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Walking my talk
 When Violet disappeared,
I did what everyone else does - I panicked.
A note from Nedda:
I
wrote this true story in December, 1999.
The event itself took place in July of 1998, in Violet's lifetime
just previous to her current life.
Yes, she used the same name. Read about her reincarnation
in
Violet
Returns.
As
one who works with Spirit and who frequently teach others about animals
and their perspectives, I believe I must be a good student. After all, I
can only take others over territory I have traveled. So I am open
to receiving lessons. Some of my lessons are easy to learn. Others
are designed to accelerate me along my path and are more
challenging.
On
Friday evening, July 17, 1998, I returned from a 5-day vacation at a
spiritual center in the Catskill Mountains in New York State. Violet, my
blue-point Siamese companion, looked well cared for and healthy. Still,
something wasn't quite right. When I asked, "Are you OK,
honey?" she said she was fine, but it didn't ring true to me. I
knew she hadn't been allowed to go outside in my absence, and I
suspected she was a little upset about that. I decided to return to our
normal routine and let her outside during the day whenever I was at
home.
On
Saturday, I had many errands to do, but I also made sure Violet
opportunities to go out. That evening, I stayed only briefly at a party
so that I could spend time with Violet. She seemed rather distant that
night, but I told myself it would pass.
The
next day I attended my regular Sunday morning meditation group, arrived
home at 11 a.m. and opened the sliding door for Violet . I explained
that I had to leave around 12:30 to teach a class and asked her to
please come in by then. I didn't hear a response and assumed that all
was well. Violet always honored my requests for her return, frequently
coming inside a few minutes before I needed to leave.
This
day was different. This day, when I was ready to leave and called
Violet, she didn't come at all. Instead she announced that she wasn't
ready to come in and didn't intend to come in until she was
ready. I couldn't see her anywhere, and I didn't want to be late.
Reluctantly,
I left Violet outside, telling her I'd be home in about 3 hours. The
back yard of our house is small and relatively secluded. There are many
trees, a very woodsy area that extends behind my neighbors on either
side for quite a distance. Beyond the woods are two tobacco fields and
more woods and then houses. There are foxes and deer and wild turkeys,
and perhaps even some coyote-canines living there.
Violet
had been abandoned at about one year of age and survived on her own for
6 months. She had searched through garbage for food and had learned to
hunt. At the end of this experience, she weighed only 5 and 1/2 pounds,
half her healthy adult weight. When she moved in with me about 2 and 1/2
years previously she hadn't wanted to go outside at all.
To
help Violet heal from her experience, I encouraged her to explore
the area right around the house at her own pace. I would sit in the
doorway of my enclosed porch with the sliding door open. If she
wanted to explore, I would walk with her. Soon her confidence
increased. I would leave her in the open doorway and go about my
business inside the house. When she was outside, the door was
always open so she could come back inside whenever she chose. This
helped her learn to trust that I would never abandon her.
That
Sunday, as I drove away leaving the sliding door open, I asked my guides
and the Nature Spirits of the property to take care of Violet and of the
house.
I
arrived home around 4:30 p.m. as promised, expecting to see Violet
sitting on the back steps like a lioness surveying her domain. Violet
wasn't there. I called her name aloud. No response. I called her name
telepathically. She said, "I'm not coming in yet."
"OK",
I replied, trying to be calm and nonchalant. "What do you want for
supper? I'll start defrosting it."
"Turkey."
said Violet.
But
Violet didn't come home that night. I asked when she planned to
return; her reply was "soon".
Although
I'm a professional Animal Communicator who is supposed to know how to
take all this in stride, I started to blame myself for Violet's decision
to stay away from home. I began to review all the arrangements I had
made for her during my absence. I recalled all the times I had
"checked in" with her while on vacation, giving her hugs and
receiving purrs and snuggles telepathically. The feline specialist Pet
Sitter had spent an hour each day feeding, grooming, and playing with
Violet. Our mutual friend, Sally, had stopped by twice to visit Violet.
My mind kept going over and over everything, trying to figure out what I
had missed.
I
could not have stayed home because I really needed the vacation and the
time to myself. I didn't feel guilty about having gone, but I was sure I
had caused Violet's departure. My mind went in circles. My emotions were
also spinning. I needed help.
I
called Sally, who was telepathic with animals, to see what insights she
might have. Sally
said that Violet had not played with her and had tried to persuade Sally to let her go
outside. Once Violet claimed that she had received a telepathic
"OK" from me for her to do so. I heard Sally's remarks
as confirmation that Violet was miffed. I asked Sally to check in with
Violet when she had time and, if Violet agreed, to let me know what
she said.
Sally
called me back that evening. "Violet isn't angry with you,"
Sally told me. I didn't believe it. I didn't let myself hear the rest of
what Sally had to say. Her words washed past me like a torrent of
floodwater.
