The Miracle of You

One of the most beautiful things about nature is the way it settles into itself. No matter the condition, it simply holds on and emanates. It is absolutely phenomenal. Mountains, trees, stars, planets, whirlpools—the dance of the cosmos.

And all of it has completely surrendered to what is. 

It may be the case that the more we surrender to what is, the more reflective we are of nature. Of our own nature.

And the more we’ll emanate.

The body functions without interjection—blood in the veins rushing oxygen to and from every inch of our being. The one keeping us alive. Persisting. Letting us know when something’s wrong. 

The heart beats on.

This body, a biological organism just like any other. And the way it operates is fascinating. 

The miracle that is the functioning life of a dog, a dove, a blue whale—such is the miracle of you. 

Such is the miracle of everything.

Dear Departed

My dog departed recently. About two and half weeks ago. She was 14 years, 3 months young—to the day.

The following evening, I was tutoring a student—a third grader. Sometimes I bring over “Finish the Picture” prompts for them to fashion a partially drawn image into whatever they’d like. 

This student drew my dog, Lady, as an angel.

She still doesn’t know she passed.

After students finish the picture, they write a story about it. (Minor detail: this particular prompt contained a spider in one of its spaces.) Busied with writing, she encouraged me to write a story of my own.

So I played along, penning about Lady going to Heaven and meeting my childhood dogs: Pepe, Patches, and Sweetie. They’d prepared a gift for her—a spider in which they could all occupy any time they’d like to come and visit me. 

A spider—two legs for each of them!

I tucked the story in my briefcase and carried on.

Grief has been heavy. Earlier today, I went up to the skydeck—it’s beautiful here in the mountains. Soaking up the sun while journaling has been necessary therapy.

I got to thinking about Heaven while I sat up there. The bedtime story Heaven. The one I don’t really believe exists in the traditional sense.

But I thought about who might be there to greet me. Some are still alive—I was just imagining them because they’d be in my heaven. 

And I thought about Lady. And Pepe, and Patches, and Sweetie. And just then, a furry little spider crawled out from the deck beneath me, and I smiled as it scurried slowly across the panels of wood. 

Scurry. Stop. Scurry. Stop. Scurry.

And finally, slowly dip below the deck.

Slowly, steady, my heart resets.