by Scott Blum
“None taken.”
“But there hasn’t been a single day that I didn’t regret what I did to Donald. I think about him every day. I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. I tried to look him up several years ago, but his father died, and I didn’t know where to start. I hope he’s okay.” Martika’s sobs returned. “I hope my baby’s okay.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s just fine.”
“I hope so,” she said softly as she reorganized the seasoning bottles along the backsplash. “I’m sorry for crying—I didn’t mean to break down like this.”
“It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation,” Robert said firmly. “I just hope this time you can find the strength to make amends to all of your children so you don’t have to come back here in your next lifetime and do it all over again.”
“I don’t have the strength to do this again.”
“Then do us all a favor and finally deal with it once and for all.”
“I just don’t know what to do …”
“You know exactly what to do. First you need to find your children, and then you need to speak from your heart. Your children don’t care what’s in your head; they only want your love. Share your heart with them, and never run away when they tell you what’s in their hearts.”
“Okay.”
“And one more thing,” said Robert.
“Yes?”
“I think you should get some allergy medicine.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Over the next few days, Robert and Don camped in a small tent on the far edge of Martika’s property. Robert still wasn’t sure how long he wanted to stay in Ashland, but as the days progressed, he began to feel there was someone important whom he was going to meet. After he announced his intention to remain in the quaint mountain town through the end of the summer, Martika arranged for him and Don to stay in a friend’s traditional Native American tipi on several acres outside of town.
Although it was a long walk from the tipi to the downtown area, Robert enjoyed the exercise, and it gave Don ample time to share his feelings about Martika. During one of the final days of springtime, Robert gathered some wood from fallen trees around the property and lit a fire in the center of the tipi.
“I guess that means we’re brothers,” said Don while looking into the fire.
“Hmm, I guess so,” Robert laughed. “That’s an interesting twist, isn’t it?”
“Didn’t you know we were brothers?”
“I knew you were part of my soul family, but I had no idea we had the same mother.”
“What’s a soul family?” Don asked.
“It’s just like a normal family, but it’s not limited to this lifetime. Everyone you’ve ever been related to, in any past life, is part of your soul family.”
“That assumes you believe in past lives,” Don said incredulously.
“You’re in the body of a dog now, and you still don’t believe in past lives?” Robert laughed. “Are you serious?”
“I guess not,” Don sighed. “How do you know if someone is a part of your soul family?”
“It’s not hard … you just know. There’s a familiarity with members of your soul family that instantly makes you feel comfortable. You have things in common that seem very specific to you— likes and dislikes, that sort of thing. And you also have an instant connection that allows you to communicate on a deep level without having to engage in small talk like you do when you’ve met someone for the first time.”
“That’s happened to me before,” said Don. “Suzanne was like that. I hate small talk, and she was the first person I could have a meaningful conversation with as soon as we met.”
Robert nodded. “And being a Walk-in, I can tell you that time is always of the essence. Therefore, I tend to only work with members of my soul family.”
After a long silence, Don said, “Robert?”
“Yes, Don.”
“Does she remember me?”
“Of course she does.”
“Did she recognize me? I mean, you … I mean, did she look at you and think of me?”
Robert laughed. “Yes, she did.”
“Did she tell you why she left me? Did I do something wrong?”
“Listen, Don,” said Robert, becoming very serious. “You need to let those feelings go once and for all. Not only was that at the core of your cancer, but you’re preventing Mother from healing by being so selfish.”
“Selfish? What do you mean?”
“You are holding on to her burden, so she’s not able to deal with it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She was your mother, and she left you.”
“I know.”
“You were the baby, and she was the mother. She hurt you, and there is nothing else that matters.”
“But she was such a young mother and I was so fussy. My father told me I used to cry all the time. If I’d been a happier baby, maybe she would have stayed.”
“I know those are very real feelings for you, but they’re simply not true.”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to be absolutely clear about this,” Robert continued. “She left you, and there was nothing you could have done about that.”
“I guess so.”
“And dealing with the burden of Mother leaving you is her responsibility alone. By holding on to that pain, or thinking there was something you could have done to prevent her from leaving, you have kept her burden away from her and haven’t allowed her to heal herself.”
“Hearing you say that makes me sad.”
“That’s because her burden has become a very real part of you. And you will feel a profound sense of loss when it’s returned to her. But you can’t replace her love with her burden. It’s of no use to you, and as you know, it can cause very real damage.”
“Do you think her leaving me could have caused my cancer?”
“I’m not sure. But I do know it has contributed significantly to your abandonment issues.”
“How can I give it back to her?”
“I can help you with that now,” said Robert.
“Do you want to?”
“I guess so.”
