A Threshold
Dear friend,
Dippa is a cross between an Old English Sheepdog and one of those big poodles. At two years old, he’s almost full-grown and looks like a creation from Jim Henson’s workshop.
He’s tall enough to stand by our bed and rest his chin next to your face, which is how he wakes me up this morning. Bessie is not far behind.
She’s mostly a mix of Cane Corso, with lots of others blended in.
She gets on with everyone but is nervous around bowls. She was bullied, bred, and thrown on the streets before she was Dippa’s age. She’s sleeping curled up on the couch. Dippa is watching from just across the threshold, out in the hallway, while I sit and listen to the sound of a baby crying in the street and the whoosh of a lone car.
It struck me that I haven’t used the word love so much over the year we’ve spent together.
Christmas is a story about love.
Love for a baby.
Love for a life partner, husband, or wife.
Children and family.
Friends.
Neighbours.
Love for all that lives.
For the people we cannot understand.
Love for the ones who don’t look like us or live out the same beliefs as us.
Love for the loveless ones.
Love is transformative.
When you love the ones you are with, you send out ripples.
The message woven into the teachings we celebrate at Christmas is peace.
How many are suffering now?
We can love them in our minds.
The way we open our hearts to just one creature:
A cat.
A dog.
A human being.
We can do that for our species.
We have to cling to hope.
We cannot have a story that ends in hell for our children and our grandchildren.
Chiara and me, we have no children of our own.
We love kids.
For the love of all the innocent ones in the world and those arriving here every day, we must change our story to one of global, universal peace for all.
To do otherwise is insanity.
Take a deep breath and hold it, then release—and just do that for as long as you need to.
One breath.
At a time.
It all changes now.
What better day to tell a new story
Than this?
Forgiveness and letting judgments drop as soon as the wick is lit—that’s the compass that keeps you on the path you’re on when you say yes to love.
You’re still the one bumping your head on the shelf in the cupboard, looking for matching plates to serve the guests. Walking into a room and standing still.
“Why did I come in here?”
We came to cross the threshold.
Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey