Unlike others it was resting at half-mast, a symbol of respect to honor a life that has passed.   I don’t heed the news to know who it might be, though I anticipate it is a silent story.  For other flags aren’t lowered as if weeping; this one’s lowering seems to be unique to this community.   A recent social media post communicated November was a month to honor military personnel and their families.   Perhaps this one was paying that tribute; then again, it wasn’t yet November when this flag rested at its halfway point in the chilly breeze.

It’s timing to appear on my path “perfect” in that way every moment of life is not random if we choose to see.   It is whispering “notice” to compliment the dear individuals I’ve been fortunate to talk with this past week.   I know like a magnet we draw to us that which our eyes and ears are listening to best know, our eyes and ears the conduits of what lies in our soul.  I suppose on one hand I should not be surprised that stories of hope – and the realities of its absence – continue to come to me.  My heart yearns to reduce the number of individuals who have lost their will to keep going.

In that way we learn best, I find two more oppositions I stand between.   I continue to have the sacred honor of listening to extraordinary stories.  Narrations of individuals who have let their seed of will grow no matter the droughts, floods, and fires that tried to stop the seed’s rising.   So many people who have utilized their pain and trauma to find purpose out of suffering.

Equally I learn of many who are guideposts for healing.  Organizations and communities of like-minded individuals striving to aid others on their broken-spirited journeys.   A collective wisdom of individual gifts for each unique need.  For each person walks their own journey for what resonates as healing modalities.

On the other end is the search and seek.   How do we aid those who aren’t heard or seen?  Do we hold faith that the ripples cast towards them will eventually reach?  Or is there a collective action that we all share in its responsibility?   To hear that silence that hinder many in their ability to speak.    I think of the childhood game of hide and seek, the fun of being the hider fooling everybody.   I believe we carry that game into our adulthood, only more seriously.   If one feels scared or anxious or not worthy, they retreat further and further into a shell of invisibility.  Instead of the child giggles one stifles in a secret hiding place, their adulthood wills no one to notice or discover where they’ve tried to stifle themselves away. Laughter and joy have been replaced by wearing a mask or disguise across one’s face.

Among the dear individuals as messengers this week, one person shared how they reached a point they knew what they could no longer be.   They could no longer be “a pillar of perfection” as they thought others perceived.   In letting go of what they thought was a brave front brought a liberating release.   The ones they had once feared would judge or not accept were the ones they inspired most with their now visible authenticity.

I can also still hear another dear individual say these words in the sharing of a story.  As he talked of two communications he had received about a person looking for another individual who had went missing “the first one was he feared because a rifle was gone, too…the second one was that services were pending, details forthcoming soon”.

Opposition; one life whose will grew through the hard dirt and clay.   Another whose will wilted, dried up, and could not be saved.   How do we reach those whose will is shrinking smaller in proportion to their voice also fading away?

This I think about as the flag hangs at half-mast in the sea of vehicles driving by.

I can’t help thinking it starts with all of us noticing this flag was not flying high.

Dear Guardian,

We first met in early March 2014. You inspired my first blog for the public to read. Though a moment in time, you have imprinted my heart for keeps. In that way that a moment can continue to pay forward meaning, a key puzzle piece to our life. Once again, I am reflecting on the gift you gave me when your path crossed with mine.

When you and I met dear Guardian, I wrote this of your story I had perceived.   You were the image of one of the words on the sign that lay by your feet.   You were a MIRACLE for the dear soul beside you on that busy New York City street. I wrote of how you laid on that blanket, protected, insulated, a thin layer of endurance against the bitter cold of the cement. I wrote of your feet wrapped in make-shift booties from a coat remnant.   I pondered if the booties were hiding scars from your miles of walking. My heart whispered truth in that contemplating.

I watched you as your head watched, and watched, and watched further, the people walking by; to your left, to your right, perhaps you were wondering who might pause to say Hi.   No body movement using only your eyes as your mechanism to speak; a true guard of the one you were vigilantly protecting. I wrote of your role as Guardian and not just physically. For your wisdom knew that those passing by were also judges and jury. You could hear the words not spoken for your heart holds the ability to hear what others feel but do not say. You must help yourself first or Why did you pick here to show yourself, their expressions conveyed.

You and your best friend were the teachers for us the students walking to your left and to your right. All of us being given the opportunity to see the miracle before our eyes.   We were given the opportunity to learn compassion and to witness the purest form of love. We were given the opportunity to see how friendships and family-ship give us hope and purpose and a reminder to at least one, we are always more than enough. We were given opportunity to hold the space not in pity; we were given the chance to give to the one you loved respect and dignity. We were handed the sacredness of the most precious commodities life does hold – to look past our own perceptions to see the beautiful light held within souls.

Dear Guardian, earlier this week I bear witness to another fur soul holding safe keep. Four days later, the image of a dear man and his dog still replays in front of me. This time I was unable to offer a small act of kindness to these two dear souls who caught my eye.   I could only bear sacred witness to a bond of deep love and guardianship as I drove by.   it was not fully obvious that they did not have a home to return to once they decided the grass beside the sidewalk was no longer comforting.  Yet, the cart beside them and the way the Guardian lay resting nudged my heart in need.

A man and his dog sat at the edge of a sidewalk taking a break from a journey that only they know as their story.   They weren’t striving to be noticed and they certainly weren’t requiring pity.   They may have been hiding pain or trauma and they may have been in hunger’s embrace.  Yet, they were together, each other’s reason to step forward through the day.   Like the day my path crossed with you dear Guardian and my heart overflowed with gratefulness that you were there to give your companion hope, love, and to keep him safe. That this man who sat beside his dog on the grass comforted me the same way.

I’ve been reflecting on seeing this man and his dog waiting for the message that should accompany their story. That reflection first led me back to you dear Guardian before I would experience another moment that brought clarity.   Just as I felt the weight that the drivers in front of me and behind me did not see the two dear souls sitting on that grass last week. In the same way that I felt the gravity of the people walking hurriedly past you and your best friend on that busy street. Today I experienced a fraction of what the four of you feel as your daily reality.   We have evolved to a society that has lost the ability to see each other – to truly see.  We have lost touch with looking for inherent goodness in humanity.

We are replacing kindness and respect with certainty that someone else is “wrong” or “bad” or “to blame”. We are no longer listening openly for the value in what someone has to say. We have forgotten we have made agreements with each other for what we could learn when we entered life.   Our focus is on the physical and cognitive within others and how that does or does not fit with our own perceptions we hold tight.   We have stopped seeing that each person has within them a soul that is of the purest love and light. We have started to see people as tin men, absent of hearts that beat strong and wise.

As we are inundated with reasons that test our ability to choose trust over fear and to keep hopeless at bay, we step wholly into the lesson yet amidst the teaching we lose our way.   We step fully into the human experience our souls desired to know; as we lean into it fully, we forget what we sought to learn for our growth.   Instead of stepping towards the opposite of the lesson, we take the lesson at face value as truth.   We often make a choice not to look at alternate options we could choose.

Dear Guardian, you were not on that street that day to break my heart in two. You were there for me to make your story matter in the steps I choose.   I write to you today to let you know that I am making your story matter in reminding others hope does in fact have a cold nose and that the same cold nose has other messages, too.   That we as humans can learn unconditional listening and compassion from teachers like you.   If we are open to hearing and seeing, you will lead us back to a missing link. You will lead us back to our soul’s rhythmic beats. You, and all dear souls like you can lead us to better see, that right in front of each of us is a most precious commodity called humanity.

The disclosure of each moment is of such great value because it is for us personally – Jean-Pierre de Caussade

Continue to mine the sculpture he wisely reminded us through each presented case. A classroom of students using the wisdom of our bodies to intuitively portray.   One individual presents a case study of something they are struggling with and we as their case coaches reach in into our intuitiveness. We aren’t there to fix or to offer advice. We are simply there to hold up a mirror based on what comes to our own hearts and minds.

Continue to mine the sculpture for it contains wisdom – it speaks.   Without words, a group of individuals move from an individual “stuckness” into a collective harmony.   As we share our journey of why we moved from point A to point B, we reveal the power of life when we presently “be”.   We have set down the need to verbally communicate our knowledge and expertise. We begin tuning into an alignment of our mind, body, and heart for what all three – together – would like to say. Without verbalization we begin speaking possibilities in how someone can unclear their stuck-ness to step towards a future state.

This, my third time experiencing what can happen when we are in synchronicity with our mind, body, and soul.   Human flourishing can abound when we trust what we innately know. It requires us to slow down, let go, and relinquish the pull of our mind’s thinking. It requires us to open our eyes, ears, and our hearts to relationship-building.   It requires us to view our body not as an object that keeps us moving or rebels against us when we are aren’t feeling up to par.   Instead we can see how our bodies are our eyes and ears to speak what is held in our minds and our hearts.

