Dear Goddess, One week ago, Ulysses died in our arms. I went to work this morning at 3 AM, and one of my nursing colleagues came to me and said that her grandpa had died at exactly the same moment as Ulysses the week before.  She said  he was a real dog lover. Neither of us knew exactly what this meant, but somehow it felt very important. Certainly we were bonding in a way that we had never bonded before.

Then another one of my colleagues came to me, and recounted a story about the time she lost a dog a few years ago. She cried as she told the story because the circumstances surrounding the death were traumatic, to say the least. I will spare you the details.

I told her the story of the eight dogs that were shot to death when I lived on a commune 38 years ago. The farmer who shot the dogs did so because he hated hippies. He went on to become a Republican Congress person, and embezzled several million dollars from the Republican Party. He was one hell of a guy.

When we share our stories, we are healed or in the process of healing. Healing happens the more we feel our feelings. We don’t wait for time to heal all wounds, but ask that time is gentle as we heal.

Working with women and being with women also helps me to heal. The women I know are not afraid to express how they feel.

We celebrate our feelings, even as we cry for release.

For the tears are what wipe the spirit clean.

Om Peace Amen

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