I
called Nancie, a friend and a professional Animal Communicator. Nancie talked with Violet. Nancie's information was essentially the same
as Sally's, but again, I didn't really take it in. It was a strange
experience, to hear Nancie talking and not to understand a word she was
saying, as if she spoke in a foreign tongue.
On Monday morning, I asked Spirit for an animal guide to help me through
the day and chose an animal from the Medicine Card deck*. The card
was the Ant. Ant power is "Patience". "Thank you,
Ant," I said aloud, and put the card on my alter. I knew I had
chosen exactly the right card.
When
I spoke with Nancie that afternoon, I was still resisting hearing what
Violet had to say. According to Nancie, Violet was OK. She wasn't far
from the house - could even see the bird feeders - but wasn't coming in.
Violet insisted that she wasn't angry, and Nancie could feel in her
energy that she wasn't angry. I kept insisting that Violet had to be
angry. Finally, Nancie spoke sternly to me.
"Listen, Nedda, you've
just GOT to clear up your energy. You're NOT hearing what Violet is
saying. And until you can hear it, she isn't going to tell me what's
going on."
"OK," I said, feeling quite deaf as well as
frustrated and trying hard to hear past my internal resistance.
"I'm not angry with her," I insisted. "I just want her to
come home."
As
soon as I hung up the phone, I realized that I WAS angry and was
projecting that anger onto Violet. "After all I've done for her,
" was the thought that gave me insight into my emotions. I was
startled as well as embarrassed to hear myself thinking thoughts that do
not fit with my ethics and beliefs. Violet didn't owe me anything. I had
done for her what I wanted to do. I had given to her freely and she had
given back to me as much as I had ever given her. Now I knew I had to
clear my anger and I began to pray and ask for guidance and help.
On
Tuesday morning I asked for an animal guide for the day and choose the
Weasel Medicine Card. The word "weasel" has negative
connotations, but I pushed that notion aside and read from the book that
came with the Medicine Card deck. Weasel represents "Stealth".
My own ego had tried to trick me, but now Weasel was going to help me.
"Weasel ears hear what is really being said.... Weasel eyes see
beneath the surface of a situation to know the many ramifications of an
event. This too is a rare gift." "Thank you, Weasel." I
put the card on my alter.
When Nancie and I talked on Tuesday, she told
me she had done some Shamanic work to clear the energy between Violet
and myself. My prayers and meditation had cleared my personal energy. I
was ready to listen and to hear.
In Nancie's next conversation with
Violet, my feline friend was more open. Violet explained that when I had
returned from the mountain retreat, my vibrational rate had been raised
so high she found it uncomfortable to be in my energy field. She knew
she had to raise her own vibrations to continue living and working with
me. Her spirit guides told her to spend time in the woods on her own to
shift her vibrational frequencies. This time, I heard what Nancie said
and it made sense to me. Violet was not sure how long it would take her
to complete her task. She promised to come home as soon as possible.
Later that day I spoke with Violet myself. I told her I respected what
she had to do, and that I loved her and missed her. I reassured her that
this was always her home for as long as she wanted to live here. I
promised to keep the door to the porch open in anticipation of her
return. I asked if she wanted to know of my comings and goings, just as
if she were home. Violet said that she did wanted to know my schedule.
For the first time since she had left, I felt her telepathic snuggle and
heard her telepathic purr. She was greatly relieved that I had accepted
her decision and respected her choice.
During the week, when friends
asked about Violet, I told them she was on "vacation" or on
"a spiritual retreat." Clearly it was inaccurate to say that
Violet had "run away", so I eliminated that concept from my
thinking.
On Wednesday morning, the Medicine Card was Antelope. Antelope
represents "Action", the kind of action that is really
"service to others". Ironically, my time at the retreat was
focused entirely on "seva" or self-less service. I wasn't sure
how to apply this concept to my situation with Violet, but I was open
for the day to reveal the meaning. When I picked up the card to put it
on my alter, I discovered that there was another card stuck to the back
of it. The second card was a blank one in the deck on which I had
previously pasted a picture of a blue-point Siamese. I put both cards on
my alter, feeling that my service to Violet was my total acceptance of
her right to be in charge of her own life.
Later that day, I told Violet
my schedule and asked how she was doing. She said, "You should have
taken me on the retreat with you. Then I wouldn't have needed to do
this."
"I wish I could bring you there, Violet, but it's
against the rules."
"Well, I'd like to meet Gurumayi,"
she said, speak of my meditation Master.
"I can send a picture of
you to her, if you wish, but you'll have to come home so I can take the
photo."
