To learn about myself.
To face the truth about myself.
To love.
To listen.
To grow.
I am working to:
Reject anger.
Reject fear.
Avoid judgement.
Every morning.
To light the creative spark, and tell my story.
To look for the light in the world.
To encourage.
To turn away from those who see the world as a dark, dangerous and fearful place.
Every morning. Another chance.
Every morning the light calls me to stand in my own truth.
I think I knew from the first that I was drawn to writing about animals not just because I love them, but because of what they tell me about people, about me. I think of the gifts of Rose, Orson, Simon, Lenore, Frieda, Izzy and I see that each of them touched something deeply in me, connected with a part of me, brought me to a new understanding of myself, of life. I knew from the first what Rocky’s gift to me was – helping me understand the beauty and power of acceptance.
Acceptance – and denial – is all over the Rocky story. From the first photo of him on the blog, I began receiving urgent and dramatic messages about Rocky. Was he safe? What was he eating? Why didn’t he come to my farm? What could be done to help him, to save him? There was a tension, almost from the first about him in many people’s minds. It was as if he could only be seen as a drama, a crisis, a mercy project. This puzzled me from the first, as Rocky is well-cared for, and has been for more than three decades, and even though his barn collapsed last winter, he has another barn and is quite will fed and tended. Just this morning I saw a message posted on Facebook demanding to know if Rocky was getting special high-protein grain for older equines in the winter, and if not, why? This was none of the writer’s business, nor any of mine, I thought. No one in the family is asking my advice or anyone else’s on his feed, or seems to need any. I have permission to photograph him, not invade his and their world. I respect boundaries. Remember the dumpster?
What’s going on for me? What is Rocky’s gift to me? It is acceptance, I think. Rocky and I are in different places, yet not so far apart. I am heading into my mid-60’s and Rocky has profoundly touched the part of me that is trying to accept where I am in life. Everyone makes their own decisions about life and aging, and death, and mine, increasingly, is acceptance. I do not accept the corporate medical-technological idea that medicine and medications will stop me from aging, or that I can replace enough of myself to live forever in ways I am comfortable with if I’m willing to spend enough money. A person e-mailed me yesterday saying she was very worried about Rocky, as he looked old. Well, I thought, he is old. And getting older.
I see that acceptance and fear are related. What is denial but an expression of fear?
If I cannot accept who I am and where I am in life, then I will spin and scramble in fear to deny the truth of my life. To accept it. I understand that these messages will not stop, because so many of us have been conditioned to deny the reality of our lives, and even more so, the true nature of the lives of animals. We have conditioned ourselves – usually for money – to deny the very reality of life. We have bought into the corporate idea that we need not ever suffer and die. There is always a pill or procedure or plan – or rescue – we can buy or activate to get ourselves out of the beautiful and awful and relentless thing that is life. But Rocky cannot escape his life, and why should he? It has been a good and rewarding life. It will come to an end soon enough.
And I cannot escape it either.
That is the big story, the nature of life itself, the thing that draws me to Rocky. One day, I wondered, somewhat wickedly, will Maria will be getting messages demanding to know what I am being fed? And why I am not inside in the winter? God help me. She will toss me into the creek.
So there it is, I thought. That is Rocky’s gift for me. I see in him the acceptance I seek for myself. He knows every inch of his pasture, and even though he struggles with sight, he moves confidently from one place to another. He loves his apple, but has plenty of his own food. I believe that our gifts to others are almost always selfish. We give for ourselves. Do I go to see Rocky every day because I am a hero, an animal lover, a saintly man? I know better than that. Too cheap, too easy. I know better than to believe helping animals means I am a good person. Not so simple.
I go to see Rocky because he is helping me get where I need to go. To accept that I am getting older. To learn from this stoic and adaptable and uncomplaining spirit. I accept where he is in life, and no amount of scrambling and drama and crisis will alter that. I will not seek to alter that. That is my gift to him. The apple, too.
If I can accept Rocky, then perhaps I can accept myself. And others. And life. And what great peace and reward there will be in that.
“When death
carts me off to the bottomlands
when I begin
the long work of rising —
Death, whoever and whatever you are, tallest kind of tall kings,
grant me these wishes:
unstring my bones;
let me be not one thing but all things, and wondrously scattered,
shake me free from my name.
Let the wind, and the wildflowers, and the catbird
never know it. Let time loosen me like the bead of a flower from its wrappings
of leaves. Let me begin the changes, let me –”
“Gravel,” Mary Oliver.
Maria connected with Rocky today, and it was visible. He sniffs and nuzzles her, and I see the same kind of connection between them that I see between her and the donkeys. Rocky and I have connected also. He lets both of us touch him, stroke his back and neck, and he has begun talking to us, as we are talking to him. Powerful to see.
Animals have a powerful way of opening us up, if you listen to them. I am listening to Rocky. And talking to him.
This is what I said today:
Rocky, I appreciate your wonderful life. Few animals on the earth have been as loved or as well cared for as you. Few have been given the opportunity to be of such loyal and loving service for so long. Every day, I get messages from nice people who want me to take you to my farm. I hope that will not happen.
I have not come to rescue you, as you are not in need of rescue.
I have not come to pity you, as you are not in need of pity.
I have not come to save you, as you are not in need of saving.
My wish is for you to keep your life, as long as it is possible. I am aware how difficult it is for an older animal to leave their home of more than 30 years, especially with your poor sight. You could easily be harmed by tripping on a hill or a rock or by the donkeys, as all of the animals would begin establishing territory, jockeying for position, drawing boundaries. Even poor Simon was kicked in the head for months for daring to enter Lulu and Fanny’s pasture. I can’t imagine a worse trauma for you. Humans mean well, but animals pay for their confusion and projections. All kinds of animals spend their lives in crates inside of buildings because people think they are being good.
Here, you sense where to go, where the barn is, the water, the hay and the grass. Elsewhere, you would be struggling in the dark to figure it all out, and how stressful for you, a fortunate creature who has lived in only one place his whole life.
So, Rocky, I am not here for that. I am here for you. I am not here to make me feel good, although I do feel good. I hope I am here for you. To bring you apples. So you can hear some loving human voices. To meet Maria. To take your photos, as I love taking your picture. To open me up and make me more human. I guess that is for me.
But I want you to know that I respect your life, and will not take you away from it, or drag you to a life of my choosing rather than yours. I will value every day we see one another. I know you are old and coming near the end of your life, and I know that one day you will not be here when I come. You are aging, and you look it and I respect that also. So each day, I thank you for our friendship for the chance for me to see such a wonderful life and the creature who lived it.
I’ve had my eye on this happy dairy cow in Shushan for awhile, but just got the light right today, and was touched by this very beautiful old stone wall. I’d get milk here.
