Thursday, June 14, 2012

Living in the moment

This morning I had a reminder, from a very small fur friend, about how important it is to live in the moment.  We have been puppy-sitting for my ex-husband and his girlfriend, Donna.  They have an excruciatingly adorable chihuahua mix puppy named Buddy.  He's three months old, and obviously well-loved by his owners, because he is the sweetest, most affectionate little fellow.  Donna had surgery on her knee, and Grace and I were more than willing to help take care of him until she recover enough to keep up with him again.

This morning I let Buddy out of his crate and put him outside. In a few moments I had a cup of tea and was sitting out with him.  This has become our routine.  He goes out to pee, I make tea and when I get out onto the front porch, it is time to say "Good morning!".  I don't know if anyone knows how to say good morning like a puppy.  Buddy literally writhes with the sheer joy of a early morning re-connection. I sat in a lawn chair on the porch, holding him on my chest while he frantically licked my face and hands, wiggling and whimpering his pleasure at the dawning of another day.

After a few moments of this, he nuzzled his face into my throat, stretched his small body out onto mine and sighed deeply.  And was still.  He was enjoying the moment, the smell of a friend, the warmth of the sun and my hand on his back, the joy of being awake and in the world again.  I felt him relax, and heard the gentle reminder in my spirit to do the same.  I closed my eyes, sighed deeply, relaxed into my chair and settled into the moment.  The morning sun, warm on my face.  The bird songs as they greeted each other, made plans for the day.  The taste of sweet, milky tea on my lips.  The fragrance of  peonies dropping soft, pink petals in the garden. The pleasure of the little body on my chest, his bum cupped in one hand, my other hand languidly stroking his smooth, silky back.  The cool wet nose, pressed into my throat.

Then, the moment went deeper.  I felt the soft moving of the Lord in my spirit, the gentle, encouraging invitation to take the surrendering of this moment further, and to surrender to the rest of the moments in my day.  I was invited to let go, of the day, of my plans, of my anxieties, of the need to try to control the moments which distracts and keeps me from truly living them.  I let go.

Then Buddy stirred. Apparently nature was calling again.  I sipped my tea and watched a transport truck go past on Chateauguay street as Buddy tripped down the stairs in search for just the right spot.  And life resumed. Or continued.  New moments, new opportunities to let go, new chances to live.

Thanks, Buddy.

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