Author Jon Katz urges writers to be authentic, to be real, to not lie or fudge the truth in an attempt to appear to the reader as something or someone we are not. The benefit to me of writing a blog is that it is a chance to analyze myself, my surroundings and events that impact my life and in so doing taking the risk of sounding a bit crazy.
It came to my mind today that I’ve been dwelling on the subject of death. A year ago I lovingly held my Border Collie, Levi’s, muzzle between my hands and told him he could never die. I loved him so much it seemed incomprehensible to never have him in my life. But that was silly and unrealistic. Eventually I had to help him leave his faltering body. Our time together ended one afternoon last May.
Previous to Levi’s death I had a strange connection with a female fox (Spring 2015). She appeared to be an omen, as I quoted in my blog entry, a Messenger Guide, preparing me for Levi’s death.
Recently another fox and I have had a connection similar to last year’s fox. Perhaps she is the daughter of the one I called Lady Fox in 2015. This spring I’ve seen this year’s fox care for her new litter of kits, of which only two have survived. The kits, who look like little Belgian Malinois puppies, run around the forest, carefree. I watch them from my side of the fence and mimic their bark; some days they bark back to me. One day I took up my position at the fence but instead of the kits I saw the mom fox lying in the woods about twenty-five yards from me. I spoke softly to her, praising her beauty and her healthy, young babies. Eventually she got up, turned and disappeared deeper into the woods. With the filtered sunlight on her orange/red fur she blended instantly into the dry leaves and branches and twigs of the forest.
One early morning my dogs started barking furiously as they looked out the sunroom windows into the back yard. There was just enough light to see that mom fox was very near the house. Had my dogs smelled her presence? She may have been hunting squirrels or mice or rabbits but it was unusual to see her so close and out in the open, allowing me to see how small and delicate she is. Finally she ran back toward the woods and easily cleared the four-foot fence.
Now my active imagination has jumped ahead, the writer in me wonders if this year’s fox is another messenger guide? A Messenger Guide quickly comes into your life and then leaves once a message is understood. The time a Message Guide stays in your psychic is relative to you seeing and accepting the message. The message itself can be spiritual in nature, or it can be a warning. The message may deal with a seemingly mundane aspect of your life or it may be a wake-up call for some important action you must make. Sometimes the animal messenger will come during an unusual event and make a powerful statement and others come on the wind as a whisper. A messenger guide can cause you delays or some unforeseen help in your life. They can be both negative and positive in nature for they are totally impartial. www.manataka.org
Is death near again? My dogs are still young, yet my father is ninety years old.
One day I was in my van listening to Sirius XM radio when the James Taylor song, Fire and Rain, played. In 2013 I wrote a blog entry, In Memory of Mom. In that blog entry I linked the James Taylor song and now whenever I hear the song it reminds me of mom. I burst into tears, barely able to see as I drove along a lonely back road. I turned the radio off, feeling silly and stupid for crying through a song, knowing I should put mom’s death to the past and move forward.
Why am I so weepy and maudlin right now? Could it be because I have two important health tests results which have not been divulged to me yet, although it is almost two weeks since the tests? Is no news good news? My mind with its stories and words and images constantly running furiously around my brain creates scenarios and endings that follow strange and scary paths.
I’m waiting on edge, weeping here and there for no reason, emotional, as some of us women tend to be. There’s no use denying my feelings, covering them up, laughing them away. For now I’m a red-eyed old lady who talks to a fox and wonders if the animal is telling me something.
Maybe that’s why writers write, to keep lunatic thoughts at bay by throwing them at unsuspecting readers, who also make determinations about a fox and a crying old woman.