Reiki specialist Carolyn Trethewey with Old Mate at a cat rescue centre. Carolyn advocates a mindful presence to help pets better navigate their way through traumas such as home moves, changes in the household and other stressful situations. It also promotes healing.
FOR THE PAST FIFTEEN years I have been fortunate to work from a home office. My desk overlooks a small front garden and a street that is pretty busy with office workers during the day and locals at night. Tapping away at my keyboard as the familiar, circadian rhythm repeats endlessly outside, there’s one particular trend that really saddens me. Early in the morning, or late in the afternoon, when locals emerge with their dogs, instead of walking as they used to, head held high taking in the scenery, these days many people are more likely to be hunched over a mobile device, holding the dog’s leash almost as an afterthought.
Sure they are going through the motions of taking the dog for a walk. But it is Dog Walk Lite. The dog is no longer the focus of their attention. Sometimes the poor animal seems to be an irritating distraction. One teenage girl, engrossed in her screen, was constantly tugging her ageing border collie’s leash whenever he wanted to stop and sniff at something he no doubt found as utterly compelling as whatever had her glued to her screen.
As a society, I wonder if we are forgetting how to be present for our pets? How to honour the fact that they are conscious beings too? How, just like us, they may seek happiness, excitement and novelty. How, unlike us, much of the time their freedom of movement is constrained; for a dog, going for a walk may be his only opportunity to engage with a world that is broader than the very restricted limits of his home base.
That teenage girl I mentioned has been walking the collies since she was quite young, taking the dogs to the park being among her household responsibilities. My wife and I know her family well enough to pause on each other’s doorstep for a brief chat from time to time. We know that they used to have two collies, until one died a few years ago. Last month, having not seen her out for a while, I bumped into her father who said that the remaining dog had also died.
Returning home, I felt so sorry for that dog. Sorry, especially, for the missed opportunities of his final, precious walks on earth, when he’d been denied the opportunity to pause and sniff and mark his territory, or to savour some earthy aroma, or simply to stand for a while on those four ancient legs, and take in the falling evening.
I felt sorry for the girl too. She hadn’t understood how special those moments could have been. How what was evidently a daily chore could have been a final season of poignancy and grace.
Would she ever look back on those last few months of walks and wonder what she’d done?
THE BENEFITS OF QUIETER MINDS
Mindfulness is the foundation of a spiritual life. That may seem a sweeping statement. But without mindfulness, even at a superficial level, we have little capacity to take charge of our experience of reality. At a more profound level, mindfulness is required if we are to experience the true nature of our own mind, and to effect inner transformation.
What is mindfulness? Probably the most widely accepted definition of mindfulness is paying attention to the present moment deliberately and non-judgementally. This definition has three parts. When it comes to paying attention to the present moment, most of us have some awareness of what’s going on at any given moment—even the girl walking the collie.
But for a lot of the time we aren’t actually paying full attention to what we’re seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting or touching—what neuroscientists label the ‘direct’ mode. Instead we’re in ‘narrative’ mode. We’re paying attention to the constant narrative flow, the cognitive chatter, the disjointed monologue going on and on in our head. This narrative may concern what’s happened in the past, or what we wish had or hadn’t happened; the future and what we hope or fear may occur. We may be caught up in analysis about the perceived failings or magnificence of ourselves or others. A survey by Harvard Psychology Department found that we spend about 47 per cent of our time in narrative mode.1
The deliberate part of the definition refers to the fact that, as humans, we need to cultivate mindfulness intentionally. We may experience mindful moments, perhaps enjoying a coffee, or admiring the moon or hugging a loved one. But we usually slip back into narrative state fairly quickly.
Being non-judgemental in relation to our attention to the present moment is an important element, because judgement impinges on the experience and also returns us swiftly to narrative mode: this coffee is too hot; the moon isn’t as full as when I saw it last week; Veronica should have gone easier on the perfume. Blah, blah, blah ensues.
