Ding Dong the Queen is Dead! 9/21/07 at 2:21 PM
My blackboard reads:
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 21 AT 2:21 PM
Jenny’s spirit left her body----
Remarkable Beloved Friend and Teacher
Namaste’ Jennyfleur
I found myself without Jenny on the morning of September 10th, 2007 down at our spot by the Rio en Medio where I do my morning meditation and Qi Gong each day. I felt her pain and my life so impinged upon, I prayed for her to be taken in the nite, gone by September 11th. This day has such obvious remembrances and power in American history; it felt fitting my most beloved creature should be remembered too. The next day, I woke up to her shaky from another stroke, one of several smaller ones after a huge one, June 27th. I truly thought she was dying then, her eyes rolling around in her head, unable to walk or eat for days. I tried, but was not ready to let her go yet. She kindly stepped back from death, with the help of a coffee enema administered with a turkey baster out in the field. The next three months offered me several opportunities to have more adventures with her and ultimately, by September 12th, to completely devote to her.
I’m so grateful for the opportunity to have served her completely, if just for 12 days. She has been my greatest teacher in the works of Hanuman, Hindu God of Selfless Devotion. Our drives up to the Neem Karoli Baba Temple and Ashram took on more meaning, me praying to be worthy of her love and bhakti or devotion. I feel I gave one day for each year she gave me completely, 12 days, even though she was 14 for in the beginning she was a wily pup, unruly at times and more devoted to her Dad, Dru who called just as we torched the pyre. 12 days where my life completely revolved around her, I was thankful for the opportunity to clean up the pile that lay next to her and on her. Thankful.
So on Tuesday, September 11th when I called the vet to put her down, wrote the email to Jenny lovers everywhere that if this is compassionate killing, I was doing it Friday. I talked with her; telling her I was going to help her so she didn’t have to go through the really painful part, just go now, easily. In reaction, she seemed to eat more heartily, her eyes bright and brown, looking almost puppyish. I woke up the next day and couldn’t control my wailing sobs, not ‘til I called the vet again at 1:10 PM and told her that I was calling it off, that Jenny wasn’t ready. I had to be honest that I was selfishly imposing my will on her. I was ready to live without her. At that moment of realization, I was so thankful for perhaps the greatest lesson of my life. I had stopped my life almost 2 years earlier with a breast cancer diagnosis, I could do it again. She was happy as long as I was home and she could sleep most of the day and nite with occasional walks to the stream and sometimes even farther.
We did tremendous walks in the last months of her life, making it up to the waterfall of the Rio en Medio, me behind her, frequently acting as her back legs. At her funeral pyre, I asked Tino, my adopted Abuela, what he remembered of Jenny. He said, “ Wherever you were…she was right behind you.” Zoe, who knew us later in Jenny’s life, said she always has a picture of me right behind Jenny, picking her up when she fell, helping her up hills and rocky paths. The circle comes full. At Jenny’s Birthday Party August 19th, Holy Dog Spirit Meyraj was noticed by friends who asked who was following me, much like Jenny. The two met on his 33rd Birthday at the temple on July 22nd. At one time he had 21 dogs, all wolf hybrids, now just one aloof lady, Shanti. The four of us took Jenny’s last walk together in the river at Ojo Caliente, a regular jaunt for Jenny and I. It was one of those perfect end of summer days, the water temperature warm, the height just right for Jenny to be able to wade, walk and enjoy without much assistance. One of the times she fell in a shallow pool I took the opportunity to give her a full bath, rinsing her nubs of teeth, belly, filthy ears. I knew this was her last bath, the Rio en Medio getting too cold for our daily routine of washing, soaking, lounging. This day the light was perfect streaming the water, we all felt just right.
The next day she was tired, slept all day but had eaten her breakfast of raw hamburger and softened chic chic dogfood. I had this fantasy we were going to go to Valley View Hot Springs on retreat for a few days though, even as I was packing I knew this was not going to happen. I tried to give Jen her nite food which I mix melatonin and marijuana butter in to help her sleep and to quiet the now consistent rasping cough. The thyroid tumor she had been diagnosed with less than a year after my own cancer seemed to block air passage, making breathing difficult, regardless, she forged on. Seeing her discomfort I blew pot smoke in her face, which seemed to calm her, though not enough. Time for the big guns, as she looked really frightened around midnite. During the first big stroke I had given her one, max, of the doggie morphine known as Tramodol. Concerned for her organs and knowing it constipated her, I was very discerning about quantity and tried homeopathics, flower essences, aromatherapy, and herbs before the heavy pharmaceuticals. Over the course of the next 14 hours I administered 2 Tramodol by crushing them up in her mortar and pestle, adding a touch of warm water and serving them up in a dropper every 2-3 hours. As I tried to get the last bit of drug out of the mortar in the darkest hours of nite, the pestle snapped in two. Confirmation. This is the last hours of using this tool for Jenny’s pills, a long relationship of doing so. Between icky tastes I rubbed her mouth with marigold honey, the holy flower I hoped would help her spirit ascend.