So much easier to say – or to write, certainly.   Ah, but that is the gift and the joy of living. It is in our dance with life, in our paddling with the river as it goes, that we learn how to trust and be in harmony with the current’s flow. We can let go in trust and we can step back to better see.   We can take a higher view to better see current reality.

As I was in a classroom each day, in parallel an orchestration was taking place. Unbeknownst to me I would soon play a part in an essence of humanity. Compassion and kindness can soothe fear and worry; a gentle outstretched hand can hold out peace and dignity.

On Tuesday when buying a birthday card, I was drawn to the blank inside card with a vibrant colored, succulent plant the card’s face. A card to have in my stash for someone, “someday”.   Fast forward to Friday, a layover in the airport, and no seating at the gate.   Fast forward to someone I recognized, though I didn’t know his name. Since I am blessed to write life stories of veterans who are finding healing and hope with the aid of fur souls, that I was privileged to be standing next to such a team I did know.

The opportunity to talk about my honor in writing veteran life stories led to the chance to pet this guardian wishing he didn’t have so many people to watch on behalf of his dad.   He was performing his job well as he longed for this large crowd to dissipate fast.   He couldn’t speak verbally to me, yet I could hear what he had to say.   I listened to my heart, let my body respond, and as I kneeled this guardian found a comfort sitting by my legs. Together his dad and I could block the strangers’ energies so that this dear guardian wasn’t in-tuning to many people in need. He had one person to support though his heart was open wide to know many others struggle, too.   Oh, this dear guardian with an unconditional loving and listening heart – what he was going through!

Ae we boarded this team proceeded to their assigned aisle seat. My inner whisper spoke help them get an economy plus where it is quieter seat. Now, for one more person who would complete this story.  Someone “simply” doing her job, so wonderfully. Needed by a few, I became the center of her focus so attentive to me.   Before fully knowing what I desired to do, she was completely listening. She gently asked others to wait their turn while she followed me to a quieter space. Her full support I had helping me with my wish in her most gracious and beautiful way. A natural at exceptional customer service, second nature to her my certainty. With her help we could then give to someone who had served his all for our country.

Discreetly we made our way back to this wonderful veteran and fur team.  With a motion of a hand, he heard follow me.   To a row of seats in which he and his guardian could sit without others nearby, this team made themselves at home for a peaceful flight. This dear stewardess lives well an additional truth of the essence of humanity; the jobs we “do” are merely catalysts for us in being angels for others when they are in need.

Hello, my card stashed away for “someday”. I am so excited I get to utilize you in this way. I wrote a note to this dear stewardess who happily serves all of us to our next stop safely, another guardian to guide our way in our traveling. She loves succulents she exclaimed as we struck up a conversation during flight. Ah, yes, another orchestrated thread the moment I was urged to buy that card for when my path would intersect with a beautiful light.  We talked of her daughter – another beautiful soul with a passion for writing. We talked of our shared value in hearing the voices who struggle to speak. We talked of our love of fur souls, and of our gratitude. Both of us crossed paths at the exact moment we were meant to.

The disclosure of each moment is of such great value, most definitely, indeed! My life growing in such immense value through the people I meet.   I often pay forward to people words what were wisely shared with me. We have a Divine appointment with every person we meet; we honor that Divine appointment when we fully show up as ourselves, authentically.   I am grateful for all these Divine appointments I couldn’t foresee.   My life made richer through the gifts of extraordinary souls – human and fur – I am privileged to meet.

If pictures can speak a thousand words, what can voices show without pictures for us to see?   Can we “see” such things as joy or sorrow when someone speaks?   If we don’t hear laughter or we don’t hear crying, would we still understand if happiness or sadness was what someone was feeling?   Do we catch hesitations, pauses, and the rise and fall of tones in someone’s voice when they communicate? How often are we listening to another’s voice for its pause only so that we can voice what we wish to say?

Have you ever closed your eyes when listening to someone speak? How often do you talk with a stranger on the phone in which what they look like is known only through your own imagining?   Some of my responsibilities in the past involved talking on the phone to the same customer service representatives week after week. When I was fortunate to meet one of them in person, they never looked like my mind’s belief.   I anticipate they felt the same when they saw me.

I’ve had an increased awareness recently to the sacred honor of listening to voices speak. We are taught that communication includes non-verbal cues such as body movements when someone is talking. We are also taught the importance of eye contact to convey we are listening.   In last week’s blog I wrote about making sure we look into someone’s eyes should their smile be a disguise.   But what might we hear when the only “view” we have is the voice on the other end of a phone line?

