Steadfast Splendor: A tribute to Buddha & all the dogs I’ve ever loved
The great magic of dogs and the moments of their passing
First: hello, beautiful friends. It has been a while, and I thank you so much for giving me this space <3 I’d really love to know: what’s new in your world?
30/8/23: After a rollercoaster of events and the craziest summer of my life, I’m slowly finding my way back to writing and Substack (while also allowing myself to not make it a prison or anything less than joyful). I really haven’t gotten to process everything about Buddha yet, but it is my hope that publishing this long-delayed essay can be the start <3 Written and sent with the utmost joy and gratitude for a mighty companion.
9/7/23: 22 days ago, my father took one of the current family dog angels, Buddha, to the vet after noticing his ongoing and significant weight loss. We weren’t really sure what would result from that visit, but it turned out that he was experiencing severe kidney failure. As of this time of posting, we’ve sadly had to put him down on July 6th. Note that I’ve left the text in its original form to preserve this moment, so as I talk about him in the present tense, this is why.
At the time of writing this – June 21st – it’s still not clear what’s going on, how treatment will progress, or how much time we have left with him. It may be something easily treatable, but I feel like, in a lot of possibilities, the timeline is shorter rather than longer.
Buddha is the 10th dog (out of 11, his sister Ruby) my family has, and of course, it is still never easy to release an animal like this. (He’s not gone yet, but this entire experience is making me think about this inevitability at some point or another for him and all of us.)
Compared to yesterday, when the initial news felt so distant, today I was really feeling it. I was speaking to my mother about this transition and found myself in a steady state of soft tears, heart wide open to the raw intimacy of life cycles.
Last August, almost a year ago, we lost our beloved Jack Russell, Munchkin (also to kidney failure), then a few months later, in December, my maternal grandmother, Jeanette. It feels like so much has changed – is continuing to change – in such a short span of time, and honestly, as of this moment, I don’t feel like I’m able, or willing, to navigate more.
Soon, we begin to reminisce on others of the fur babies, each so very special and dear in our hearts.
As we spoke, and as I cried, I contemplated my tears, knowing they didn’t reflect a “weakness” in my ability to cope with a life without Buddha, nor even were based on sadness alone. There was, distinctly, something more – something honorable, something venerated, something profoundly loving such that there would always be strength and connection.
I’d describe what I found as something like this: my tears were, in part, for the intensity of being in such proximity to the splendor of these beautiful beings; for the intimate presence I’ve chosen to navigate by letting them into my heart and being brought into theirs. My tears are, perhaps, tears of humbleness, reverence, and devotion.
I told my mother that grieving for Munchkin – my personal angel, who carried me through some of the darkest days of my adolescence (including the suicidal period coinciding with my coming out process) and who was witness to so SO many of my biggest life changes – was different than grieving for my grandmother, in the way that it played it out, in the way that it felt, physically, in my body.
Where with my grandmother, it was one first devastating night and then a soft, gradual, clear, but still powerful ongoing mourning (that I’m still plenty feeling), with Munchkin, it was much more acute, much more gut-wrenching and painful in a physical way. It was really hard to move into the stage of love where I allowed energy to flow, in the face of all I was feeling, because my system only wanted to fight.
Today, I felt this urge well up again inside, but by now, I have fresh eyes and a wiser heart. It was this resistance I was contemplating amidst my tears when I saw a glimpse of the bigger movement at play.
As I said, I can only describe this resistance as a reaction to the splendor of the passing of these remarkable animals, because the force of the magic in this time is something we rarely see and feel in our everyday lives. As I feel it, dogs create a most potent portal just before they leave us in this lifetime, giving every last drop of the power in their souls so that no stone may be left unturned, no energy wasted or hidden away.
Dogs offer us powerful lessons in love, commitment, and devotion – I think most of you, whether you’re a dog companion or not, must know this – but it’s taken until now to catch the greater scale of it, for me. Since my mind is racing and my heart is pounding, some separate sections for you to organize my thoughts.
Dogs teach us about going all-in and being steadfast in our own light.
What I described above – portal making – feels like such a selfless act. They’re in tune with their own energy to know that it must live on, must be shared and served, in this life and the next. What they have is not theirs to hold, silently, hidden away forever, but belongs to the collective, honors the world.
In the same way, each of us as humans is responsible for creating, building, and sharing through our light, offering our wisdom. It’s not possible to hold it for ourselves; as it comes to us, so too must we hold space for it to expand through us. When we try to hold back, to resist all that we are compelled to create, we notice it – it affects us in big, sometimes physical, ways. If ever we search for a mentor in how to massage this tendency within us and hold more space for intimacy (the choosing of flow), I believe we can always find this in dogs.
Dogs are the gatekeepers of pivotal life changes, both as catalyst and as witness.