I slept about an hour that nite, simulating her tortured breathing as I lay there, trying to understand her. I became a channel for her wishes, Shiva and all the shamanic practice that is now just part of me. I massaged her organs gently, hoping to help them release what was holding her back. Every 45 minutes or so I’d pick up her dead weight to drain the fluid from one choking lung to the other. At one time she’d been this beefy butter colored polar bear of 110 pounds and now had become a shrinking 70-pound elder. I had called vets around 9 AM, knowing we couldn’t go through another nite of this agony. She had taken a bowel movement around this time, normal except for the unusual liquid that followed the poop. At 11AM, as a vet was on the line, Jenny expelled @ 2 cups from her mouth of what looked like blood, mucus and tissue. I had pads to catch fluids all around her and tried to move her head so she wasn’t swimming in it, cleaned her without disturbing her too much. I called the vets off figuring this was it, yes? About an hour later, another huge release similar to the first was leaping from her mouth, as were liquids from her bottom. I continued to give her homeopathic phosphorous, emergency rescue and walnut flower essences as well as sprinkling lavender and tulsi essential oils on her. More dope smoke. For me more than her at this point. I pulled on her feet and ears, made motions with the sage smoke to help her spirit leave her body up through her crown chakra. I told her I’d be fine. I gave her what I knew to be my last kisses to her beautiful snout, holding her heart, begging her to let go.
It was now 2 PM and I worried, how much longer could she go on? I called the vet and she said it’s possible for days. This was what euthanasia is really for in my mind so I made an appointment for the vet to come by as her last call at 6 PM. Jen’s head wasn’t moving, her tongue lifeless, I squirted a few more drops of water and said out loud, “That’s it, I need to stop putting things in your mouth, don’t I?” Caroline called and as I put the phone up to Jenny’s ears, her lifeless eyes danced one more time as Cor told her of her beauty, love and greatness. I made myself go in the kitchen, starting dal and rice to sprout that I knew would be served at her funeral, talking to Dyanna about how long this could take. As we were saying goodbye, I saw Jenny’s legs go rigid and urine trickle out. It was over.
My feelings were so mixed, hysterically sobbing and though trying to envision her beautiful spirit ascending, wanting to aid her passage any way possible. I stumbled, wandered, cleaned and decided we would be going up to the Neem Karoli Baba Ashram for Bhandara, the festival in honor of Maharaji’s own passing, that started with 108 Hanuman Chalisas at 4 AM the next morning. Jono came over and kindly acquiesced to helping me put her on her bed and into the car. I strew silks on her, put Ganesha, Hanuman, flowers, candles, incense in with her and fell asleep for a solid 5 hours until the alarm woke me to start driving with my best friend in the darkness to Taos.
I arrived early enough to score a perfect spot under a tree where she wouldn’t bake in the sun. Strange as it may sound, nothing felt more normal than taking one last drive north with my baby in the car. We had covered so many miles and adventures together in there. I left the windows open; she looked so beautiful, still present as I filed into the temple for hours of praying, crying, mourning. My black skirt and deep purple top were the colors of my aura, my prayer shawl allowing me to cry privately, in public. By the time I came out, Meyraj had already found the car and set to praying for Jenny. We met out there stealth-like, lighting incense, admiring her beauty, and making offerings. At 2:21-PM I wanted to meet and have ceremony, meditate on her spirit flying high, effortless, without pain, on her way to her next exalted rebirth. The Indian family next to me didn’t appreciate my decaying love next to them and with regret the temple caretaker, asked me to move my dog to the overflow parking, three blocks away, in the sun.
