Sacred Contracts XXIII: The Nature of Strays

       
1. Realization: i        
       
It’s understood        
when a stray snaps        
at a hand(out).        
It’s their past,        
their experience,        
a proven defense        
against steel-toed        
smiles posed as        
mercy in the street.        
       
It’s the chance        
you take by        
opening your heart        
to get close to it.        
       
2. Realization: ii        
       
You can’t become        
discontent or take        
personally its lone        
misconception        
of a life it only        
lives to possess,        
or doesn’t understand        
how the taste        
formed as        
teeth into        
the long roots        
of its mouth.        
       
Anubis whispers        
the difference        
between natives,        
immigrants, and        
tourists; Anput        
whispers who        
its heart should        
trust, who not.        
But, sometimes,        
years of self-neglect        
and societal conditioning        
confuses its natural instinct.        
It forgets who it was,        
can no longer hear        
its canine gods,        
assumes the lie        
as a life of truth        
it must endure.        
       
 3) Realization: iii        
       
One does not become        
self-focused or doubt        
their own intent        
through light and        
goodness of heart.        
Or, regret having        
opened to a        
waning sentient        
despite what        
pain manifests.        
It's the experience        
one must chance        
to survive ensuing        
guilt for not ever        
having tried.        
       
4) Realization: iv        
       
Some strays are ready        
to receive; others,        
content not missing        
something they've        
only ever dreamed.        
       
Some already belong        
to someone else,        
and suffer from        
a sacrificial choice        
so palpably prevalent        
nothing you extend        
will ever seem secure        
enough to get        
them to gravitate        
toward truth, to lick        
the birth extended        
from your finger,        
and never again        
beg for scraps.        
       
You can recreate        
every hieroglyph        
and broken clay slate        
you've translated        
on independent        
evolution from dirt        
before them,        
but, it may never        
be enough to get        
them to see the        
lie they're living        
is killing them        
more than the        
pain of truth        
ever could.        
       
5) Realization: v       
       
The dark stray        
with sunken eyes        
and thinning coat        
sees tumbleweeds,        
has-been lives        
and wannabes        
it's committed        
its life to believe.        
       
And you,        
depleted,        
accept leaving        
to preserve        
one minuscule        
truth you'll never        
surrender to a        
lie in the streets.        
       
6) Realization: vi        
   
Persistence factors        
the difference        
between the giver        
who desires only        
to Love and serve        
and the predator        
out for a trophy        
from the kill-shot        
of a stray's ability        
to produce for        
the factory, or        
dinner table.        
       
Experienced strays        
are street-smart,        
smell the difference.        
And, possess a        
saint's patience        
to wait it out.        
       
7) Realization: vii        
   
You ask me        
to share the        
wisdom, when        
to hold on,        
when to let go.          
Each stray has        
their own unique        
experience fired        
by belief or        
lack of faith        
in the fruition        
of dreams.          
       
I would say to you:        
as long as you        
build strength,        
let them bite;        
let them resist.        
Let them circle you;        
It’s part of the process.        
Let them snarl;        
Let them bark until        
their lungs are spent,        
lunge until        
their weakened        
state begs them,        
...quit. and, lying        
there, half-starved        
of life, gasping        
for breath -        
they exhale        
and submit        
to Love.        
       
I would say:        
if your strength        
wanes thin,        
if your arm        
numbs from        
extended offerings        
that have crusted        
between time's        
stained fingertips,        
and you smell        
the frozen Winter        
coming over the        
mountains from        
its Autumn hunt,        
and you have no coat        
to cover your bones,        
turn. Walk, or,        
run toward warmth.        
       
Do not look back        
into the fading shadow        
of what you've left        
or you’ll trip and fall,      
become embittered      
in rock salt.           
Look only toward        
the crossroads        
you approach,        
toward those        
kindred strays        
of love and truth:        
those destined as        
Sacred Contracts.        
~        
       
       
Author's note (something I've never done but feel led to on this one): 16 years ago I was dying in a spiritually defunct marriage. Torn between what direction I needed to go to save myself, I fasted for 14 days (only water), meditated, and prayed. On the eve of the 14th day I was granted a vision of abandoned puppies in the corner of a dark alley. They were all different colors. Black, white, red, spotted, golden, brown, etc. Yet, they were all from the same litter. They would fight to the death over meager scraps tossed to them from passers by. And then consume those who had died. It was one of the most horrible things I'd ever witnessed in my life. I wanted to turn away and yet save them from themselves at the same time.        
       
They were starving, cold, and alone. I was behind a line that instinctively I knew I couldn't cross. There was all kinds of healthy food at my disposal to offer them.  So, I began coaxing them with food in my hand, begging them to cross the line and survive. A few would venture from the dark alley but something would scare them back into the corner before they reached my hand. There was an hourglass running down fast, and I knew I would have to turn and leave when the final grain of sand fell through the passage between north and south. I was on my knees begging the puppies to please eat, please live, please survive. That all they had to do was venture from that alley...just trust.        
       
But none could, and the hourglass vanished, as did the vision. I was surrounded by nothing but white silence, deafening silence, like nothing else existed. A voice said, "You have fasted and prayed for direction and I have heard your plea for the sustenance of survival. A door will open tomorrow and you will go forth into the world from all you have known or believed. The puppies represented all peoples of the planet. All races. All  nations. All religions. Yet they were all born of me. You see how they fought and killed one another for lack of love."          
       
"Those who trust to leave what they know behind and seek shall find their destinies if they continue on the path. However, those who look back will become bitter salt, as did the parable of Ado. You cannot take anyone with you that is not willing to leave. You cannot save anyone who is not willing to save themselves. You are to walk onward, meeting only those who cross your path. You are not to leave the path unless I direct you to follow me. You are to Love and plant seeds. But, most of all, you are to remember you are never alone, for I shall always be with you, and shall send you signs along they way when you feel you can't go on."        
       
- The next day a fully furnished basement apartment became available through a friend of a friend, and hadn't even been advertised yet. It was exactly what I needed and the price I could afford. I left everything behind that had accumulated in my marriage, but still split half the outstanding debts to be responsible, despite the fact that my salary was half what his was. I carried only what was mine personally, my mother's and my grandmothers that I could pass them down to future generations. I cannot tell you how scared I was - it's not easy walking away from decades of building. From a home you've owned, a garden you've planted, flowers you've sown. I only worked part-time. But, I survived that, and a lot more, still am. Yet, honestly I have never been happier, nor has the future looked brighter despite dust clouds that rise.        
     
I don't know why I feel led to share this intimate story with you all. I am a very private person, and less than a handful of people know of this, only those I expressly trust. Unless, there's someone out there who needs know, and it was given to me for such a time as this. So I open and trust all is as it should be despite impending judgment.