Today was a normal day. I woke and then headed downstairs to the kitchen. I made coffee and oatmeal for my family, and then we shared the meal. There was pleasant banter about my wife’s and son’s insomnia last night- they watched Modern Family together while I slept upstairs, oblivious. After breakfast cleanup, I brought my coffee to the sitting space in my office. The dog wanted to go out so I let her. These are the beginnings of a fairly “normal” day. So far, so good.
Shortly thereafter the dog began barking. It was not her usual let-me-in-bark, and she was further from the door. I stood to see what was causing the commotion (a squirrel, a cat, a passing dog?) only to discover she was in the compost pile. She had cleverly created a hole in the fencing around the decomposing plant matter. She was gleefully chewing on corn husks and barking. If she was human, I might have ascribed mischief-making to her actions, but essentially, she was being a dog.
Our dog has a long history of chewing on trash; she did it regularly when she arrived as a rescue in our house almost 13 years ago. Now, she does it rarely and mostly when she is concerned about something. Just when we think she has moved beyond this nervous habit, she picks up Kleenex on a walk or shreds a piece of paper on the family room floor. Once again, she was being a dog; today she was being an anxious one or a hungry-for-corn-husks one.
I was having none of this breaking into and eating from the compost pile! I hopped into action. I went to the back door, yelled for her to come, and brought her in. She knew she did not belong in the compost (ears dropping, head lowered) and so she headed into the basement- her “safe-space” where she goes during thunderstorms and, I suppose, other blustery moments.
I closed the basement door, and I returned to my chair for a sit. I was drained and a bit melancholy. My reaction seemed disproportionate to the offense and unlike me. I was slow to realize that something else was stirring within me. Sure, I get concerned when the dog chews on trash; she could choke. That was not what stirred me this time.
I have come to realize these days that there is an energetic, spiritual cost of being reactive; being riled is depleting for me. I needed to get to the bottom of what was rising, though, at that moment, I lacked the spiritual energy to explore what was going on. I walked around a bit. I did my morning sit in a reclined position; I find changing posture can offer a differing perspective. I talked to a friend. These helped.
There is no quick-fix to rising unconscious patterns from my life.
-me
I have returned to seek understanding. I began with some honest questioning:
- Was this incident about my desire for power and control? Was the dog’s behavior just one more out-of-control event in my life?
- Was I edgy about all the changes going on in the world, effects of climate change, war, and post-pandemic recovery?
- Was I feeling overwhelmed by all the extremes in the world?
- Was I feeling out-of-sorts about the liminal/in-between space in which I am currently residing?
- Is there some unreconciled emotional turmoil dancing in my unconscious?
What I learned. There is no quick-fix to rising unconscious patterns from my life. While I may wish to avoid the issues by any means necessary, they will continue to arise until faced (and probably some more after that- just with less drama). I have tried spiritually practicing my way around them (spiritual bypassing– follow the link to read more); the issues just return. I have tried “changing the subject;” the subject comes up again. There is simply no shortcut; there is only doing the work and sitting with the discomfort.
I am not fond of sitting with my discomfort. Yet, it is the only way to healing. I am not suggesting wallowing in pain; I do suggest facing the pain and struggle. Living and growing requires work. I try to remember that when running way is the expedient option. And I keep practicing.
Infinitely Precious 