“Okay, let’s begin. Repeat the following from the bottom of your heart.” Robert looked deep into Don’s eyes until he was convinced Don was ready, and then continued: “‘Mother, you abandoned me, and that hurt me.’”
“Mother, you abandoned me”—Don paused for a moment and took a deep breath—“and that hurt me.”
“Good.” Robert reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photograph and placed it in front of Don.
“Where did you get that?!” Don exclaimed as he looked at the worn photo of his mother that he had carried in his wallet. “I thought you threw it in the river!”
“I felt it might be useful, so I removed it from your wallet before we left Eugene.”
Don shook his head as he watched the fire’s reflection on the photograph.
“Now, I want you to tell Mother how it made you feel when she left you.”
The puppy looked up at Robert with scared eyes and began to shake. A quiet whimper escaped as the shaking became more pronounced.
“It’s okay,” said Robert. “I’m here, and I promise you’ll be okay.”
Don closed his eyes tightly and began to speak. “Mother,” he said shakily, “you hurt me when you left. I didn’t know where you went, and when you were gone, I felt so sad. I thought I did something wrong to make you leave. Why did you let me think that? Why did you let me think it was my fault that you left?”
Don’s whole body was shaking intensely, and he struggled to take a deep breath before continuing: “I was only a baby, and I couldn’t take care of myself,” he whimpered. “Then you were gone. You made me feel worthless when you left—like I wasn’t worthy of your love … ”
The puppy opened his eyes and looked deep into the eyes of the photograph. “Mommy, why did you leave? I was your baby! You’re
not supposed to leave your baby. Mommy, why did you leave me?!”
Don collapsed onto the ground and began to seize. His four legs kicked independent of each other, and his entire torso shook violently. He then let out a long, throaty moan that continued for over a minute. Robert rushed to the puppy’s side and caressed the back of his neck.
“It’s okay,” he said in a soothing voice. “You’ll be okay. Just relax and take a deep breath. Let it all out and keep breathing …”
When Don began to calm down, his breathing returned to normal and his seizures eventually subsided.
“Good,” said Robert. “You’re doing great. Now there’s one more thing we have to do.”
The puppy let out an exhausted whimper and began shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” Robert continued. “We’re almost done. What you need to do is repeat after me one last time: ‘Mother, I’m sorry for holding on to your burden for all of these years. Your abandonment is no longer of use to me. Today, I return your burden to you so you can begin to heal.’”
When Don repeated these words, he felt a large pool of anger within him begin to dissipate. For the first time that he could remember, there was a place inside of him that was no longer filled with the emotions of his abandonment, and he instantly felt lighter. Then, almost as quickly as the anger had left, a huge flood of sadness rushed into its place, and he began to sob.
Robert let him cry for several minutes while caressing the side of his tearstained muzzle. “You know that’s a hard thing to do,” he said. “Dogs aren’t usually able to cry.”
For some reason this struck Don as funny, and he laughed out loud with a puppylike bark. “Are we done now?” he asked when his laughter subsided.
“Yes, we are, and I’m extremely proud of you. You did some very deep work, and I think you’ll finally be able to move on from all of this.”
“I’m really tired.”
“You’ll be tired while you integrate everything that happened. But there’s nothing to worry about. Rest will do you good.”
“Robert?”
“Yes, Don.”
“Will Mother ever be able to see me?”
“I hope so,” said Robert softly. “I hope so.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Martika made her way through the tall dying grasses in the field near Dead Indian Memorial Road. After a few minutes of walking, she could see the tipi in the distance, and reflected on the many Native American ceremonies she had attended there before her friend moved to South Dakota. Native American traditions had always resonated with her, and she truly missed the tight community of the followers of that tradition. She made a mental note to ask her friend for the names of the people who had taken over hosting the ceremonies locally.
As she neared the tipi, she realized how exhausted she was. She hadn’t slept very well the night before, and when she did doze off, she was disturbed by anxiety-filled dreams about her abandoned child. And for some unexplained reason, she was beginning to miss the unusual bearded man and his small black puppy who had both left her property a few days before.
Since the intense conversation with Robert the first night the two arrived, a renewed feeling of responsibility about her abandoned son had returned to her. She always felt bad about leaving him, but this time was different. Before, she had convinced herself that she had been too young— too weak to deal with her responsibility. But today, she felt proud of the fact that she had brought him into the world, and there was a very real drive to find him and make amends. And for some reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Robert could help her locate him.
When she was standing in front of the large muslin-hued tipi, she removed an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk from her bag and absentmindedly knocked on the canvas door before realizing that it wasn’t making any sound. “Knock, knock,” she said aloud and waited patiently until Robert greeted her from the inside.
“Good morning,” said Robert. “I had a feeling I’d see you today.”
“I brought you a present,” said Martika as she handed him the bottle.
