Stories from the Road 2002
an ongoing travelogue=======================================================================
Note: This is a letter that I wrote to a friend after she told me her precious dog/companion had passed away.
--------------------bonnie, i know you must feel crushed at the girl's passing. she was such paper weight of love, a little sack of potato kisses -- she was always there for the person who needed her. alas, she needs to practice no more. she will be released from samsara for her life was so full of giving, of loyalty, of healing. we can only be happy that she was so succesfull at what she set out to accomplish!
i feel glad that she died in her own natural way. it was not an accidental death, it was how it should have been -- the way it is for all of us made of flesh and bone. of course, we would have liked to have been there for her last breaths, her last gazes but she was in good hands. surrogate hands. and i am sure that during those last moments, an immense love and appreciation was communicated between her and your good mother.
maggie definetely left her mark on the world (and several thousand animate and inanimate objects -- she wasn't picky.) the interactions she had with people will continue to linger, to nurture the good in the world. it will be these small, very subtle changes in the ways others interact with themselves and other beings that will be the girl's legacy. i think we can only aspire in our own lives to emmulate her intentions!
i don't think i can ever forget the fierocity in which she would kiss my face, while standing on my chest when i was on my back. nor her deft desire to meld into what the tennis ball represented when thrown from someone she loved. i think about the ways she would gladly hog the bed in the most unconvenient positions and then groan if one attempted to scoot her aside. her slinking weight and bony little rib cage in my hands as i held her infront of the mirror to have a look at herself, at how damn cute she was.
i drift back to the days of running along side of her by the ocean, around the park, in the forest, around the fields and schools of Eugene. (however, the more i think about it, the more i remember pulling her along, trying to motivate her with a, "come on girl! we're almost there! what a good girl -- let's go!" sometimes i would even have to give her a little artifical inspiration with a, "what's that?! did you see that?!" she was a good girl. only a little rain would give her a temporary disinterest in "go for a run?" but as we found out, once she got going, ahh what's a little mud on the belly, a little water on the brow?!
and she knew how to kick it too. all she needed was a little sun coming through a window or a nice smoldering fire in the stove. not a muscle contracted, totally relaxed. and the way she would pick her spots to lay down the bones, even if it meant a permanent reshaping of the sofa pillows. but she would have just said, "hey, furniture is meant to be used (really used). it's the canine aesthetic. sofa pillows should be made with curves like these!"
sometimes we were lucky enough to witness her other world -- the world of dreams. it was while she was in this state of iamahappygirlrightnowasana that she could finally explore the squirrel forests of south-eastern Slovakia (without someone holding her leash), where she could take a belly-flop into a vat of rice chex cereal at the factory on a workers' holliday (look! she's swimming back stroke!). It was in this world that she could could take tours of the Wilson and Dunlop tennis ball factories, where she could work as a ball-girl on the grassy courts of Wimbledon! Who knows where she was or what she was doing in those precious moments? We can only guess that she was on a flying carpet over an impermanent world and that she was glimpsing experiences of what her next life might challenge her with. Surely though, whatever it is, it will be a heck of a lot easier than dealing with the emotional ups and downs of human experiences.
Maggie T.B. (Tennis Ball) Simoa, July 2, 2002. May she rest in the peaceful bliss of a warm shaft of summer sunlight coming through the window, her little chin uplifted by the corner of a pillow.
If her biography is ever to be undertaken, may i suggest the working title: "She Was a Good Girl"
We will all miss her and the joy she brought into all of our lives. Maggie was something special, a touch of heaven, a kiss from above.
"We won't ever forget you maggie!"
love to you in these times. "these can be tears of joy!"
- raku