I’m not being rude.  It’s just that if we manifest our lives, what the heck am I creating with an old dog that can’t hold his shit.  Early morning bagging what I can put my gloved fingers around, scraping, scrubbing, mopping and crying my way through the basement–linoleum and rug, all over, thoroughly covered with shit.

Shit is food we don’t need, the remnants of our life that don’t serve us.  Am I finally at a point where the dog no longer serves me?  He’s a companion, not a service dog.  He was bought for the kids 15 years ago, and both of the kids are 3000 miles away and not expected back except for visits.  But like any long term companion, well, like another kid, is just isn’t that easy to say: off to the old folks home.  Not many hospice places for dogs.

Something to contemplate.  What is the shit that is reflected here?  Parts of my life that doesn’t serve me, can’t digest, isn’t part of my nourishment.  Or just that the dog has to go?  Or how freaking hard it is to let go of the human–dog–experience.

No answers here today.  I am in faith of freedom, I claim the light that shines within to gently open up all shadows.