“Thank you.”
“It’s not pasteurized,” she explained. “The good bacteria and enzymes are still in there. It’s the only thing that keeps my ulcer at bay, and I hear it also helps with allergies. I figured I’d better start drinking more if I want to visit this cute little thing more often.”
“You’re no longer allergic to dogs?”
“I took some allergy medicine just in case, but I’m hoping the milk will help over time. I can’t believe such a basic food item is considered dangerous. Thank god for the ‘milk smuggler,’” she laughed. “You’d think he was a drug dealer, with all the hoops you have to jump through to get one of these bottles into Oregon.”
“Thanks again,” smiled Robert graciously. “So what’s on your mind today?”
“I can’t stop dreaming about my baby.” Martika felt sadness seep into the lines of her face.
“Tell me about it.”
“The most intense dream I can remember is about the day I left him. It unfolded exactly as it originally happened, but when I went to his room to kiss him goodbye, you were there standing next to his bassinet.”
“I was there?”
“Yes. It felt like you were there to protect him. And then when I bent down to kiss him goodbye, your black puppy was inside the bassinet.”
“Did that worry you?”
“No, it felt right for some reason—like it was exactly the way it was supposed to be. That’s what was so strange.”
“Do you often dream about your baby?”
“No. I haven’t dreamed about him a single time since I left him … I couldn’t let myself go there.”
“How did the dream make you feel?”
“It was surprisingly empowering—sad to confront what I had done, but by finally thinking about doing the right thing, I seem to feel better than I have in years.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve been expending huge amounts of energy to avoid dealing with your past burden, and it’s been wearing you down.”
“But if I wasn’t dealing with it, how could I be expending energy?”
“Your soul won’t let you ignore significant burdens. So if you aren’t using your conscious being to deal with what you need to, your subconscious being will take over, which will begin to wear you down over time.”
“I see. I’m definitely ready to deal with it now.” She was still trying to convince herself. “I probably should find my baby and make amends. You know what’s strange? For some reason I feel your puppy might have known him.”
“It’s very possible.”
“What’s your puppy’s name again?” she asked.
“Don.”
“Really?” Martika gasped. She thought that she had imagined that. “My son was named …”
“I know,” assured Robert.
“I wish I could talk to your puppy.”
“You can,” Robert replied. “Go ahead.”
“Can people really talk to animals?”
“Of course they can. Although there are many species of animals on this planet, there is only one species of energy. And once we tune in to that energy, we are able to communicate on a soul level with any living being.”
“Do you believe that animals have souls?”
“Of course they do. A soul is simply the energetic embodiment of consciousness. So anything that is alive has a soul—that’s what makes it alive. Life isn’t simply a physiological by-product. The very essence of being alive is the ability to transfer energy from one being to another. So anything that has the inherent ability to consciously move energy from one place to another has a soul.”
“Even a plant?”
“Absolutely.”
“But how do you know it’s consciously transferring energy and not simply behaving mechanically in the way it was engineered?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard about gardens growing better when their human friends ta
lk to them.”
“Does that really work?”
“Definitely. Plants are happier when they feel loved—just like people—and happy plants grow better than sad plants. Didn’t you say you studied Buddhism?”
“Yes.” Martika didn’t remember sharing that with Robert, but she was starting to get used to him knowing things without their having talked about them out loud.
“Then why are you having such a problem with this concept? Buddhism is very clear that all living things have a soul.”
“I guess the real reason is that I couldn’t bear to eat anything if I thought I was eating something that has a soul. Wouldn’t that make me barbaric?”
“Ah yes, that is quite a dilemma. However, although it seems horrifying at first, many plants and animals are remarkably advanced in the spiritual practice of service.”
“Service?”
“Yes, the concept of being in service to the universe often means being in service to another soul. And by consciously honoring that service when you’re on the receiving side, you are participating in an immensely sacred ritual.”
“How do I do that?”
“The easiest way is to thank them for their service and give a few moments of your time to honor their existence on this planet before you simply chew them up.”
Martika cringed. “I guess that means there isn’t a moral advantage to being vegetarian?”
“All living things are the same.”
“Wow, I’m not sure I can handle that.”
“It’s okay. Do what you need to do to sustain yourself, but whenever you do eat, make sure to honor whoever is giving up their existence to benefit you.”
“I’ll try,” said Martika.
“Okay, back to Don. Do you still want to talk to him?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s easy. All you have to do is meditate outward and allow the space that you and Don share to fill with silence.”
“I don’t know what meditating outward is. I’ve practiced meditation for many years, but I’ve always been taught to go within.”
“Meditating outward is a similar practice, but you also include the energy outside of yourself. Start by closing your eyes and finding the bright light within your inner world.”