I felt calm and crazy, knowing this was for a reason, not accepting that as the solution. I asked for some time and went to the drive next to the parking lot and waited for David to get out of the shower for what felt like an eternity. A human Jen listened to my woe and told me he’d be out soon. I was so nervous; grief stricken though inside I know this move was ultimately a good thing. Originally, I had envisioned the car across from the pool where the acequias meet, Jenny’s swimming hole, and where we had first met Meyraj on his birthday. David said of course, please park here and just in time for 2:21 remembrance of her, we could be more open here, incense aflame constantly, candles and flowers every time I walked meditatively around the temple and brought back as offerings. Many people walked by, lighting incense, offering prayers, telling stories of their loved beasts, listening about my heart throb, Jenny. Meyraj brought her a puri from a delicious lunch feast, the first real food I had eaten in a day or two. Later that nite as I went outside to the car to say goodnite to her, I saw the puri as a cartoon balloon from her mouth that said comically “I’m Dead!”
I went back into the temple where Sita led a euphoric round of the waning Chalisas. I couldn’t focus on the words, still learning the 5-minute prayer repeated over and over and over again. Instead I sat near the Durga or Mother altar and reveled in the spirit of the congregation, taking their energy to keep moving Jenny’s spirit higher and happier, pain free at last after such a long decline. I smiled each time Meyraj clapped enthusiastically for the Jai Jai Jai Hanuman verse, looking remarkably akin to the likeness of the monkey God right next to him. Bhindi in place, my third eye was open wide and I felt ecstatic, manic, exactly where I was supposed to be. Beth came by to see us, brought a Euphorbia or as she called it a “Euphoria” plant for Jenny and I reveled in her friendship and love.
At the end of the day, I sat with many devotee boys who were sweet and funny, relaxing, exhausted, knowing it was time to drive home with Jenny who was now starting to attract flies. I needed to stop in Espanola and get candles, which I did at Walgreen’s, reading each Saint’s description, deciding which were appropriate. Next day at the pyre as Meyraj beautifully arranged the 21 candles into the hill behind the pre-fire, we read each summary, invoking the spirit of each. Last stop in Pojoaque for 12 pounds of butter to make ghee as the sattvic lighter fluid. I caught a glimpse of myself in a window and realized why people were staring at me. I was so open and well, proud that I had gone through with honoring Jenny the way I felt fit. Perhaps she would have preferred a Jewish Temple for I realized that Jenny is a Jew. Always my greatest teacher, she chose to show me the significance of the 10 days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah (New Year’s) and Yom Kippur where Jews believe one should repent and ask to be inscribed in the Book of Life for the New Year. She knew to go before that time. In her death I realize I have been sitting my own brand of Jewish Shiva, not surprisingly, I’ve been repeating the mantra Om Namah Shivaya. The auspiciousness and symbiosis of her and Neem Karoli Baba’s Masasamadhi seems like a bone for me. When looking at the calendar the past few months, I saw that weekend as her last, the selfless devotee she was.
Sunday began with me finishing the ghee, starting the dal and talking to Lili on the phone. She said it was raining hard in town and was I sure I wanted to go ahead with this? I asked, “what’s the option?” to which she replied, “You could take her to Braemar to be cremated”. Yes, yes, thank you for the reality check but that doesn’t feel like an option. Dutifully and sweetly, she came over and helped dig the pit that would hold my baby’s pyre. Stacey moved giant sheets of tin and Deborah wrangled hose so I wouldn’t torch the village. Everyone needed to be elsewhere as Meyraj drove in with Shanti and a handsome Ganesh, a gift to me, a marigold under his arm. We were the only ones here for several hours of intimate ceremony, ritual and chanting. So much for my funeral procession that was to start at the church with everyone holding candles, following the Toyota hearse. I read from Hafiz and the meaning of Bardo, the 49 days after physical death in Tibetan Buddhism. I have observed her spirit everywhere since the pyre. In birds, the rain, a grove of trees. I drop her bones and ash, meditating for an exalted rebirth, pain free and able to detach from me, me from her.
It started to rain hard as we took Jenny out of the car and onto the pyre. I was worried she wouldn’t go up but this pinon/recycled wood; ghee paper, and cardboard was 15 feet high for ten minutes. So hot we had to keep stepping back, thankful for the drops of moisture. I filmed, Meyraj chanted, lit incense, candles, brought out marigolds from the Temple he had stopped for that morning, made offerings of blue and pink rice into the fire, onto Jenny. My first image is her leg sticking straight up and being black. As the wood fell over the next couple hours, her shape returned to that of when I first met her at 5 months old, sweetly sleeping curled up, moving towards the edge of the pit as if she wanted to be near us. She was charred but beautiful, framed in flames, flecks of colored rice melting into the ghee we continued to ladle over her form.