We may not have eyes to gauge if the smile is a disguise matching the masked reply, I’m fine to the question, how are you? When we can only hear a voice and not see someone, what is our cue? If we can’t see body language or look into someone’s eyes for the “total” story, what are some things we can do on this end of the line in our listening?

Can you answer this easier if you know the person you are talking with not face-to-face? Do you think that having a relationship with someone makes it easier to be in-tune to how they say what they say? If it is a stranger, do we then rely on the meaning of the words they speak? Ah, but then how do we make sure it is their meaning of the words and not our meanings in how we are listening?

On my runs I can hear a squirrel scampering through dried leaves or a woodpecker drumming in a nearby tree. I might hear a mourning dove or a sandhill crane. Lately, I can hear all the birds joyously singing with the warmer weather change. Today I could hear the red-winged black birds and the stream as its water was flowing. All sounds I can hear without a sight to see.   Sure, you may be right, like our dialogue we just exchanged about the difference between those we know and those we just meet. Because I have formed a relationship with these dear sounds of nature, I can better hear when they speak.

Yet, I am not fluent in the differences – at least, yet – in the songs birds sing. I don’t always know when they might be alerting their friends, for example, to Ginger and me.   I am not always certain when it may be one calling for its mate for life, or when it is one simply singing a song in celebration of warm sunlight. The best I can do is to listen from my heart, with my heart, openly. For it always tells me when it is time to pause, listen more closely, and perhaps look up into the trees. I may then see along with the sounds, or I may only have my imagining.   Ah, but then again, imagining fills our minds with the most beautiful imagery.

And shouldn’t that be how we best listen to that which we can’t see?

I can still see his ten, maybe eleven-pound frame moving across the cement under the dim lights.   Determination one of his virtues even then when we met that night.   A barn his home, this first-born of his family.  His father a very large figure, intently watchful of the people his children would meet.   His mother daintier in her smaller frame.  Yet, she too keeping an eye on each of her children moving out of her range.

His father originally from Germany; a bloodline of royalty.   We opted not to change this little one’s name.  We didn’t always call him Lord Von Barren, nor Gray.   We abbreviated his full name of Lord Von Barren Hans of Gray to simply be Hans or sometimes Hansey.   Occasionally he was “Bubba” and in his later years we might whisper “hey, ole boy” affectionately.

Grey, white, brown spots, and patches of missing fur, too.  His mother’s fight with a critter while she was pregnant passed ring worm on to her brood.   On his one beautiful brown ear was a streak of fur colored in gray and white.   That made this little fella our priceless find.   He was of little value, at least accordingly to the “elite”.   His cost for us to take home was near one fourth of others who have “pedigree”.   Our German Shorthair was “not worth anything” for that ear adorned with a gray and white streak.

Yes, our dear Hans so “worth less”, he never went through the puppy teething.  Translation, no shoes nor furniture met with his chewing.  The only time he ever had anything of ours that he shouldn’t “have”, was a glove he took to his bed to hold on to because he was mad.  Hans went near everywhere that we would go.  In this particular instance, he had stayed home.  The glove not shredded, nor sign of any teeth marks leaving their permanent engraving.    He merely wanted us to know that he didn’t go with us was disappointing.

And then there is the game of throw and retrieve.   Tennis balls, especially, were Hansey’s favorite thing.   His love for tennis balls so great, they would also get to take a drink.  If he was thirsty, the tennis ball went into his water bowl during his thirst quench to ensure the ball’s safe keep.

It was with this love of a tennis ball that one could see the flaws that traditional pedigree judges have.  We would tell Hans stay as we tossed a tennis ball into the woods out of sight from where he sat.  We would then let a minute or two or more pass.   Patiently Hans would sit staring in the direction the ball was tossed.  We would then communicate okay, now go get your ball.   Though we didn’t keep tally, I’m confident the score was zero to nine-hundred-ninety-nine thousand times.  Zero representing the number of times that ball was not found.   No matter the time, the distance, or the range out of sight, our “worth less” boy always returned the ball safe and sound.

I still share the story Hans of how you knew what my heart needed you to do.  You curled up next to me when you knew my heart had just broken in two.  Normally our now eighty pound “baby” had only one requirement when it was bed time.  He had to sleep between his human dad and I.  Oh, how we would try to get him to change his mind periodically.   Eighty pounds “bulldozing” with his nose can be a powerful thing.   Yet, on the night I received the call that my Grandpa had taken his last breath, Hans made his one and only exception to sleep on my side of the bed.   Acting as my pillow and my tear catcher through the entire night, Hans kept reassuring me it would all be alright.

