Richard and Molly with Isis on a hike.
Some years back, I wrote an newspaper column titled “Learning Forgiveness” about our Great Dane, Isis.
Isis was rescued from a puppy mill by Animal Control officers one January day ten years ago. She was emaciated, weighing less than 70 pounds and had borne at least one litter of dead puppies. Her body was dotted with sores; the skin on one side hung in rotting tatters.
No one who saw her then expected Isis to survive. She did–and then some. Six months later when we adopted her, she had gained 20 pounds and her burned side had healed.
She put on another 40 pounds in her first three months with us, and her snazzy black and white coat regained its glossy shine. When Isis pranced along with her huge black ears up and her long, white-tipped tail gently waving, as I wrote, she looked every inch the Goddess she was named for–on one side.
Isis’ burned side
Her other side records a nightmare life, a story etched in misshapen ribs and slick burn scars that crosshatch her flank from muzzle to tail, giving a tragic-comic droop to one eye and leaving one shoulder shrunken.
Still, Isis was simply happy: to be in the world, to take walks and eat three meals a day, to snooze on her cozy bed. Her friendly good nature was so obvious that her beauty, not the scars she would carry for life, was the first thing people noticed when they met her (along with her giant size). In that, I saw a lesson:
Isis in our kitchen garden. (She loved to browse the yellow pear tomatoes, nibbling them right off the vine. Funny dog!)
The two sides of Isis’ body stand as a permanent record of the duality of human nature: we are equally capable of unusual cruelty and extraordinary kindness, of great hatred and lasting love.
Isis’ gracious behavior toward all she meets makes it clear which path she has chosen. No matter the circumstances, her example says, our response is what shapes who we are.
Isis taught me true forgiveness. She might be (and often was) stubborn, she might be playful, but she was never aggressive. She loved everyone, drawing on a body of loving-kindness that was apparently as immense as her physical body.
In this year of learning to live as Woman Alone, I have thought of Isis often. Partly because I am lonely, having lost Richard, the love of my life, last November, and have thought seriously about adopting another Great Dane. (They’re easier to train than people.)
Partly because my most difficult and most urgent lesson this year has been forgiveness.
Not forgiving someone else–though this year’s succession of tragedies has asked that of us all. Forgiving me. For failing over and over again (I am nothing if not consistent) to find a sustainable, healthy pace for my life. Whether it’s writing or road trips, gardening or carpentry, managing the household accounts, getting my dad moved to Washington or throwing a luminaria party, I cannot seem to learn that I cannot just push through and do everything–today.
Forgiving myself for being surprised when I find myself on the couch alternately flushed and aching all over, and shivering and aching all over.
As if I didn’t know better. I have lived with a chronic illness my entire life. I know from extensive and bitter experience that there are unyielding limits to my energy; I know that the consequences of exceeding those limits begin with the nasty flulike symptoms and get much worse if I don’t pay heed.
And still I don’t.
Which is why while I have been on the couch this last evening of 2012, flushed and aching deep in my bones, I have been struggling to not be angry at myself. To forgive myself for pushing too hard. Again.
Isis with a doggy grin and a much younger Richard and me by the Arkansas River.
When Isis’ face floats into my mind smiling her immense doggy grin, it occurs to me that I missed part of the lesson: For, the first part of forgiveness, means “to renounce.” Renounce involves letting go: of the anger, of the tension, of the expectations, of whatever keeps us stuck in that unending do-loop, unable to change. Just letting go.
Which for me, may mean summoning up a grin, and learning to laugh at myself when I forget that I can’t actually do everything. Today. By myself.
That’s the lesson I’ll practice in 2013: Letting go. Lightening my load. Learning when to laugh at myself.
May your New Year be full of laughter and the light of true forgiveness. We can all use both.
Dogs are such great teachers, aren’t they, Susan? Like you, I know the restrictions of activity that chronic illness can impose but, unlike you, I don’t do well at forgiveness of myself for ignoring them. I either rail at them and cuss myself for having to notice them even as I push myself past them, knowing the punishment to follow, or I rail at myself for giving into them and not doing what I think I should at least attempt. IOW, there is no forgiveness no matter what I do. But my old dog, my running buddy, a Dobie/Shepherd cross, eventually developed heart issues and he just slowed down. He didn’t whine and cry and act like he was doing anything other than what he was supposed to and able to do. I miss him so much and wish I could emulate him better. Here’s hoping you feel better as the old year transitions to the new year and that your transition to the new year goes well, too. Happy New Year!
Sam, Dogs are indeed great teachers. It’s tough to learn forgiveness at all; toughest perhaps to learn how to forgive ourselves for what we see as your most basic failings. I think the key is in not pushing at all. When I feel myself tense up to push “through” and finish what I think I “need’ to do, I am learning to stop and listen to my body. And then heed what it hast o say. That’s not easy, but I think it has promise.! Forgiveness really does mean renouncing whatever is keeping us stuck in the same unproductive behaviors. Maybe there’s something about acceptance your wonderful old running-buddy dog can still teach you, since he lives on so strongly in your memory. May this be your year of learning how to be happily and healthfully you, and of writing well and often!
