© 2022 Christine Moran

I am a dog lover. It seems that the older, and hopefully wiser I get, the more I am in awe of these furry teachers and healers. Dogs are true Zen masters – no narrative about what they may be doing at any given moment. Playing, eating, sleeping is simply playing, eating, sleeping. Joyfully living in the moment, and giving us unconditional love. Dogs brought me to meditation. Long before I became a daily meditator, or took the Buddhist precepts, I remember watching my two dogs (Ava and Hayden) play and I would just sit and watch. It was such a break from all of my worries, anxieties, and a list of things I had to get done. There was no narrative, just presence, and sheer joy. Little did I know 17 years ago that dogs would play into a deep spiritual teaching for me, a profound and powerful state of being that I now call Bearing Witness. A state of being that I realize I have had countless experiences with, but have never named or given it the respect it deserves.

In the second week of January of this year I was out for my daily bike ride with my two dogs, Bear and Gracie. We live rural and even though the road we go down has become busier it is still such a gift. We often see bald eagles, the occasional owl, and a lot of sheep (which does bring to mind the time I rescued a wandering sheep but I digress!) This particular day we were riding back home when my distant neighbor’s 8-month-old puppy, named Cali, ran out and got hit by a truck right in front of us. I saw her slide across the road as if in slow motion. I dropped my bike and ran to her. I tried to pick her up but could not, so I just held her in my arms sobbing and saying how sorry I was. Just like that she was gone.

The owners of the puppy came out and seeing the look on the 14-year-old boy who owned the pup was so heart wrenching. There are no words to describe that look. I biked the two miles home, sobbing. When I arrived home, the first thought I had was I needed support. I called my husband who was at work, then texted three of my dog loving co-workers. Even though nothing anyone could say would change what had happened, it was comforting to feel their love and receive support.

The very next morning, after a tearful meditation with ruminating thoughts about this horrific incident, I was on my way to work when I saw a car stopped at the end of my street. It was early morning, dark and rainy. I pulled up and saw a young man holding the collar of a yellow lab. I stopped and asked if he found a wanderer. “Oh yeah, I almost hit him.” My heart took a little leap. I noticed that the man was standing in the cold wet street with only socks on. My mind immediately started crafting the narrative of this shoeless, soggy wet man who almost hit another dog.

He pointed to a rundown property with a half burnt down house that now has several trailers on the property, and my judgy mind had made up stories about the no gooders who live there. He tried calling the number on the dog tag with no luck. He then proceeded to tell me he works nights and was on his way home. He had seen a homeless person with no shoes, so he gave him his brand new 100-dollar work boots. He wanted to “pay it forward.” I now know his name is Tim, and I tell him to call the sheriff. He did, and then asked if I would help load the wet, cold, shivering dog into the front seat of his car. I do and witness how gentle Tim is, and how he adjusts the vent to blow warm air on the dog, and then how he takes his coat and starts wiping the dog off. He told me he was going to keep the dog in the car with him until the sheriff came and hopefully reunited the dog and owner.

I drove off to work sobbing and laughing at the same time. A twelve-hour window of witnessing a terrible incident followed by a beautiful tender one, and watching what my mind was doing with all of this intense sensory input.

Witnessing Cali getting hit made me feel so groundless as if time had stopped. I am a Registered Nurse so it is in my nature to intervene when witnessing suffering. While standing in the middle of the road unable to do anything but be totally present and hold her in my arms trying to provide comfort I realize in retrospect that I was there with her completely. The narrative in my mind did not start until later. The “if only”- if only had been a minute later or earlier. If only I had gone a different way. Why did this have to happen? Why was the puppy out anyway? Who is to blame for this? I sat with this the next morning. It initially felt like a solid mass in my chest. I did not want to feel this or have the image of her getting hit in my mind. However, sit with it I did.

Even though tears were running down my cheeks and it was so difficult to stay with my breath, I went right to the area that felt so heavy and solid. I realized that the constricted area was not solid. There were other sensations there as well. Compassion and love for this sentient being. Compassion and sorrow for the family who lost their pet. Compassion, grief, love for myself who was experiencing this. The realization that my narrative about the situation, the energy that was making up stories, blaming myself, was only prolonging my suffering. Like a wheel going round and round it was keeping me in a loop. Sitting, staying, healing. Allowing it to move around and through. Leaning into it rather than away from it, which goes against our intuition and conditioning.

Bearing witness to uplifting, beautiful experiences is so much easier than the raw, sometimes horrible situations we may find ourselves facing. Real growth does come from the gritty, hard, heart wrenching things life may throw at us, if we allow it to. So many of us don’t want to face, can’t face, the tragedies that we all experience in one way or another. We say “I couldn’t bear it”, and push it away, push it down. No wonder so many suffer from anxiety, depression, fatigue because when we suppress nothing goes away. It weighs us down and keeps us living behind a veil. When we don’t acknowledge that we as humans are given plenty of opportunity to bear witness, when we don’t allow it to cause our hearts to break wide open, we miss out on the gift of alchemy. This can be described as transformation, inner liberation, and change. We miss the opportunity to see the other as ourselves, our shared humanness and interconnectedness. We cannot experience this when we are constantly running our own inner narrative.

To help facilitate our growth and maintain balance we also must take in the good. It would be unwise to think that in order to live authentically we must only bear witness to the suffering, as if this will somehow facilitate us to an enlightened way of being. Dr. Rick Hanson says that good experiences are like Teflon, our mind lets them slide right off. We witness so many marvels in our day-to-day existence and don’t acknowledge the magic that is all around us. I do not know if witnessing Tim and his heartwarming actions toward that cute little lab would have affected me so much if I had not experienced the trauma the evening prior. I feel that by dropping any narrative, and being entirely present for what was, allowed for the good experience to soak into every cell of my being. I could have stayed in the judgy mind, the trauma mind, my story mind, if only mind, and missed the marvel of human kindness, and the deep sense of connectedness.