While we don’t know for sure that other animals are naturally more mindful than humans, they certainly appear to be. Their vocalised communication is less complex than ours, and they rely much more heavily on non-verbal cues, including innate, intuitive perception, all of which require paying close attention to the present moment. If it is the case that animals are more mindful than humans, this places them in a stronger position to us in several very important ways.
Most immediately, consider animals’ capacity for happiness. The Harvard University study found that the ability to pay attention to what is happening in the present moment is a far more accurate predictor of happiness than what we might actually be doing. A wandering mind is an unhappy mind, and mental distraction is a cause, not a consequence, of unhappiness.
Are our cats lost in mental distraction as they sit on the veranda looking out at the world? Do our dogs, sprawled out on the rug in the early afternoon, spend their time fretting about the number of hours until dinner time and what they may do to stave off boredom until then? They certainly give little evidence of this.
It’s true that we humans also give little evidence of our own thoughts—which is just as well, as we may otherwise have few friends! But for proof of our own mental restlessness, all we need to do is sit down in a nice, comfortable chair in a quiet location and do absolutely nothing. Within minutes we will discover for ourselves the truth in French philosopher Blaise Pascal’s famous words: ‘All of human unhappiness is due to the inability to sit still in a room alone.’
GOING BEYOND THOUGHT
The recurring evidence in the early chapters of this book, that animals communicate fairly routinely in an intuitive way, both supports the notion that they are more generally mindful than we humans and offers a key insight into their potential as conscious beings.
In the West, we have traditionally regarded the development of language and intellect as going hand in hand. High level conceptual learning, thinking and creativity are considered the hallmarks of intellectual prowess. This view is shared in Buddhist traditions, but it is not regarded as paramount. This is because intellect, concepts and the language that supports them only take us so far.
By way of example, if you, as a chocolate lover, were approached by someone who had studied everything there is to know about chocolate, but had never actually eaten any, and if that same person offered to share his insights with you about the taste of chocolate, how much interest would you have in what he had to say? Probably very little. For all his academic learning, without any direct, first-hand experience, what could he possibly tell you, with a lifetime of chocolate-eating under your belt—perhaps quite literally?!
In exactly the same way, you can study all the many weighty tomes that have been written about the nature of consciousness and ultimate reality, and become familiar with the subtle philosophical differences between one school of thought versus another. But none of this matters compared to the direct, non-conceptual experience of your own consciousness.
When we are being mindful, we may attend to any of the senses—sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. And there is another ‘sense’ to which we can attend: mind. Learning to observe our own mind, instead of doing what we routinely do, which is to engage with the thoughts that arise from it, is one of the most transformative abilities we can acquire. Because it is only when we are able to let go of our constant narrative chatter, and observe the qualities of the gap between thoughts, that we are able to experience the nature of consciousness itself.
Buddhist meditators work to refine our concentration to experience the most subtle states of consciousness. We discover that mind is not a blank void, but is more like a boundless and radiant ocean from which our entire experience of reality arises. Mind also has a feeling tone, and that feeling is one of peacefulness which, with practise, deepens to the experience of profound bliss.
Verses written by revered meditation master Tilopa in the tenth century emphasise the non-conceptual nature of this form of meditation:
Gazing intently into the empty sky, vision ceases;
Likewise, when mind gazes into mind itself,
The train of discursive and conceptual thought ends
And supreme enlightenment is gained.
The mind’s original nature is like space;
It pervades and embraces all things under the sun.
Be still and stay relaxed in genuine ease,
Be quiet and let sound reverberate as an echo,
Keep your mind silent and watch the ending of all worlds.2
As human beings living in the 21st century, being still and keeping our minds silent can seem an almost impossibly difficult challenge.
What if this comes quite naturally to animals? When I watch our cats, two elderly sisters who, at this very minute, are sitting in the dappled sunshine, staring out into the autumn morning, I have the sense that they are vividly present to what is happening, watching all that unfolds with keen interest and, when nothing in particular is happening, content simply to stay relaxed in genuine ease.