A reader of our hearts, equally his unconditional love in return.   He kept his promise he gave me for how long he would stay on Earth.   After a scare that a lump on his neck would mean he would not earn the name “ole boy” in later years, once again he cuddled next to me catching my tears.  While we awaited a call from the veterinarian to hear the words “benign”, Hansey and I talked about his immense value by our sides.

Who else would eagerly burrow into the sleeping bag so excited for slumber party nights?  And what about how many painter turtles we would count as we went for a canoe ride?   I know you can’t stay with us physically until we have also grown old.  But, please Hansey, be at least fifteen before you decide it is time to go.    I anticipate Hans knew before that vet call that he could honor what my heart pleaded to be.   Physically by our side several more years, Hansey left just a few months shy of fifteen.

Our four-legged child in fur, our companion, the one to first make us a family.    Happy twenty-fourth birthday, our dear Hansey.   So many feathered souls graced by your regal point while in a field, on the lake, and the yard too.     Our gentle giant, a love of kiddy swimming pools you also knew.    A friend to cats, a mentor for our baby duck named Pip Squeak    That little mallard would follow you around the yard as if you were momma in the lead.    A chipmunk squeak would raise both beautiful ears instantly.   Your eighty-pound stature also never too heavy for lap sitting. 

Your brown ear with that beautiful white and grey streak was our gold mine.   Thank you for the gift of you in our lives.  We the receivers of your total heart unconditionally – you dear Hans, so very – very, immensely -loved and worthy.

First the expansive larger than life ocean captivated me, in that lure that pulls one in to a mesmerizing beach.   Then the tribe around this single winged soul beckoned with their race from and towards the waves.   They this feathered friend’s messenger willing me to pause, to watch, to stay.    This dancer in the water strong, independent, wise, and a survivor of a story I will not know.   His wings outstretch as if an Eagle, yet a name he will never be able to hold.   A dip and dive, a shake for water to roll down his back.   A look around, repeat once or twice, then oh, his wings stretch to expand.   In that sunshine and in that vast space, he stands certain of one thing.   He is majestic, he is courageous, he is extraordinary.

Fast forward to the second running race, a few hundred runners each at their own pace.  Running in pairs, fours, individually.  Running in honor of, memory of, in celebration of bravery.    Some wore sashes to display their personal journey.   The pink ribbon proudly displaying survivor for all to see.    Their stories not verbally shared, but certainly visible to “read”.    They have known the depths of fear and they have known immense courage.

A friend wisely said the following words, both of us understanding the definition of extraordinary bravery.   For some being able to get up again to another day is courage, the truth of her words still whispering.   How many of these individuals in this half marathon weren’t sure they would see this day of this race?

How many people do we pass on a sidewalk who weren’t sure they would see the current day?

Somewhere between mile eight and nine she paused momentarily.   She had just videoed her self “doing this” and now she needed more water to drink.   The only words I felt I could say was it is an honor to be in this race with you today.    After her thank you, she handed me a paragraph from a page.   Her first half marathon with feet that were going numb from side effects of her chemotherapy.  With a beautiful smile, an equally radiant will, and by herself she was determined to reach mile thirteen.

Together we walked while she continued to make this day about the gifts I would receive.   Mother Nature’s daughter like me, she bent to move each wooly caterpillar out of the path of human feet.  We talked of how much Nature speaks, of deer, owls, blue jays, bats, and the pillar strength of trees.   We talked of peace that comes when one steps into a woods before the feet begin their urging.   And how running becomes the bricks that build peace into soul-centering.

We didn’t talk of the days that she wasn’t sure she would be walking with me.  We didn’t talk of the moments the only thread she had to hold onto was her bravery.   We briefly touched on part of who her tribe was, and how they didn’t relish running.   I thought of my winged dancer in the ocean two days before, strong, independent, and majestically stretching his wings.   His “like” tribe not beside him, yet, he was not alone.   He had what mattered most within him – his courageous and extraordinary soul.

I, who hold a special bond with owls walked beside a survivor who talked of her encounter with an owl on her running journey.   Once again, reverent silence the leader, I softly broke its sacredness to say you were given the power of its wisdom” to guide her way.  I can still hear her voice filled with that affirming tone of wisdom as she replied, that’s for sure that life and this journey teach a lot about being wise.

In the sunshine of this race day, and in the vast space of what we call life, she walks certain of one thing.  She is a brave and majestic eagle, wise, with her outstretched wings.   Soar high dear survivor that graced my path, soar in all your extraordinary beauty.   Truly my honor to visibly see your story.   A beautiful, brave, and inspirational story indeed!