Cali’s owner stopped me a few days after the incident. She told me that she felt so terrible that I had to witness the tragedy, but also glad that I was there for Cali’s last moments. To me that is so beautiful, so uplifting, the heart of bodhicitta, described in Buddhism as the mind that strives towards awakening, empathy, and compassion for the benefit of all sentient beings.

Naming any experience as bearing witness allows us to give any situation space to be. It allows for a shift from our mental chit chat that tends to be all over the place, to a stillness that reflects our true nature. We are not taught this as children. How many well-meaning parents divert a sad, upset child with food or a toy? When someone else is uncomfortable, we get uncomfortable and thus try to make the source of discomfort go away. Witnessing another’s sadness, grief, pain makes us feel awkward and immediately we start giving advice, making it about us, trying to fix it, or doing something. How many times are we thinking about what our response is going to be? Or the well-used “should patrol” as in ‘“you should, he should, she should.” How often can we or do we just stay and be present?

I recall a terrible experience that involved another dog, and my limited capacity for dealing with it.

9 years ago I came across another dog that had been hit. It was dark and it took a few moments to identify that it was a dog laying in the road, badly injured but alive. Whoever had hit the poor thing had not stopped. Shortly after my arrival a young couple came upon us and after looking at the injuries stated that they lived a mile up the road and that they would go and get their gun. I stayed and I remember oscillating between the feelings of utter presence, helplessness, and utter rage. The only thing I could do was to stay and talk softly, trying to at least be soothing. The owner did come and when the young couple came back the owner stated that his dog was too injured and that shooting it was needed to put it out of its misery. I asked them to wait until I had driven off, and I did with the music cranked up and tears flowing.

Once I got home I had a rather large glass of wine and cried and drank. I did not meditate regularly then, and I just tried to put it out of my mind. I could not drive down that road for many months. I felt so much anger at the person who hit it and did not stop, so much grief. And so much self-doubt, asking if I could have done more? Should I have tried to take it to the emergency vet? Should I have at least tried to pet it? “Should” is of no benefit to anyone. I did not sit with this pain; I ran from it. It was a pokey sharp edge and there was no way I was going to go along and feel the pain and discomfort of it. I ran narratives in my mind, I distracted myself, anything but to feel that utter despair. It still haunts me to this day because I feel that when we run the trauma does not run away – it stays and gets stuck in our tissues and cells. Though this happened many years ago, I feel that I can bear witness to the incident, and bear witness to my suffering surrounding it. There is no statute of limitations to allow things to pass through and be healed.

I realize that bearing witness takes an incredible amount of inner grit, self-compassion, and patience. I also know that as humans we bear witness to things our eyes should never see, our ears should never hear, our hearts should never feel. Some events are so traumatic that staying present and bearing witness would be so overwhelming that no healing could take place without an incredible amount of support systems in place. Feelings, even the worst of the worst won’t kill us, but some of the things we do to get away from those feelings can.

I have been reading about Roshi Glassman leading a retreat at Auschwitz. I cannot imagine what it would feel like to be physically present at such a horrific place when just reading about it was so uncomfortable. The retreat participants stayed present, chanting the names of the deceased, and paid homage to the souls that were left behind. They were stronger than their fear, stronger than the need to run away. Dropping the usual way of reacting to our made up stories about things and the way they are allows for an opening and a profound presence-bearing witness.

In reflection of my 30 years of nursing I realize that in my role of caregiver to many, many people have in turn given me the blessed opportunity of bearing witness, even if I did not realize that is what I was doing. Even the best caregivers sometimes have an empty tool box. No medication, IV, oxygen is going to make the new cancer diagnosis go away, or bring the stillborn baby back to life. I have cried with and for people, have held a hand because nothing more could be done.

When faced with these challenges I find that mentally saying “bearing witness” brings me to that place of dropping any of my defenses, opening to an unknowing mind and bearing witness to what is unfolding in its own way. Sitting, staying, healing.

Naming the state of being as bearing witness allows us to drop into presence and realize our humanness and shared humanity. We witness the joys and sorrows that are part of this tapestry called life. In this presence we can develop compassion, steadiness of mind, and a deep inner strength. We think we cannot bear something, yet we do, and the world in our once limited view opens and changes. We can release our judgments, the conviction that we know something when in fact we do not (as I had judged Tim because of his living conditions). We can be the healer, and the healed.

I give thanks to my many teachers along the way, especially my canine gurus. May we all be given the honor to bear witness and change ourselves and our view of the world. It is not an easy task, and there is no such thing as a one-time fix. It is an ongoing process as long as we are alive, again and again. Allowing for this can be so painful, and raw. The alternative, however, is to stay limited in our suffering, to be closed off, living behind that veil. Bearing witness to things just as they are can propel us into the absolute juiciness of life, the magnificence of having a human experience. When there is no story, life can live through us.

Sitting, staying, healing.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christine (Chris) Moran is a wife and mother of two amazing children. She has been a registered Nurse for 30 years and has practiced in numerous areas of medicine. Originally from Ontario, Canada, she moved to the United States in 1992. After four years in Tucson, Arizona she moved to Oregon where she currently resides with her husband and two dogs. When she is not busy working in the Operating Room, she enjoys kayaking, snowshoeing, and daily bike rides with her dogs. She has competed in novice and intermediate levels of rally (dog sport) and attends weekly dog agility lessons. She has been a member of Blue Cliff Zen center since 2017, and has found Zen practice along with daily meditation to be deeply nourishing and life changing.

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Posted by mkeane on Friday, June 3rd, 2022 @ 5:35AM
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