To see her decompose and go back to the earth as such has been incredibly cathartic for me this past week. My last image of her before we put her on the pyre was a fly on her eyeball. Knowing she would never permit such an indignity in life, it felt appropriate. My coup de grace was to shave my head again and throw my hair onto the fire, an act of cleansing and solidarity. Zoe arrived just then and I said, “Perfect, you can film me doing this.” The moment I turned the razor on, a piece went flying out. Zoe wrestled with it but I felt it to be God’s way of telling me that I had purged enough and that another winter bald, cold, was not necessary penance. Stacey returned and Bill, Jono, Tino, Henry, Bruce, dogs Sally and Yogi all came to pay their respects and tell stories of Jenny. Meyraj continued tending fire, her form reaching a charcoal stage. Jenny’s last wish was to take my cancer as well as any long time physical or emotional suffering that those who loved her would like to lose. She asked to release it into her body, for her spirit was now free and this flesh could help us all.
Meyraj made his way home, some 2 hours away in the north country and I asked Stacey, April and Zoe to stay with me a bit longer. Remembering to pop a bottle of champleasure that Tracey had given me at Jenny’s Birthday Party. Champleasure because there’s no pagne in champleasure! Tracey’s aged beast Miracle drove this day too close to home for her while Zoe had just put Milo to rest, a few weeks earlier. Let the Wake begin for all these gorgeous beasts!!! We toasted to Jenny and everything else, me dropping into bed, exhausted though satisfied for the moment.
The next day my girls met me at the women’s tub at 10,000 Waves Spa and I told the amazing story of Jenny. I have spent the past 3 days in walking meditation mostly, writing prolifically, crying intensely, taking her bones to our special places, and creating altars. The Dunes, thrown in The Waterfall, and today out to the sacred Indian spot where all 4 directions seemed to answer me in thunder. Meyraj just called and said he had dreamed that nite of a giant river with pyres all along it. The ghats of India. How appropriate.
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 21 AT 2:21 PM
Jenny’s spirit left her body----
Remarkable Beloved Friend and Teacher
Namaste’ Jennyfleur
I found myself without Jenny on the morning of September 10th, 2007 down at our spot by the Rio en Medio where I do my morning meditation and Qi Gong each day. I felt her pain and my life so impinged upon, I prayed for her to be taken in the nite, gone by September 11th. This day has such obvious remembrances and power in American history; it felt fitting my most beloved creature should be remembered too. The next day, I woke up to her shaky from another stroke, one of several smaller ones after a huge one, June 27th. I truly thought she was dying then, her eyes rolling around in her head, unable to walk or eat for days. I tried, but was not ready to let her go yet. She kindly stepped back from death, with the help of a coffee enema administered with a turkey baster out in the field. The next three months offered me several opportunities to have more adventures with her and ultimately, by September 12th, to completely devote to her.
I’m so grateful for the opportunity to have served her completely, if just for 12 days. She has been my greatest teacher in the works of Hanuman, Hindu God of Selfless Devotion. Our drives up to the Neem Karoli Baba Temple and Ashram took on more meaning, me praying to be worthy of her love and bhakti or devotion. I feel I gave one day for each year she gave me completely, 12 days, even though she was 14 for in the beginning she was a wily pup, unruly at times and more devoted to her Dad, Dru who called just as we torched the pyre. 12 days where my life completely revolved around her, I was thankful for the opportunity to clean up the pile that lay next to her and on her. Thankful.
So on Tuesday, September 11th when I called the vet to put her down, wrote the email to Jenny lovers everywhere that if this is compassionate killing, I was doing it Friday. I talked with her; telling her I was going to help her so she didn’t have to go through the really painful part, just go now, easily. In reaction, she seemed to eat more heartily, her eyes bright and brown, looking almost puppyish. I woke up the next day and couldn’t control my wailing sobs, not ‘til I called the vet again at 1:10 PM and told her that I was calling it off, that Jenny wasn’t ready. I had to be honest that I was selfishly imposing my will on her. I was ready to live without her. At that moment of realization, I was so thankful for perhaps the greatest lesson of my life. I had stopped my life almost 2 years earlier with a breast cancer diagnosis, I could do it again. She was happy as long as I was home and she could sleep most of the day and nite with occasional walks to the stream and sometimes even farther.
