In one of the darkest periods of my life, when my "resting pulse" was racing at twice the speed of normal, and my personal and professional lives were crumbling around me, my greatest source of comfort came from a cat.
I had not yet rediscovered my faith, and my relationship with the woman I lived with was in a near-the-end stage of paralysis. I was also near the end of my "Hollywood Period," brightly begun with creating the television series "James at 15," and concluding with scripts being turned down and pitch meetings that terminated with the deadly phrase, "We'll get back to you."
She knows, I thought, and she cares. The idea that good old Puss was trying to cheer me up was deeply reassuring, a sustaining message that bridged the time before I hit bottom and found the solace of the psalms again.
I experienced what countless people know from their own pets, that these domesticated animals possess a wordless wisdom; they convey a special kind of empathy that enriches the lives of those around them.
|She heard there were people called "animal communicators" who...believe that "animals, like humans, have a spiritual essence that survives death."|
The latest testimonial to this phenomenon comes from an old friend of mine, Helen Weaver, who has written and privately published a moving book about her communication with her own longtime pet, The Daisy Sutra: Conversations With My Dog.
Helen's professional credentials are quite solid. A literary translator, her translation from the French of "The Selected Writings of Antonin Artaud" was nominated for a National Book Award, and she is co-author and general editor of "The Larousse Encyclopedia of Astrology."
Dan Wakefield's most recent book is "How Do We Know When It's God?" Visit his website.
Though not trained to perform, whenever her leash was picked up to go for a walk, Daisy "would get up on her hind legs and dance and sing. The word beagle comes from the old French bee gueule, open throat, and beagles are the singers." Little wonder that Daisy soon became part of the family and Helen's great friend for 16 years.
The usual story of a pet and its "person" would have ended when Helen saw that Daisy was too feeble to go on--a victim of the aging disease a friend of hers aptly dubbed "Dogheimer's"--and decided to put her to sleep. But Helen had doubts about ending the life of her old companion. She heard there were people called "animal communicators," who can pick up the feelings of pets and who believe that "animals, like humans, have a spiritual essence that survives death."
A friend told Helen she had communicated with her cat through such a person both before and after the life of the pet, and Helen began her own "conversations with my dog" through several such professional communicators, first to be assured that Daisy was ready to die, and then that she was well and happy in her next life; messages not unlike the ones that humans receive from psychics about loved ones living and dead. ("My body is weak. My spirit is strong and can be set free.... To know what it feels like to be without a body, think of joy.")