Dear Worry

Winter's Eve

Dear Worry,

It’s not winter yet. Leaves remain on branches, while some fall and sway and swing toward earth—past my windows and doors. Collecting in corners. Gathering together to rest, finally. This is the fall in Texas. Strangely warm and taunting. Sweet.

I had a dream about my old dog who passed six months before River. He was so beautiful—all black, his coat shiny—with a young man—his new owner. I bent down, pet him, felt his soft sweet fur and told him how beautiful he looked and how much I missed him. Ever faithful, he was pleased to see me, but stayed by the side of his new owner. Walking down the sidewalk and away from me.

This morning little Daisy, our ageless but elderly chihuahua mini pinscher, cuddled up to me while I told her about Mylo’s rare visit, which reminded me of my dream of her last week.

I was visiting my mother when on the second morning there, my low back went into spasm. The only remedies were ice and CBD. In the evenings, my CBD saturation seemed to peak, taking me into what I can only describe as the astral plane, as soon as I laid down. I don’t say this lightly. I’m a Capricorn, and while I have more fire and air in my chart than earth, what I know is that the earth is my base and only from there do I feel the power of the other elements.

Up there in the ether, when I floated out of my body, I saw little Daisy as if staring at me from across the universe, just the way she is now—ears perked up, staring, letting me know she’s with me—a visit.

I saw ancestors and memories of houses float in and out—the field around me a container of my life sewed into the invisible. I felt held there. Gifted. A message that said, “Build this bridge with Daisy now, so it will be easier to contact her when she passes.” Some force teaching me about the plane, while I lay on ice.

I’m still in pain. My low back still seizing with every little move. Loosening some, responding to treatment—some—but then tightening and restricting the smallest semblance of mobility.

What does my body know?

During therapy, yesterday, a small child, the size of an acorn appeared, carrying a large whale shaped rock. She was bent over—in half—the rock huge and gray across her back. “We’ve always been together,” she said, and then gestured that she needed to keep going.

It took time and patience, but with some encouragement, she finally sat down—the rock tied to her chest with three rungs of rope holding her snuggly next to it. Her small legs spread in front of her, weary. Young. Her skin brand new. She could only be about four.

I sat with her. Encouraged her to take the ropes off. Promised her the rock would be okay, resting on the earth. “You can take care of it without carrying it,” I said, and promised to show her how.

Reluctant and suspicious, she eventually loosened the ropes and stood up. She gathered flowers and planted them in it’s crevices. She washed the rock’s skin and turned it sleek and dark. Planting a kiss on it’s face, she spread her small arms along it’s body. Her love came through me. And I understood.

A long dark pool appeared in the small valley next to us. I sat with my feet in the water. Promised her I would look after the rock, if she would be willing to swim with me. Hesitant, but more trusting, she got in. Checked on the rock—still safe. Flowered. Washed. Cared for.

Hadn’t she done everything she could? For as long as she could remember?

Yes. Ever faithful.

We swam. Her body held now by the density of water.

This is a dreamworld.

I feel it in my bones.

Love,
Kris