We did tremendous walks in the last months of her life, making it up to the waterfall of the Rio en Medio, me behind her, frequently acting as her back legs. At her funeral pyre, I asked Tino, my adopted Abuela, what he remembered of Jenny. He said, “ Wherever you were…she was right behind you.” Zoe, who knew us later in Jenny’s life, said she always has a picture of me right behind Jenny, picking her up when she fell, helping her up hills and rocky paths. The circle comes full. At Jenny’s Birthday Party August 19th, Holy Dog Spirit Meyraj was noticed by friends who asked who was following me, much like Jenny. The two met on his 33rd Birthday at the temple on July 22nd. At one time he had 21 dogs, all wolf hybrids, now just one aloof lady, Shanti. The four of us took Jenny’s last walk together in the river at Ojo Caliente, a regular jaunt for Jenny and I. It was one of those perfect end of summer days, the water temperature warm, the height just right for Jenny to be able to wade, walk and enjoy without much assistance. One of the times she fell in a shallow pool I took the opportunity to give her a full bath, rinsing her nubs of teeth, belly, filthy ears. I knew this was her last bath, the Rio en Medio getting too cold for our daily routine of washing, soaking, lounging. This day the light was perfect streaming the water, we all felt just right.
The next day she was tired, slept all day but had eaten her breakfast of raw hamburger and softened chic chic dogfood. I had this fantasy we were going to go to Valley View Hot Springs on retreat for a few days though, even as I was packing I knew this was not going to happen. I tried to give Jen her nite food which I mix melatonin and marijuana butter in to help her sleep and to quiet the now consistent rasping cough. The thyroid tumor she had been diagnosed with less than a year after my own cancer seemed to block air passage, making breathing difficult, regardless, she forged on. Seeing her discomfort I blew pot smoke in her face, which seemed to calm her, though not enough. Time for the big guns, as she looked really frightened around midnite. During the first big stroke I had given her one, max, of the doggie morphine known as Tramodol. Concerned for her organs and knowing it constipated her, I was very discerning about quantity and tried homeopathics, flower essences, aromatherapy, and herbs before the heavy pharmaceuticals. Over the course of the next 14 hours I administered 2 Tramodol by crushing them up in her mortar and pestle, adding a touch of warm water and serving them up in a dropper every 2-3 hours. As I tried to get the last bit of drug out of the mortar in the darkest hours of nite, the pestle snapped in two. Confirmation. This is the last hours of using this tool for Jenny’s pills, a long relationship of doing so. Between icky tastes I rubbed her mouth with marigold honey, the holy flower I hoped would help her spirit ascend.
I slept about an hour that nite, simulating her tortured breathing as I lay there, trying to understand her. I became a channel for her wishes, Shiva and all the shamanic practice that is now just part of me. I massaged her organs gently, hoping to help them release what was holding her back. Every 45 minutes or so I’d pick up her dead weight to drain the fluid from one choking lung to the other. At one time she’d been this beefy butter colored polar bear of 110 pounds and now had become a shrinking 70-pound elder. I had called vets around 9 AM, knowing we couldn’t go through another nite of this agony. She had taken a bowel movement around this time, normal except for the unusual liquid that followed the poop. At 11AM, as a vet was on the line, Jenny expelled @ 2 cups from her mouth of what looked like blood, mucus and tissue. I had pads to catch fluids all around her and tried to move her head so she wasn’t swimming in it, cleaned her without disturbing her too much. I called the vets off figuring this was it, yes? About an hour later, another huge release similar to the first was leaping from her mouth, as were liquids from her bottom. I continued to give her homeopathic phosphorous, emergency rescue and walnut flower essences as well as sprinkling lavender and tulsi essential oils on her. More dope smoke. For me more than her at this point. I pulled on her feet and ears, made motions with the sage smoke to help her spirit leave her body up through her crown chakra. I told her I’d be fine. I gave her what I knew to be my last kisses to her beautiful snout, holding her heart, begging her to let go.
