Que duermas con los angelitos que son tus hermanitos, Proteo. My father would say that to me in my early childhood nights. It came to me after reading Proteo's body came back to Mexico. Maybe heaven for Proteo is the bottom of the ocean since his name comes from Proteus, a sea god who could change his shape at will. I meditate imagining myself resting peacefully at the bottom of the ocean - my Ground of Being - embracing the whole: the strong currents, gyres, up-swell, down-swell, and white caps portending life storms ahead. I leave you and your readers with a snippet of Mary Oliver's poem, Summer.
“I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”
Somewhere else she asks us,
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I deeply enjoy reading your stories, Mike. You know how greedy I have felt wishing to get to know you more.
Now you've done it. Got me all teared up. Not just for Proteo who worked hard to help others, but for my beloved Ocho who is (I should say was) the spitting image of Proteo. What is the universe doing? There is more to my Ocho story, a continuation in another dog, but I'll leave that for now. Thank you for the article, Mike and may Proteo rest in peace.
Thanks for helping me start the day with tears! What a great testament to those organizations for honoring Proteo this way... I hope he died quickly and relatively painlessly.
Que duermas con los angelitos que son tus hermanitos, Proteo. My father would say that to me in my early childhood nights. It came to me after reading Proteo's body came back to Mexico. Maybe heaven for Proteo is the bottom of the ocean since his name comes from Proteus, a sea god who could change his shape at will. I meditate imagining myself resting peacefully at the bottom of the ocean - my Ground of Being - embracing the whole: the strong currents, gyres, up-swell, down-swell, and white caps portending life storms ahead. I leave you and your readers with a snippet of Mary Oliver's poem, Summer.
“I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”
Somewhere else she asks us,
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I deeply enjoy reading your stories, Mike. You know how greedy I have felt wishing to get to know you more.
Now you've done it. Got me all teared up. Not just for Proteo who worked hard to help others, but for my beloved Ocho who is (I should say was) the spitting image of Proteo. What is the universe doing? There is more to my Ocho story, a continuation in another dog, but I'll leave that for now. Thank you for the article, Mike and may Proteo rest in peace.
Thanks for helping me start the day with tears! What a great testament to those organizations for honoring Proteo this way... I hope he died quickly and relatively painlessly.