They are present, and hold space for, SO MUCH, for all of us who bring one into our homes and/or hearts. This includes, also, the time of their passing, whether this occurs at a young age or in the autumn of their years. They’re just there, patient, loving, devoted, witnessing and guiding without judgment or drama because they’re clear on the essentials. They have faith, and they trust.
Personally, I’ve felt how this played out, especially in the time of my teenage high school years when I didn’t have much faith in myself. Through creation – music and poetry – and the commitment of Rainy and Munchkin to the (very) bright vision of a “higher self,” I did begin, slowly, to see myself again until I recognized the sparkly rainbow fish that I firmly know myself to be :)
Dogs keep a wise eye on the big picture and, through this, count (in my books) among the purest vessels of love on this physical Earth.
In all ways they serve, dogs fulfill their own unique responsibility and keep a pulse on the movement of the entire system, on every scale. They are Earth keepers and guardians, for the individuals they love and the big world they live in. I recognize them as operating in the details, in the daily and the micro level, with full, measured attentiveness to the context, and gracefully adjusting as needed accordingly.
By seeing the big picture, they are clear in their priorities, paving the way for the essentials to be their only truth and love their only mission. Where does love come from but uninhibited connection and trust, a confidence in who they are and what they do that cannot be unraveled?
Dogs are here to ensure we ground, grow, and align by the sheer splendor of pure light.
They are alchemists, they are magicians, they are guides. I mean, truly, why else does their presence in our lives affect us so? Why else does the passing of each one not grow easier, and almost always comes with unprecedented decision-making?
I believe that each one of us – dogs, humans, and all creatures – uses this portal-making power at the time of our deaths, but that dogs do so, perhaps, in a more consistent, wholehearted, and intentional way. Reaching into the energetic memories of the passing of each one of my friends, unmistakably, every time, there is a clear point where they flip a switch and release everything, everywhere, all at once.
It’s quantum, it’s a supernova, it’s the simultaneous culmination of infinite timelines concentrated into, more or less, a single time and space. It’s not necessarily just in the last minute; the splendor may exist, bright and radiant, in the last week, the last month, the last two – whatever. But it’s there, it’s always there, and that’s the last promise of a dog, every time, to show up with all of themselves until the very end.
I’ve been crying much of the day thinking about this, because I sense that this is their sacred duty, to position us in our lives “radically” differently from before, no matter what. For some of us, this may happen over their entire lifetime; for others, only in the last months or year. Regardless of the time frame, they are unconditionally devoted to this duty, and never have I ever seen any dog fail to fulfill it.
Writing this, I’m reminded of the way history has observed divine encounters in intense and concentrated ways. Greek mythology details distinguished rendezvous between mortals and gods, often (though not always) contrasting divine might against the surrender, protestation, and/or feeble retaliation of a humanity awestruck or overwhelmed. It doesn’t always end up as “humans weak, gods great,” but there’s usually some kind of clash, at least at first.
In the (Christian) Bible, angels often visit changemakers just before the new era dawns – Mary, to receive the news of her pregnancy with Jesus; Mary Magdalene and Mary (as in Martha), who was told of Jesus’ rising by an angel waiting in his tomb; Zacharias and Elizabeth, learning of their impossible son-to-be, John; the list goes on.
Not only, here too, are the humans humbled, reactive, and, honestly, afraid; they play key roles in creating, or ushering in, something new, something previously unimaginable. And it makes sense – divinity is always present at every step of a luminous path.
So this is all precisely how I feel about the legacy and passing of our canine champions.
But of course, at the end of the day, don’t get me wrong. They are all-powerful, all-knowing angels and guides and allies, but for much of their lives, they’re also silly goombahs, clumsy goofballs, and, sometimes, stinky troublemakers. They don’t take most shit so seriously and don’t (usually) mind if their hair gets wet in the rain (though Buddha and Ruby both seem to be more particular about that).
They run into hard objects, on purpose or unintentionally, they track dirt and wet paw prints into the house, and they’re not always discriminating about what their mouths destroy. They’re divine because they’re dingbats, dingbats as they’re divine.
And I think that’s what I appreciate most, because whatever antics their diverse personalities lead them through, they are, always, generous in their love and steadfast in their splendor. No matter how wacky they get, you can always know that a force bigger than either one of you is living right by your side, waiting for every moment you might look it in the eye.
Let’s see what happens with Buddha in the next days and weeks, but for now, I’m just so grateful, for all the splendor that has ever passed through my life, by his side and beyond <3
Much love, dear ones.
I really appreciate, and also simply really love, when you invite people from your world over to my shared space who also seek to breathe, learn, feel, and engage. As they say, any friend of yours is a friend of mine.
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Heart hugs! Beautiful and touching tribute!
Jillian, thank you so much for sharing these beautiful moments and lessons with us. ❤️ I have two (thus far) healthy pets but often think about the inevitability of their passing at some point and I feel in many ways that by the time they do pass, I will have been mourning them for years. I only hope that it will allow me to appreciate them more while they're still here.