My dog of 20 years died and I stopped writing...yes, it's true.

She was such an integral part of my life. My non-toxic, non-judgmental, completely loyal and loving soul mate. We ate together. Slept together. Worked together. Played together. I carried her up and down the stairs for three years when she went blind. Stopped going on vacation because it meant leaving her with family who loved her, but they weren't me. And, I was her person.

She picked me. Not the other way around. She taught me compassion. Showed me what "true love" really means. There's not a month, week, day, hour, minute, second, or nanosecond that goes by and I don't miss her. She was my heart. Without her, it's not really working in the same way. 

She died on the Wolf Moon. Did you know--all true gurus die during a full moon. My girl was no different. Uranus turned direct. And a massive asteroid missed colliding with Earth by the equivalent of a hair's breadth. All of which was more than worthy of the greatness of the greatest dog that has ever graced Planet Earth. 

She got me through some of the absolute worst moments of my life: Cancer. Losing the use of my leg. Learning to walk again. Losing a child. Then, losing everything else...except my mind. Thanks to her.

My dog of twenty years died and I stopped writing. Because, without her, there was simply nothing left to say. 

Life is short. Especially for dogs. Dogs are some of the best people I've ever known and my girl was no exception. Although, she was exceptional. She responded to 300 words in three languages--that's more than most humans. She was brave beyond brave. A canine of rare, refined palate with a taste for Spanish cheese, curried rice, peanut butter cookies, vanilla Hagen-Daas, and pretty much whatever was in my glass.

She was my protector, My friend. My teacher. My physical therapist. My therapist-therapist. She kept all my secrets. Taught me about integrity. Honour. Boundaries. And was the first to prioritize me. A 10lb dog did all that and so much more. She could teach a few humans a lesson or three. 

I hope you feel loved by someone--anyone--as much as my dog loved me. You would be lucky indeed. As lucky as "we". And that, dear readers, is as lucky as you can get.

Braided, like soft tendrils of blonde hair
Intertwined in a criss-cross pattern
With brown-eyes-turned-green
And green eyes turning shades of gray, then blue
My heart lifts off my chest and over the ocean...to you

Around the world in 80 days? 
Why so fast???
I've been translated in a myriad of languages for 4,380...
And yes, that is a challenge
For those who want me silenced

But I have not yet even begun to fight
Mine is a slow burn
Saturn in Taurus is like that
(it slows ageing, too)
Not a believer? 

Your loss is my gain
Dinty may be 'The Accidental Buddhist'
But I am The Deliberate Vedic
My beloved Guru found me again
His Tiger Spirit walks next to my Lioness

Soulmate energy
We pray together and st/lay together
Walking the path of Sivaya
Monstrous in my placement
A Demon of old

While my other side is steeped in myth
Legends of Selkies
Humans turned into seals
No one from my clan would dare kill one
For fear we'd murder one of our own

Mac Conghaile lar-Connacht
"Art magick' was strong with us
Tuatha de Danann in the olde tongue
Mine speaks more than nine languages
Lifetimes of learning manifest in my mouth

For so many years, I read about people like me
Never realizing those books were my legacy
A legacy left by an ancient trail
Trodden in bare feet to better bear my soul
The wren, an ever-present messenger

Like the deer
The wolves 
The fox
Red Tails
And, of course, #mustlovedogs

Ah yes, Mr. Frost, I have taken the road less travelled by
You wrote that line after meeting me
In another place, a separate space
Between here and there
Everywhere...yet still somehow nowhere

#Braided

It had been two years since I went to the beach. Two years since my blonde hair became white from too much sun, sand and surf. Two years since my skin was kissed with freckles. Two. Years.

I'd not swam in the ocean in two years either. I missed out on seeing the friends and neighbors that live in the small beach community where I spent at least a portion of every summer for the last 32 years...until the pandemic. 

The ocean is home. I was born in a city on the water. Swimming in the ocean is second nature. Being in the sea with seals, dolphins, mink whales, and yes, sharks, is "normal." And the last two years have been anything but.

Friends I'd not seen in two years greeted me with cautious smiles:

"Is it okay if I bring my chair next to yours?"

Or, the need for an inevitable apology after passing a bottle of water or towel included grazing each other's hands....

The ocean, however, never even balked when I went near. The gulls didn't seem to care either. 

Being in the ocean is like coming home. The gentle sway of my buoyant body amidst the waves. The soft sound of a black loon's wings as it flies across the water. The utter stillness of a calm, sunny day. No wind. No rain. Just the familiar sight of tiny silvery fish swimming a ring around me, sometimes jumping up out of the water, catching the light before silently dipping back under the surface. 

These are the things only an ocean swimmer can know.... 

The one "rule" to swimming out beyond the sandbar is to turn back when you see a dolphin or a seal. Sharks aren't usually far behind. But rules don't apply in open water. It's just you and Nature.

There's no lifeguard at my beach. No one to save you if you begin to flounder. If you get caught in the undertow or see a fin pop up on the horizon, the only thing you can do is stay calm. Breathe. And, focus on what's in front of you. 

Swimming comes more naturally than walking for me. I do much better in the water than I do on land. I'm comfortable in the sea. It's one of the few places where I experience true peace, despite the threat of multiple rows of sharp, jagged teeth. Luckily, I have teeth, too.

Two years since I'd been to the ocean. Two years since I'd been myself. Nothing made me more aware of that difference than actually going home to my little beach community. To my friends and neighbors. To the sea.

In the last two years, the surf has claimed more sand during high tide. I stayed too long in my chair on the water's edge and was nearly carried out by the waves. Even moving myself back another 10 feet wasn't enough. The ocean seemed more wild to me this year. Less forgiving. More protective. 

There are now sea turtles on the beach. They never came before. But two years without tourists brought back the original residents. There's also new signs about the dangers of Great White Sharks, now coming within just six feet of the shore at high tide. It used to be that the worst thing one had to worry about was a stray Blue Fin trying to escape the too-eager nets of greedy fishermen. Now, you can be within a few meters of the shore and still be in mortal danger. That's a lot like life on  land these days. It's dangerous to breathe. You can't even be outdoors with friends and not worry that you're too close. 

My eyes become a shade of sea-glass-green at the beach. After going into the water. After sitting in the Sun. After laughing at the waves that try to trip me as I wander into the shallows.

Just as I began to feel more like myself again, I was called back. Back to "real" life. Back to friends and neighbors in other parts of the world. Back to prior obligations. And away from the things I love.

No more peace. No more ocean. Just a lot of hard decisions. Pragmatic, measured movements. Strategic implementation of short-term plans to meet long-term goals. 

Water is still wet. But everything else has changed. 

​#TheBeach