Then I realized that I could introduce Violet and Gurumayi
telepathically. I sat quietly for meditation. I went into my heart
center, and made the introduction. I saw Gurumayi sitting in lotus
posture on her chair, with Violet sitting on her haunches in front of
Gurumayi. Gurumayi tapped Violet on the head with her peacock-feather
wand, and sparks flew as Violet was surrounded in light. Violet had
received spiritual initiation. She was in an ecstatic state and not
available for conversation. I gave thanks for this great blessing and
went about my day.
Thursday, July 23, was an auspicious day. For one
thing, a powerful 5th dimensional vortex of energy was scheduled to open
between the Earth and Sirius to make higher vibrational frequencies
available to the Earth. I awoke that morning filled with expectation. In
a dream, Violet had told me she was coming home this day. Sure enough,
when I contacted her telepathically, she was singing and full of joy and
energy, promising that she'd be home. I became filled with anticipation.
My animal guide from the Medicine Cards that day was the snake, Kundalini, herself.
Around noon, a dramatic thunder storm came through
from west to east. When I heard the storm approach, I told Violet I
hoped she would find a dry place. She didn't respond, and I sensed she
was looking for shelter. The thunder rolled on and on and on, right over
my house. The lightening seemed to be everywhere. The rain was intense,
several inches falling in less than an hour.
At 4 p.m., I heard Violet's
voice, her sound that announces she has a gift to share with me (mouse,
mole, chipmunk, or toy). I jumped up, calling her name. Violet wasn't in
the house.
I went outside, continuing to call for her. My neighbors to
the south asked if my cat was missing. "Not exactly," I
replied. "She is out here on vacation for a few days. I think she's
on her way home and I thought I just heard her call."
"Oh, I
wish we had known you were looking for her," they said. "Just
as the storm began, some guests of ours saw her in our tool shed."
But Violet was not there now, and between the neighbor's shed and our
yard were several inches of standing water.
"Oh," I sighed,
"Violet was so close. She was probably trying to follow her trail
home, and now it's all under water." I tried to tell Violet how to
get home bypassing the water, but she seemed confused by my
instructions. Violet insisted that she would wait for the water to
recede. I was very disappointed, but knew she would not wet her paws.
Friday morning arrived and still no Violet. The Medicine Card that day
was Hummingbird, "Joy". I focused myself on optimism. Just
because Violet wasn't here didn't mean she wasn't coming soon. There was
a breeze blowing, picking up the water. I silently thanked Wind for
helping. The weather report for Friday night forecast a cold front.
Violet disliked being cold as much as she disliked being wet.
That
evening, Violet still was not home. I told her telepathically that I had put
her "Cave" on the porch. This is a cardboard box filled with
warm things to snuggle into and covered by several wool blankets to hold
in body heat. It's her favorite place in the winter when it sits in a
corner against two baseboard radiators.
On Saturday morning, I jumped
out of bed at 6 a.m. and went downstairs to check for Violet. What a
relief to find her crystal blue eyes staring up at me from inside her
cave. She was filled with gratitude - to be home - to find her cave
waiting for her - to be comfortable in my energy as I hugged her to
myself and carried her into the warm house. She purred and purred. She
had lost some weight that week. Her energy was very refined and light.
While Violet was away, each of the animal spirit guides had helped me
focus on and understand what I was feeling or what attitude I needed to
cultivate to help myself. In addition, a live skunk came to eat under my
bird feeder at dawn and dusk from Tuesday night through Friday morning.
In my books on animal spirituality, Skunk is said to teach respect for
others as well as self-respect. When I asked my visitor for a message,
Skunk said it was here to remind me that I needed to "walk my talk", to
fully experience an animal (Violet) making choices with which I might not be
comfortable and to respect her and her choices. I thanked Skunk,
realizing at once that this was the central lesson of the week. The
skunk returned for one more meal, and then stopped coming.
In our
relationships with animals, humans usually feel that we are the ones in
charge, making all the decisions. Therefore, when clients call me about
"lost" animals, I always explain that animals have their own
personal life goals to accomplish only some of which relate to us
personally. The animal may not be "lost". The animal may have
set out to achieve a particular goal related to their own spiritual
development or karma.
This does not mean the animal doesn't love you. It
does mean that the animal is honoring its own needs and soul purposes.
This can be difficult for us to accept, but it is often essential to
accept it for our own mental and spiritual well-being. In a relationship
based on mutual respect and love, each "person", regardless of
physical form, must have the right to make decisions about their own
well-being. If we can accept this, we shift ourselves to a higher
understanding that will help us cope with our sadness and loss. And when
they return, it will bring us to a new level of relationship.
When
Violet returned, she was content to sleep curled up in the warm house
for several days. A little voice inside me asked how I could let her go
outside ever again. Still, I knew I would let her go out when she was
ready. I would honor her and myself by continuing to treat her with
trust and respect.
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