Sangha Member Post:
How interesting that if I sit here with Chubbs, my sweet old dog, and his failing health, the whole of all the sorrows of the past few years come cras
hing down around me. Do I have the courage to sit here with “just this”, with the tears and the heartache? Easily, so many other things offer escape and distract me, and I once again avoid the uncomfortable emotions and feel like something is missing. My thinking mind knows I can’t exclude sorrow and only hope for joy, but it proves difficult to truly be present with this sadness. How does self-cherishing play a part in this? I could sit here and say, “Poor me, look what I have to deal with,” I suppose. Taking care of Chubbs at the end of his life is not exactly fun, but I do it willingly, with love because it is what needs to be done; there is no escape from getting old and dying. In some perverse way this is comforting. What are my choices here? I can feel as though I am being thrown down this path, out of control which, to some extent is true – or I could choose to walk this way holding both the sorrow and joy in my heart. What is joyful about losing a loved one? Even though I feel enveloped in sadness and I am having a hard time living it, simultaneously the tenderheartedness of caring for him shines through as a spark of joy each time he still wags his tail for me or waits with seeming gratitude for me to lift him up the stairs. I’m not losing him, really. Maybe this is compassion. To take care of Chubbs is an act of compassion. To sit here and have the courage to be present with the tug of emotion in a myriad of directions is compassion for myself.