veterinarian assured me: Just muscle spasms from jumping in too high snow drifts.

Later that day ...

Buddy's watery eyes - begging for help - told me different.

Dismantling What I Knew to be True

I'd explored alternative medicine by then ...

It wasn't at all popular - at least not in the Midwest. More than half-a-dozen times I drove 500, 800 or more miles for a weekend retreat just to get a glimpse.

As I leaned over my Ever-Faithful Friend, my mind sorted through the techniques I knew. My hands quickly fell into position on his body like I was taught.

I'm not sure what I expected ...

Buddy's glazed-over eyes told me my effort was futile.

Maybe I don't know it well enough, I chastised myself. I was getting desperate - then picked a different approach.

This time, I removed my hands from his body ...

I tried as best I could to remember symbols once memorized. They were supposed to be sacred - and never copied by anything as mundane as a copy machine. So there I crouched, trying to recreate them in my emotion clenched head. 

They didn't work either.

My head wrestled with my heart: Maybe if I do ... Or, try ... 

I lost focus.

Angry frustration screamed into the silence of my mind: I've taken all these classes; spent months practicing. There's more for me to do! Why don't I know what that is?

I felt abandoned inside my helplessness ...

Conventional methods failed us. So had alternative techniques.

Day Two

Early the next morning, the veterinarian crinkled his brow - then gave me the chilling verdict. Buddy's prognosis doesn't look good. His next sentence started with I suspect but don't remember anything more. Disbelief paralyzed my senses; his voice drifted into the cosmic void; and I seemed to be transported into another world ...

As if -

An unknown gentleness - beyond the fear of losing my Best Friend - was asking me to follow it.

Instead -

I begged: Stop the world. Go back! Give me back my life before Buddy and I drew angels in the snow!

While -

A stillness from that place so far away - I could never have reached it on my own - enfolded me in its tenderness ... and every dread melted away.

I tried to lash out in anger -

But ...

A softness from that place - so deep it turned me into my own silence - embraced me in its loving-kindness ... and every bitter thought dissolved.

Uneasy I missed the turn he took, the veterinarian circled back to where I stumbled. I suspect - his prickly slice-of-kindness threatened the bond Buddy and I shared ... I suspect, paralysis is settling in on Buddy's body now.

Day Three

Buddy at the clinic - I alone. Feeling empty. Longing for him through the wee hours - until dawn invited my soul back to life. Filling the time - before the veterinarian's office reopened ...

Meandering.

Remembering ... his favorite place to lie on his side; roll on his back; stretch those long Old English Sheltie legs ever-so high ... to soak in warm sunlight rays pouring onto the living room floor.

Remembering ... his love of the chase - zipping over the creek-bed bank; sniffing out the bunny trail on the other side until out of sight ... only to reappear with that air of confidence: You knew I'd come back!

Remembering ... until abruptly put on hold by clinic staff, then brusquely told: We have an 11:30 available room and you can stay as long as you like.

It was only 9 o'clock.

Standing My Ground

I didn't blame them ...

For being oblivious to the bond Buddy and I shared; our loss; our need to be together.

How could they know?

Buddy kept the door to my heart open ...

Each time his front paw thudded next to my pillow - reminding me of a new day filled with promise. Each time his rapid-fire lick reminded me life is filled with joy. Each time he'd face me; take three steps back - then gently growl-talk as if to say: let's go play a while.

Buddy.

My confidant.

My Best Friend.

So uber-excited to see me it overwhelmed him - pushing his head into my chest; popping it under my arm to let me know - he knew - a treat lay buried in that left side pocket.

I struggled against a spigot of tears. You may not agree with me, I stumbled over every word needing to be said - while watching the veterinarian's eyes turn to steel to block out his emotion ... I'd like to take Buddy home for a few hours before bringing him back.

I'm not here this afternoon, he snapped.

But I was determined, I need maybe an hour or two.

I'll meet you here at 3, he caved.

Promises to Keep

Buddy's favorite pastime was looking out the window - no less now than ever ... riding in the passenger seat; hiked on top of feather pillows we played peek-a-boo inside; driving the neighborhood course staked out to train for 5k runs I'd only walk.

We traveled our memory making path - just like we had every room in the house - before veering onto the street that took us back to the clinic.

All of a sudden -

Buddy faced me; looked at me longer than usual until - from that place of gentleness deep inside the silence we now shared - a faint whisper surfaced: I want you to be with me.

I whipped my sunglasses off; looked into his eyes; reached over to rub his neck: We'll be together, I assured him.

His eyes stayed glued to mine just as mine to his - then a second time: I want you to be with me.

Still rubbing his neck, my hand traveled to between his ears: We'll be together, I reassured him.

His gaze was intense; he didn't flinch; then a third: I want you to be with me.

We'll be together from now on, I promised.

A promise he knew I'd keep. Me, not knowing how I could.

It was three o'clock.

The End of the Beginning

Buddy rested on my lap ...

My hand stroked from his pointy prick-ears to limp sickle-tail ... while the veterinarian injected a liquid gold that slowly seeped into Buddy's vein.

It's strange which thoughts dart through the mind at the most unexpected time. Two-thirds of the world relies on healers, shot through mine.

