Rainy Tuesday

Two weeks ago I was in New York City celebrating my birthday.  It was sunny and warm, so much so, that I kept changing into my t-shirt and shorts & feeling like summer had arrived.  Now, it's rainy and cold, I have a sore throat and just learned of 3 deaths---2 horses and Bill Remley, the founder of Walnut Hill. 

My mood has changed.  Two weeks ago it was light and lively.  Today, dark and dreary.  And so it goes.  Buddhists say life is like passing clouds:  they come and go.  Good times and bad.  We cling to the good and push away the bad.  But we must receive all.  The highs and lows.  The smiles and tears.  The light and dark.  Life and death.

Yet, as human beings, we yearn for safety and security, harmony and balance.  With the fast-paced life everyone seems intent on leading and the horrific headlines that imprint practically every newspaper still fortunate enough to be in print, it's no wonder we feel shaky. And often depressed.

Our souls need to feel firmly rooted, our psyches need love. We are all fragile beings in search of family, friends & peace.  Yet how many of us have a daily dose of all these necessities? To have and to hold, each and every day?  To feel love and loved by?  To hang with and feel our authentic selves?  To just BE.

As I write this, I am surrounded by furry felines.  Relaxed and responsive.  Ready to move when I do.  Ready to love and be loved.  Ready to engage and respond.  Ready.  Willing.  And able.  They are my lifeline and my true north.  They are with me when the sun rises and by my side as the moon glows.  Forever loyal, always true.  My anchors, my loves, my shining stars, my gurus.

What would people do without their pets?  I, for one, would be much less happy and healthy.
Much more despondent.  Much less hopeful or joyful or confident.  My life would be much more frazzled and fuzzy.  Insecure and worrisome.  My kits and Sweetie Sue provide so much life and love that it's unimaginable to see myself living without them.  

So when it rains, and I'm in bed with a sore throat and grief over 3 recent losses, I look around and see passing clouds in the shapes of cats and dogs--floating over my house, past my windows and know that everything is impermanent and fleeting.  But for this moment, at this time, in this space, I reach out and stroke my kitties and feel safe. 

We are all passengers on floating clouds. . .

What a Difference a Week (and Two Years) Makes

Loneliness is the absence of the other;

Aloneness is the presence of one's self.

--Osho

Recently, I saw this quote and resonated with it because it gives dignity back to the one who is alone--whether by choice or circumstances.  The latter in my case.

Last week I returned from my wonderful week in New York, then came down with a sore throat, thereby, dictating that I drink lots of hot tea with honey and lay low.  Yet, I attended a horse-drawn carriage event, over the weekend, where I learned two most distressing bits of information.

Two years ago, in August and then in October, I went to two different horse events and enjoyed myself completely.  The first was in Pittsford, NY outside of Rochester, the largest carriage show in the country:  Walnut Hill. 

There I met the founder, Bill Remley, and enjoyed three days of fancy carriages of all types, sizes and styles parading around Mr. Remley's home-arena to live organ music!  So winsome, so charming!  It was one of the most memorable events I've ever attended.  Before going, I'd called Bill to ask where I might stay.  He recommended the Canal Lamp Inn, a delightful bed and breakfast place overlooking the Eerie Canal where I enjoyed a super comfy room.

Yesterday I found out that Bill Remley suddenly died two weeks ago.  At age 70.  Walnut Hill will never be the same.

Then, in October, 2008 I went to Vermont to see the beautiful fall foliage and visited Rick Fallon, in Windsor.  He has one of the country's largest carriage barns with a wide array of 2 and 4-wheel carts and carriages.  From commercial milk wagons to pony carts to fancy ladies phaetons, Rick has many historic and perfectly restored antique & modern-day horse drawn vehicles, and I was aglow with delight and wonder as I wandered through his barns.

After which I asked if he would take me for a carriage ride o'er hill and dale in the gently sloping hills of Vermont.  He agreed & took me for one of the most memorable carriage rides I've ever experienced.  He used two strong, steady steeds.  Gorgeous animals, so sweet, so secure, so willing. They pulled Rick's marathon carriage so beautifully, so smoothly.  Down the road, up & down hills, through the woods. Surefooted every step of the way, I entrusted my life to their hoofs, and they never let me down, for it was totally magical!

Two days ago, I learned that those beautiful horses had a freak accident last August when one's bridle slipped off as they were being unhitched, causing them to panic, run out the barn, down a hill, turn to the right and fall into a pond--with the large carriage still hitched to their backs.  Struggle as they might, they ended up being pulled down under by the weight of the carriage and both drowned!

Upon hearing this, I went into shock and grief, as I had been transported (literally and figuratively) by these two amazing creatures.  I'd fed them carrots and apples after the ride, petted and kissed them in deep appreciation and thanks for carrying us safely o'er hills and forests.  Now, this is my tribute to them, the photos we took that day.  To commemorate the wonder and joy of these two magnificent gentle giants.  And my love for them both.

I am devestated.  I feel alone knowing these two are gone.  Plus, Bill Remley.  Loneliness is the absence of the other.  And, in my aloneness, I feel the presence of my own grief and loss; feel the presence of my Self.   My own incredibly sad, sad Self.

YOU SHALL BE FOREVER REMEMBERED IN MY HEART. . .