Happy New Year!
Chery, The same to you and yours! May the blessings and joy flow in your life as the yarn runs through your fingers in lovely patterns….
To treat oneself with the same charity and clarity you offer unto others without any stopping to think about doing so along the way does seem a persistent flaw in nearly all of us. Katagiri-roshi said, “We are to have kind consideration for all sentient beings, every moment, forever,” which does include us.
Re: pushing past our physical limits, we know better, but we want more. “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” (Blaise Pascal) And sometimes, we think there’s no choice other than push through and hope to escape unscathed; only to crash into the wall, without the benefit of an airbag.
We’re Westerners. Pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps is what we expect of ourselves.
Eduardo, Katagiri-Roshi’s words are very appropriate, especially if we delete “sentient” and apply it to all beings. Why draw a line? Lines simply create opportunities for prejudice and bias. Let’s practice kindness in a universal way, spreading those ripples out to all…. I think when we see no choices, it’s because of drawing those kinds of boundaries. If we throw open the window of possibility to include all choices, the world looks very different, and so do our lives. And yes, that rugged individualism, which some astute historian pointed out was a complete myth, since cooperation is what the West was built on. It’s a durable myth though, and it always trips us up!
Susan, indeed: Kind consideration for all beings…
Sentient? Not sentient? Never mind; simply be kind.
“Pulling myself up by my bootstraps trips me up.” Words to remember.
Eduardo, The world really does run on cooperative relationships, not rugged individualism. Take the “accident” that our atmosphere includes precisely the right percentage of oxygen (an unstable gas whose levels must be continuously maintained to persist) for we oxygen-breathers to thrive. More and the world would be in flames all the time, less and we’d die out. That oxygen is the gift of plants and other photosynthesizing lives, who respire it as a “waste” gas. In a lovely bit of synchronicity, those green beings inspire the carbon dioxide that we are our industrial processes respire. Accident or no, our “breathing buddies” as the poet Clifford Burke calls them are one of our most critical relationships in life.
This is a beautifully and gracefully written piece, Susan. My husband, who is only 43, has a chronic illness. He has been sick for two years now. At first we thought it was lupus because he had ALL the outward symptoms of lupus, but discovered last year, by seeing an autoimmune expert in Phoenix, that he actually has parasites in his blood which give him the symptoms of an autoimmune illness. So now he is being treated for parasites. The kind he has can’t be completely gotten rid of, but can be controlled. This means he will live with this condition for the rest of his life, managing the painful symptoms.
Before he became ill, he would always push way beyond what he should to get things done. He was young and thought he would always be healthy, so he would work all night on his computer, forget to eat, forget to take his vitamins, forget to exercise…… and somehow he managed to stay healthy, at least it appeared that way. Now, he has days of having to lay on the couch because his joints hurt too much to move. It’s been a big lesson for him to find balance in his life. And, for that I am thankful. I have wanted him to find more balance for years. It was hard to watch him ignore himself year after year. Now he can’t any more. As you know too well, when he does too much, he pays for it eventually. His recoveries are not quick.
This is a beautiful piece for him to read because I know he must feel the same way you do. He is a do-er. I have always been content to approach life more gently and found my natural rhythm many years ago, but he is just beginning to. Thank you for your insights on forgiveness. I do think allowing is the big lesson here. Allowing life to flow through us instead of us flowing through life. When I made that distinction, I stopped being so hard on myself and stopped expecting so much from me.
Thank you for your wisdom. And, thank you for sharing Isis’ beauty with us.
Kenna, My heart goes out to you and your husband. I know just how hard it is to learn to be a be-ier when doing is what you have always valued yourself for. I am glad to learn though that he has blood parasites and they can be controlled. That gives hope that the symptoms that are no so disabling could moderate as he learns how to be in his body as it is now, not as he would like it to be. I forget if you know my memoir, Walking Nature Home, but it’s about just what he’s struggling with–how to learn to trust love and listen to your body’s voice in order to live well from within. I say that my illness has been my greatest teacher and also my longest-running research. It’s part of who I am, and embracing it has been my greatest challenge. Here’s a link to the book if you don’t know it. http://www.utexas.edu/utpress/books/twewal.html
A good lesson for us all Susan. I beat myself up when I don’t do everything I expect of me, but often when I look back I question how I accomplished all I didn. Hope you get the rest you need, and that life continues to be full of hope and wonder for you. Pat
Pat, Isn’t that true: “I beat myself up when I don’t do everything I expect of me, but often when I look back I question how I accomplished all I did.” We all have so much to learn about being us in this world! I’m glad you are still learning, and that you listened to your needs and found a place to light in Tucson. Enjoy exploring the desert and its magic….
Thank you, Susan. My friend, Dawn Wink, shared your website with me and I am so grateful. I find myself in this place daily, struggling with what I didn’t do instead of all that I have to be proud or grateful for. It can be a very lonely place. Sometimes I smile to myself when I think of that saying, “I wish I could be the person my dog thinks I am.” In 2013, I think I’ll have to take it more seriously. Wishing you joy and happiness.
