07/06/2026
These past couple of days I’ve been sitting with my furry familiar and silently repeating the Mahamrityunjaya mantra as I do my best to come to terms with his terminal kidney disease. I repeat it as a request for an easeful passage - for him as well as for my partner and I who are caring for him and bearing witness to that journey. I say it that he may be freed into what does not die. I say it that I may be somehow strengthened and not shattered by this loss.
That I’m sitting in my smoke-filled house in a burning West adds another layer of grief and witnessing to the process. I’m not a fan of summers here, but I’m doing my best to be with them. Clearly I’ve been placed in this vast, sparse landscape for a reason. Perhaps it is a form of true renunciation—not marked by vows or orange robes, but by being in a place where attachment to roles, ambitions, and possessions simply dries up and blows away.
But bearing witness to my dog’s sickness is so terribly hard, because I’ve been caring for and protecting him for a decade - and now I’m helpless. It’s one thing to have done hospice volunteer work with strangers and quite another to walk this path with my daily beloved, faithful companion. It feels like I’m on a ship that’s sinking - and reaching for the life raft.
It’s vitally important to have a life raft. Maybe it’s not a faith tradition. Maybe it’s logic, science, moral values. Maybe it’s other people.
Whatever it is, it’s yours. Keep it close. Even as my day-to-day life has become less outwardly devotional, my inner orientation is forever altered by the practices I’ve done and the experiences I’ve had. At times like this I climb into the raft and let it help keep me afloat.
Lord Shiva dwells in the cremation ground of endings - seeing reality fully and allowing clarity and new beginnings to rise from the ashes. Shiva isn’t separate or outside of oneself, but is the quality of sakshi - witnessing awareness - that moves through us when we choose to stay present with suffering and transformation.
Yesterday I looked down to find a perfectly round white stone, like the moon, in my path. Then later a tiny, pure white feather. One soft and light, impermanent like the body itself, and the other solid and grounding, lasting, like the love.
Yes, our days are suddenly numbered - but weren’t they always?