A Dog’s Heart
Today in my art studio our exercise
was to pick an animal that had qualities we admired and to list them.
I immediately knew I wanted a Rottweiler,
the dog that just came into my “real” life. He is a full Rottweiler, his name
is Brodie but Bernie is fine with him and he is noble. Gentle. Kind.
I found a dog figurine and I
looked it for a long time. I liked the sturdiness, the groundedness, the animal
body, primal and unafraid yet cautious and centered in its stance.
And then I didn’t know where to
go from there except that I wanted to be loved and love with simple, committed,
non-entitled love. Plus a big bonus is that my dog (I have only had him 2 days
but yes, he is definitely MY dog and I am his person) never rejects me the way
my daughter does.
It is so painful to walk into her
room first thing in the morning when I hear her talking to herself and she does
not want me to hug her or get her out of bed, she calls for Daddy and tells me
no. And when he walks in, she smiles and reaches her little arms out to him as
if I am not even there.
Later in the day when Daddy gets
in the car, she cries to go with him and when I pick her up to comfort her she
pushes my face away with her little hand and shouts “no”.
Painful. Hurtful. Innocent. And I know why she does it. Because I am
needy. I am needy for love and
affection. Yes, I am needy.
I look inside myself and I think
about this “needy” business. I am needy for her acceptance, affection, love. I
am needy for belonging, being loved and being safe. I am needy for being loved,
being appreciated, being needed. I am needy for being wanted. But this is not
her problem, her job or her responsibility to solve and I will do everything I
can to make her feel like less than for not fulfilling that need, the way my
mother did with me.
Yet I am not any of these things for
her, especially not if Daddy is around. And if he is not around she relies on
me passively, as in climbs on me to get to something she needs. She doesn’t
need my love or my affection. She does not seem to reply on it. Probably because
she senses it fills my own neediness more than it does anything for her. And
she has every right to reject this kind of “love”. She has every right to
reject me.
Oh how I mourn this. I rejected
my mother for the same reasons. Over and over and over, year after year, I
rejected her, it must have torn out her heart. I have not spoken to her for
over a year since she made my birth recovery about her birth recovery. Her
neediness felt so intense, so deep, so desperate that she would try to fill it
regardless of what it may have cost me, blind to what it took from me, unable
or unwilling to acknowledge how it made me feel, regardless of the appropriateness
of the circumstances.
If I can do one thing in this
life, I want to stop this generational curse of deprived mothers looking to
their daughters for emotional food.
So I got a dog.
Part 1
My childhood ended at age 6.
Although I didn’t know it then. I was given a grandmother’s love until age 9 or
10, but life after 6 was never the same because I lost both parents. And they
never returned. Not the way they were, together, intact, loving. I mourn that
now, still. I didn’t have the chance to naturally evolve out of childhood, to
choose adulthood or whatever comes next. I mourn losing that normal transition.
And I mourn even more deeply what not having that transition meant I lost – my family.
I notice shame and guilt at mourning. I know this happened to others, I know
children were soldiers, I know I know I know. But does that mean I am not
allowed to grieve?
Here is that feeling again, the
feeling that I am building my house of cards on straws. I am trying to build a
life on top of not havingness. How does that even work?
I can’t solve it, I can never get
it back. I can’t change it. All I can do is surrender, cave into the
nothingness of what I think I lost, what I mourn, what I miss the most.
Can a simple dog’s committed,
non-entitled love, presence and willingness heal this wound? He must be feeling
so vulnerable, new home, new place, new owner, new spot to sleep, new place in
a new pack. Yet he loves. He loves. He, unabashed and unrelenting gives every
ounce of his precious love.
Reminds me of when I moved continents
to be with my mother and I was beaten down, tortured, betrayed (emotionally) by
her own brokenness and helplessness. God forbid I so abuse the innocence of his
love.
Oh innocent spirit of love,
return to me, return to me.
Part 2
Everyone suffered. Mostly alone.
Everyone was right in his or her own reality. Everyone deserved more, everyone
got less. I mourn for all of them.
There are two photos with my
parents as a child I placed in my art journal long ago for no good reason. It
always hurt so bad to look at them. For so long I wondered why it hurt and
today I realized it was a painful reminded of what I had lost too soon. I put
the Rottweiler body I traced there, he wants to be there. To love that little
girl that is now a mother too. He doesn’t have a head. He doesn’t need one.
Just a heart like the image the shaman drew of Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat Pray
Love, a body without a head, but with a heart. And I don’t really know of a
more loving, beautiful heart than a Dog’s Heart.
Part 4
I can’t change the past but I can
change my attitude, be open and receptive to help from the Universe in any way
that comes and be thankful for having a Dog’s Heart, one given to me just for
me. To love me the way only a Dog’s Heart can. Yes, I liked the sturdiness, the
groundedness, the animal body, primal and centered in its stance. But neither
of these compare to the power of love in a Dog’s Heart. May I embody this
purity of love, may I be graced to be able to give and receive this quality of
love. Amen.
Thank you God.