It was now 2 PM and I worried, how much longer could she go on? I called the vet and she said it’s possible for days. This was what euthanasia is really for in my mind so I made an appointment for the vet to come by as her last call at 6 PM. Jen’s head wasn’t moving, her tongue lifeless, I squirted a few more drops of water and said out loud, “That’s it, I need to stop putting things in your mouth, don’t I?” Caroline called and as I put the phone up to Jenny’s ears, her lifeless eyes danced one more time as Cor told her of her beauty, love and greatness. I made myself go in the kitchen, starting dal and rice to sprout that I knew would be served at her funeral, talking to Dyanna about how long this could take. As we were saying goodbye, I saw Jenny’s legs go rigid and urine trickle out. It was over.
My feelings were so mixed, hysterically sobbing and though trying to envision her beautiful spirit ascending, wanting to aid her passage any way possible. I stumbled, wandered, cleaned and decided we would be going up to the Neem Karoli Baba Ashram for Bhandara, the festival in honor of Maharaji’s own passing, that started with 108 Hanuman Chalisas at 4 AM the next morning. Jono came over and kindly acquiesced to helping me put her on her bed and into the car. I strew silks on her, put Ganesha, Hanuman, flowers, candles, incense in with her and fell asleep for a solid 5 hours until the alarm woke me to start driving with my best friend in the darkness to Taos.
I arrived early enough to score a perfect spot under a tree where she wouldn’t bake in the sun. Strange as it may sound, nothing felt more normal than taking one last drive north with my baby in the car. We had covered so many miles and adventures together in there. I left the windows open; she looked so beautiful, still present as I filed into the temple for hours of praying, crying, mourning. My black skirt and deep purple top were the colors of my aura, my prayer shawl allowing me to cry privately, in public. By the time I came out, Meyraj had already found the car and set to praying for Jenny. We met out there stealth-like, lighting incense, admiring her beauty, and making offerings. At 2:21-PM I wanted to meet and have ceremony, meditate on her spirit flying high, effortless, without pain, on her way to her next exalted rebirth. The Indian family next to me didn’t appreciate my decaying love next to them and with regret the temple caretaker, asked me to move my dog to the overflow parking, three blocks away, in the sun.
I felt calm and crazy, knowing this was for a reason, not accepting that as the solution. I asked for some time and went to the drive next to the parking lot and waited for David to get out of the shower for what felt like an eternity. A human Jen listened to my woe and told me he’d be out soon. I was so nervous; grief stricken though inside I know this move was ultimately a good thing. Originally, I had envisioned the car across from the pool where the acequias meet, Jenny’s swimming hole, and where we had first met Meyraj on his birthday. David said of course, please park here and just in time for 2:21 remembrance of her, we could be more open here, incense aflame constantly, candles and flowers every time I walked meditatively around the temple and brought back as offerings. Many people walked by, lighting incense, offering prayers, telling stories of their loved beasts, listening about my heart throb, Jenny. Meyraj brought her a puri from a delicious lunch feast, the first real food I had eaten in a day or two. Later that nite as I went outside to the car to say goodnite to her, I saw the puri as a cartoon balloon from her mouth that said comically “I’m Dead!”
I went back into the temple where Sita led a euphoric round of the waning Chalisas. I couldn’t focus on the words, still learning the 5-minute prayer repeated over and over and over again. Instead I sat near the Durga or Mother altar and reveled in the spirit of the congregation, taking their energy to keep moving Jenny’s spirit higher and happier, pain free at last after such a long decline. I smiled each time Meyraj clapped enthusiastically for the Jai Jai Jai Hanuman verse, looking remarkably akin to the likeness of the monkey God right next to him. Bhindi in place, my third eye was open wide and I felt ecstatic, manic, exactly where I was supposed to be. Beth came by to see us, brought a Euphorbia or as she called it a “Euphoria” plant for Jenny and I reveled in her friendship and love.
At the end of the day, I sat with many devotee boys who were sweet and funny, relaxing, exhausted, knowing it was time to drive home with Jenny who was now starting to attract flies. I needed to stop in Espanola and get candles, which I did at Walgreen’s, reading each Saint’s description, deciding which were appropriate. Next day at the pyre as Meyraj beautifully arranged the 21 candles into the hill behind the pre-fire, we read each summary, invoking the spirit of each. Last stop in Pojoaque for 12 pounds of butter to make ghee as the sattvic lighter fluid. I caught a glimpse of myself in a window and realized why people were staring at me. I was so open and well, proud that I had gone through with honoring Jenny the way I felt fit. Perhaps she would have preferred a Jewish Temple for I realized that Jenny is a Jew. Always my greatest teacher, she chose to show me the significance of the 10 days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah (New Year’s) and Yom Kippur where Jews believe one should repent and ask to be inscribed in the Book of Life for the New Year. She knew to go before that time. In her death I realize I have been sitting my own brand of Jewish Shiva, not surprisingly, I’ve been repeating the mantra Om Namah Shivaya. The auspiciousness and symbiosis of her and Neem Karoli Baba’s Masasamadhi seems like a bone for me. When looking at the calendar the past few months, I saw that weekend as her last, the selfless devotee she was.