I'd studied indigenous cultures. Knew about the miracles healers were given credit for. It wasn't those so-called miracles I was interested in. I longed to know: What happens to healers on the inside? so they can do what they do.

Seconds later ... he was euthanized.

I reached for the treat inside my pocket; laid it by his side; then whispered softly: A tribute to you, My Friend, in honor of your joy with life before one last tender stroke-of-gratitude.

Buddy was barely 5-years-old.

Facing My Greatest Fear

That longing to know how do healers heal? followed me into an early morning executive briefing.

My colleagues and I wrestled with how to fix the broken infrastructure of that flailing multinational multimillion dollar corporation. One senior executive sweat profusely, another shuffled papers - both tell-tale signs that belied how nervous they felt. The first pontificated; stalled; stammered before the second filled every looming silence - neither could tolerate - until their tension cratered: Just fix the damn thing already!

We froze ...

Every one of the eight of us filled with angst, worry and the dread of not doing enough - avoided eye contact - terrified to expose the anger each tried to hide. Nothing like being too small to see - overlooked for successes already achieved. Nothing like being cut down by executives too inept to know.

On the other hand ...

I had a knack.

I'd done it before -

Pinpoint the lynchpin that unlocks impossible problems. In a company listed as a Fortune 5 ... building the first technology infrastructure of its kind - so advanced - it was the first in the country. Two executives fired before I took the helm; cost overrun forty percent; projected two-to-four year delay. I turned it around; saved double-digit millions; finished the project six months early.

I could do it again ...

Buddy's dog tags slipped into my palm.

Wrestling with the Great Unknown

The tags - sounding like a wind-chime - dangled from his collar. The collar I slid onto my wrist less than eighteen hours before. No time allocated for family bereavement let alone my Best Friend who also happened to be a dog.

My special bonding-dog whose tags now rested - ever so discreetly - in the same palm that reassured him when he lay next to my bed. When I promised: I'll be with you from now on. When I stroked him one final time before our last good-bye.

Inside the chaos spinning that corporate room into insanity - inside the depth of where I live - the tags' tender clink extended an invitation to remember ...

The enduring message inside ancient traditions and timeless truth:

At the same time ...

A tenderness, from that place so deep I couldn't yet understand, was reaching out ... asking me to trust in something I couldn't see; walk with it into an unknown future.

Stonewalling the Inevitable

I balked ...

How can I be sure that little-known path-of-awakening - thriving for millennia - is alive and well enough in me?

Then countered ...

Early retirement's expected within the next two years; insurance; benefits - freedom to do my spiritual work without financial worry ...

But, before I finished the bargain I was trying to strike, my heart lost its appetite. It no longer wanted to manipulate others so I could win the fight to lead. It yearned to know: What happens - on the inside of healers - so they can heal?

My logical brain rebelled: Are you out of your mind!

My ever-protective ego fought back. It was afraid. That coveted threshold of compensation - one percent of all working women in America reach - was loosening its grip ...

While, loving-kindness whispered me awake ...

And had -

Ever since I was transported into its gentleness - inside the silence - at the veterinarian ... never feeling the same afterward as before it happened. And, left with a reason to believe life can be lived from a new sense of purpose.

So -

I moved on.

To immerse myself in what my awakening had to teach. Discover for myself: How do I bring that gentleness into everything I say and do? Experience first-hand: How do I live from a tender heart?

Over time -

I became a professional healer; licensed as a spiritual counselor; transformed into a spiritual teacher ...

And,

To my surprise -

Was dubbed: The Good Listening-Ear Who Heals with Words.

This One Less-Traveled Road Isn't Finished Yet ...

What I'll never know ...

Would what I now know have made a difference ... on that cold wintery February day? On the day the veterinarian's voice turned steely? On that fateful day I held my precious Buddy in my arms one last time?

What I'm certain of ...

Too many times - along that long arduous trail-of-awakening between then and now - I heard myself complain: This is too hard! Too often inside the highs and lows; trial and error; anguish and tears, I wanted to reach out - nobody to reach to - and no recourse except go kicking and screaming all the way.

But -

One thing I never lost ...

The gift inside that heartbreak.

The stillness ... that sooths every complaint. The tenderness ... that quiets every doubt. I drank the compassion in - with each fresh new insight ... that, to this day, shows me how to look at the world through the eyes of loving-kindness.

You're Not Finished Waking-Up Either!

I believe the human spirit flows toward good, and the struggle of the soul takes us there. When the road got too long - the journey too weary - I reminded myself of the inscription once found strolling along Walden Pond:

I felt a kinship with Henry David Thoreau that day. His experiment-in-simplicity tucked deep inside Walden Woods; self-appointed inspector of snowstorms and rainstorms. And, a lone voice - with the courage to live outside the din of masses who lead lives of quiet desperation.

Those 19th century words-of-wisdom were my traveling companion as I returned home from Concord, Massachusetts. They became my inspiration ... and relentless interrogation: When it comes time for me to draw my last breath, will I regret not searching for that compassion and loving-kindness that flow through all living things?

If you walk away from your wake-up call ... will you?