Jennifer, I am glad that Dawn shared the link to this post, and that it “spoke to you.” I believe there are no coincidences, that we find what we need when we can use it. Perhaps you can take 2013 as the year of learning to forgive yourself, and to appreciate the gifts you bring to this world. Because whatever you bring is just right. Blessings to you!
Two words Susan…Resonating deeply. Thank you, gail
Three words back, Gail: I am honored! Blessings….
i wonder why some of our lessons have to be learned over and over? i am the same way. and as i live with an elder dog, i am learning how to do this, how to be in this moment with her, and a new sort of compassion. may you feel a bit better today. have a nice cup of tea and do something a tiny bit selfish, even if it’s to NOT do something.
Velma, I think because we change, our need for learning changes, and we learn them at new levels. Aren’t dogs amazing about knowing how to be in the moment, and love what they have? Such a gift to have that teaching and to be able to use it. Good for you! Today I had imagined writing, my treat for myself, but I have dear friends stopping by in a few minutes on their way home from their mountain cabin, so I will enjoy their company and then write. And put up some trim….
Thank you, Susan, for the link to your book. I will be getting it.
Kenna, Walking Nature Home is also out as an eBook (http://www.amazon.com/Walking-Nature-Home-Journey-ebook/dp/B003AVLRBM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0), and as an audiobook (read by me, which was an amazing experience!) if either of those formats would be better. http://www.audible.com/pd/ref=sr_1_1?asin=B005HPPM60&qid=1318181238&sr=1-1
A lesson I needed to hear this first day of 2013.
Diana, I think it’s a lesson we all can use…. Happiest of New Years to you!
Susan: What a powerful and insightful article on Forgiveness. The hardest persons to forgive is ourselves and to be at peace with ourselves. Aaaahhh internal peace what a blessing, you can get there by choosing beauty, and you are doing just that, you have touched and inspirited many people with your writings, and by being you. More than you will ever know. All your past experiences and challenges that you have lived through have made you the special, creative, warm and free uplifting spirit that you are today. You are a miracle that has entered mine and Dawn’s hearts and life, thank you for that. Life is Good be in it!!!! Like I said this is going to be a fantastic new year, just tuck your head,arms and legs and enjoy the great ride.
Noe, Isn’t it odd that it’s ourselves who we struggle most with? You’d think that it would be easier to forgive ourselves than others, but it’s not so. We do find inner peace by choosing beauty and by listening to ourselves and honoring what we hear. None of which, of course, is easy! What a treat it is to have found you and Dawn. I’m fortunate in my friends and this warm community in the digital-verse. Blessings to you both!
Susan,
2013 is going to be another wonderful year because you and your insight!! I loved your post and my dogs in my life have been my ambassadors. They have lead me to the beautiful vistas that i love to paint and photograph..
Today, I went walking on the bogs with a friend and we spoke of many subjects including religion and God. I told her i am not sure of a God but i do know that Dog is God spelt backwards. My dogs have brought me , with their perceptions and sensitivity…(they jump and bounce when I’m happy/cry along with me when i cry) to a higher power…it’s as simple as that.
Gail Marie, I’m sure you know the bumper sticker that reads, “Dog is my co-pilot”…. I love that one, and I completely agree about how wonderful dogs are at teaching us to be in the moment, whatever the moment brings. I’m glad you have canine companion/teachers as your co-pilots in life. Blessings and Happiest of New Years to you and your four-footed pack….
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Your words are full of insight and wisdom. I am grateful for the reminders about letting go and lightening the load. You model so many things by your accomplishments, and those do include forgiveness and laughter!
Mary Ann, Thank you. Perhaps we can make 2013 the year of forgiveness and appreciating ourselves as we are, not as we imagine we “should” be. (Should is such a dangerous word–it comes from a judgmental place, I think.) Happiest of New Years to you and your family!
I always learn so much from you my wonderful friend and teacher…
” For, the first part of forgiveness, means “to renounce.” Renounce involves letting go: of the anger, of the tension, of the expectations, of whatever keeps us stuck in that unending do-loop, unable to change. Just letting go.”
poignant indeed…thank you
blessings and healing energy to you dear Susan
Chery
Thank you, Doc Chery! I am blessed to have the gift of you in my life. I’m keeping you and Miss Maria in my heart, even as I whirl like a dervish getting ready to go to Miami to teach for YoungArts for a crazy and intense week. I’m headed off Saturday, home the 15th. Whew!
Pets are the ultimate teachers…they love unconditionally and forgive without hesitation.
Your story of Isis made my heart ache…my dogs have been an incredible part of my healing journey and they have each taught me a piece of forgiveness, too.
Thank you for this beautiful story.
Denise, Welcome, and thank you for your comment. You are right: pets are wonderful teachers. I have been w/d (without dog) since Isis died because about the time we were ready to adopt another rescued Dane, my husband saw the bird hallucinations that were the only warning of the brain tumor that ended his life more than two years later. It’s been over a year since his death, and I am close to being ready to adopt a Dane, I think. But I’m also close to beginning to build a new, tiny house for myself, and I think I should probably do one thing at a time.
So I’ll wait a little longer….