Sunday began with me finishing the ghee, starting the dal and talking to Lili on the phone. She said it was raining hard in town and was I sure I wanted to go ahead with this? I asked, “what’s the option?” to which she replied, “You could take her to Braemar to be cremated”. Yes, yes, thank you for the reality check but that doesn’t feel like an option. Dutifully and sweetly, she came over and helped dig the pit that would hold my baby’s pyre. Stacey moved giant sheets of tin and Deborah wrangled hose so I wouldn’t torch the village. Everyone needed to be elsewhere as Meyraj drove in with Shanti and a handsome Ganesh, a gift to me, a marigold under his arm. We were the only ones here for several hours of intimate ceremony, ritual and chanting. So much for my funeral procession that was to start at the church with everyone holding candles, following the Toyota hearse. I read from Hafiz and the meaning of Bardo, the 49 days after physical death in Tibetan Buddhism. I have observed her spirit everywhere since the pyre. In birds, the rain, a grove of trees. I drop her bones and ash, meditating for an exalted rebirth, pain free and able to detach from me, me from her.
It started to rain hard as we took Jenny out of the car and onto the pyre. I was worried she wouldn’t go up but this pinon/recycled wood; ghee paper, and cardboard was 15 feet high for ten minutes. So hot we had to keep stepping back, thankful for the drops of moisture. I filmed, Meyraj chanted, lit incense, candles, brought out marigolds from the Temple he had stopped for that morning, made offerings of blue and pink rice into the fire, onto Jenny. My first image is her leg sticking straight up and being black. As the wood fell over the next couple hours, her shape returned to that of when I first met her at 5 months old, sweetly sleeping curled up, moving towards the edge of the pit as if she wanted to be near us. She was charred but beautiful, framed in flames, flecks of colored rice melting into the ghee we continued to ladle over her form.
To see her decompose and go back to the earth as such has been incredibly cathartic for me this past week. My last image of her before we put her on the pyre was a fly on her eyeball. Knowing she would never permit such an indignity in life, it felt appropriate. My coup de grace was to shave my head again and throw my hair onto the fire, an act of cleansing and solidarity. Zoe arrived just then and I said, “Perfect, you can film me doing this.” The moment I turned the razor on, a piece went flying out. Zoe wrestled with it but I felt it to be God’s way of telling me that I had purged enough and that another winter bald, cold, was not necessary penance. Stacey returned and Bill, Jono, Tino, Henry, Bruce, dogs Sally and Yogi all came to pay their respects and tell stories of Jenny. Meyraj continued tending fire, her form reaching a charcoal stage. Jenny’s last wish was to take my cancer as well as any long time physical or emotional suffering that those who loved her would like to lose. She asked to release it into her body, for her spirit was now free and this flesh could help us all.
Meyraj made his way home, some 2 hours away in the north country and I asked Stacey, April and Zoe to stay with me a bit longer. Remembering to pop a bottle of champleasure that Tracey had given me at Jenny’s Birthday Party. Champleasure because there’s no pagne in champleasure! Tracey’s aged beast Miracle drove this day too close to home for her while Zoe had just put Milo to rest, a few weeks earlier. Let the Wake begin for all these gorgeous beasts!!! We toasted to Jenny and everything else, me dropping into bed, exhausted though satisfied for the moment.
The next day my girls met me at the women’s tub at 10,000 Waves Spa and I told the amazing story of Jenny. I have spent the past 3 days in walking meditation mostly, writing prolifically, crying intensely, taking her bones to our special places, and creating altars. The Dunes, thrown in The Waterfall, and today out to the sacred Indian spot where all 4 directions seemed to answer me in thunder. Meyraj just called and said he had dreamed that nite of a giant river with pyres all along it. The ghats of India. How appropriate.
Labels: Bhandara, funeral pyre, Jenny, natural dog death
