Yesterday, I think I was as sick as I ever remember being; I’m still struggling with it today. I still can’t eat much and am sleeping for hours. My problem is that I never take my “illness” seriously,  probably because I have lived with it for so long and also because I don’t want to have it.

I’ve learned more than once that denial can be a killer. And mental illness is something most people run from. It is rarely fatal.

Anxiety is nothing like cancer or other diseases, so I’m shy about taking it too seriously or whining about it.

Unlike many forms of illness, I can live my life generally while still being sick. Anxiety is not visible to me or others. It is a private and personal illness. Nobody outside my house has ever asked me about it or mentioned it.

This makes me too flippant sometimes.  I should have known better than to take this new and untested medicine without a lot more thought and research. Anxiety is not something to play with or take lightly. I just bought into it.

But anxiety has shaped and shadowed my whole life, and so I am prone to grabbing at instant fixes. There is no magic wand for this disorder or amateur solutions. I want it to go away. It won’t ever, but I can learn how to deal with it better.

I can control it if only I will. Sickness is a part of life; something can be learned from it every time it shows up.

When I think of this harrowing weekend, I think of images and animals. The photographer was always inside me, but for the first time in my life, I now have the chance to capture animals’ mysterious but powerful healing power. I can show what I feel.

This weekend, I think of dogs, cats, and birds. The list is getting longer (see the photos below). Three images from the weekend stand in my mind, but I can take pictures of them to show what I mean. I am a writer, but sometimes I tell stories better in pictures than words.

There is human love and animal love. They are both essential, and I am blessed to be loved by both. I must be a better man than I think I am. In a way, that’s their gift to me. Animals can’t be fooled. I am proud of their love for me. I never feel it’s unconditional, as most people do. I believe it is earned.

The healing power of animals has less to do with what they consciously are trying to do to help us than what we feel about them, which is healing in itself.

The significance lies in what they bring out in me, not what they might think. I never claim to know what animals think because they can’t talk and don’t speak our language or know our words. But I sometimes know what they feel.

Their presence when I’m ill permits me to begin healing and to feel and experience sickness and suffering in a kindler, gentler, and more hopeful way. Three times yesterday and today, animals gave me a reason to laugh and smile and feel love and comfort. They were there when I needed them.

People can do that also, but it’s different. These three short stories tell me a lot.

There is a spiritual quality about animals, a mystery for which no words exist. There is love without language, comfort without drama, and a feeling of love and loyalty, which is medicine of its own.

I don’t know how it works; perhaps it’s because humans have lived with animals for so long that they understand what is happening without being told.  Animals help in different ways, but as I become open to them, they transform and support me.

I’m lucky to live on a farm with different animals and learn how they help us heal and give us hope and joy, even on hard days.

I don’t understand it, but I feel it, and almost any animal lover knows what I mean. I see Maria with the animals and I see the purest kind of love every day.  It is not news to many people; it is news to me every time it happens, even though I’ve been writing about it for years. I’ve been healthy for years in most ways; aging has brought me closer to this beautiful phenomenon.

First, Zinnia. Whenever I am sick, Zinnia (pictured above) is alongside me for as long as I need her. She gets close to me, licks my hand and face, and lies down close to me. She is still; she doesn’t disturb me.

Whenever I look up, she is always there; she leaves only to eat and eliminate.  I get sick for brief periods; she is always there. She never gets bored or restless—the sight of her calms me. I am blessed with a wife who is a loving and natural healer, but she can’t and shouldn’t be with me every second.

Zinnia can and does. It means a lot to me to see her.

Next, the bird. I go out in the morning to study birds and figure out how to photograph them (above). They always – always – fly away when they see me. This morning, I foolishly went outside; I needed to breathe the cold, healing mountain air. I came right under the bush where the birds gather in the morning, and all but one flew away. One didn’t. They just stared at me, but I got her message. I know, I know, is that I heard. It’s just that simple. It’s just that powerful. How could this bird possibly know I was sick? But I am certain she did.

 

 

 

And Zip. And then there’s the newest animal in my life, Zip, who has turned my understanding of animals upside down, which is a gift for a writer.  Every animal I know makes me more peaceful and hopeful.

I always need new material, not to mention photography. Zip is loving and mystical.

When Zip and I sit down, he likes to climb up on my shoulder. I stroke and pet him for minutes, then he jumps off, or I leave. As I returned to the house this morning, I was startled by something heavy landing on my shoulder. I couldn’t imagine for a few seconds what it was.

Then I felt the soft, warm fur and knew it was Zip. He jumped straight up in the air, about six or seven feet to curl up on my shoulder and purr.

He has never jumped straight up in the air and onto my shoulder like that. He curled up in the very position we sat in together.  I remembered that last night, while I was lying in a living room chair, Maria looked out the window and told me that Zip was on the front porch looking into the living room (he doesn’t hang out there) and was watching me through the window. He was starting through the bathroom window this morning when I came in to shower.

There were messages in those happenings; I felt the animals I love were rallying behind me, showing their connection, empathy, and concern. They are not doctors or magicians but capable of great love and sensitivity. It lifts me; I feel less alone and frail.

 

I love our donkeys, but before Zip, the animals I was always close to were dogs. That’s different now. Zip and I have a connection that is both new and unexpected. But when he jumped up on my shoulder, purring and rubbing against my face, I knew I was in a different terrain, even if I couldn’t claim to understand it.

The power of animals is to bring out something in us, especially when we are sick.

And now a bird doesn’t run from me and my camera. It would have taken weeks or months before they trusted me, but this bird decided to trust me today. I have to wonder why.

I know little about cats and nothing about birds. But I am learning to see them differently.  In understanding animals, I am learning to be a better human.

And I am deeply moved by their understanding of me and what I can only understand as love and intuition.

I am back to bed now. Zinnia is at my feet.

Like most things, this weekend has opened me up further, and I will be thinking about it for a long time.