Could the simple truth about animal cognition be that they have fewer thoughts than we do, and, as a result, less mental agitation? Is it the case that their quieter, more silent minds are more attuned not only to their own consciousness, but to ours too? A greatly reduced level of mental chatter in the minds of our animal companions, far from indicating diminished spiritual capacity may, in fact, suggest the exact opposite.
What’s more, a calmer state of consciousness in turn supports increased sensitivity to more subtle phenomena, making telepathy, clairvoyance and precognition a natural result. If this is the case, it would explain how animals can routinely access a more subtle mental bandwidth than many humans have ever experienced. Why they know, for example, when their owners are coming home. How they can tune in to what their human companions are perceiving in a different room. If this is true, it also underlines how fortunate we are to enjoy the affections of beings who must be incredulous about how we are able to combine such dazzling displays of mastery of our intellectual and material worlds with such shocking obliviousness to what stares us in the face.
THE OPTIMAL ENVIRONMENT FOR NURTURING OUR PETS
Given that our pets’ minds are generally quieter and less agitated than our own, and that the world they experience through their senses is quite different from ours, how best do we nourish their spiritual wellbeing? Creating an optimal environment is key.
There is no ‘one size fits all’ answer to suit the needs of the variety of species we may have as pets. Many parrots, for example, require relatively high levels of stimulation to stave off boredom, whereas most cats are very comfortable spending hours at a stretch in their own company. Dogs, as social beings, like to share their world with other dogs or their human counterparts. And of course not all cats, dogs or budgerigars conform to the stereotype of their species. But in every case, we need to be mindful of the fact that while our experience of reality may overlap with that of our pets, it is not the same as theirs. As a general rule, compared to us, they need peace and quiet.
Vets have long recognised that pets are stressed by loud parties and noises, including storms, fireworks and alarms; changes in the household routine, such as the presence of houseguests, or new household members—human or animal. Typical symptoms of extreme stress may see your pets hiding, trembling, defecating or urinating on a carpet or the floor, losing their appetite or becoming aggressive.
Too much noise, stimulation and emotional dramas, especially displays of aggression, take their toll on beings with quieter and more sensitive minds. What is the impact of a TV turned on first thing in the morning, and the bombardment of headlines, jingles and loud retail advertising? And that same TV left on late into the night? From an animal’s perspective, it is akin to being subjected to high volume noise pollution in an incomprehensible language—and it’s hardly surprising that, given the choice, many pets will choose to slip away, preferring a quiet corner somewhere else.
When we want stimulation in the form of a music fix, or a potentially raucous evening with family and friends, our pets need an escape route. If a person is hearing impaired, and needs to have the television or radio volume turned up loudly, again, what about the pets? In an environment where there is plenty of space in the home, there may be little need for concern. But in, say, a small apartment, or where only one part of a house is warm and cosy in the winter months, options like headphones may be a good way to meet both our own needs as well as those of our pets.
Being aware of pets’ requirement for a peaceful, regular and nurturing environment offers the foundation for their mental wellbeing—and ours too.
MINDFULLY TUNING IN TO OUR PETS
Having created the right environment, how do we mindfully engage with our pets?
By paying attention to them.
Most pet lovers enjoy giving and receiving affection with pets—it’s why we have them. But being mindfully present, for most of us, may require a subtle but very significant shift.
We may believe that we have a happy and caring relationship with our pet. But given the demands we face in very busy lives, the interactions we have with our pets may well be routine—that is, fairly mind-less—and heavily one-sided. We respond to a parrot’s demands to be let out by going through the familiar motions of opening his cage door, letting him climb onto our arm, and perhaps offering a loving neck massage as he takes his place on the top of the cage.
At other moments, we may engage our pet in a ‘conversation’, perhaps getting home from work to a dog who is delighted to see us, and explaining to her how much of an outrage it is that we have to spend time this evening working on a report so that it will be delivered in time for an important deadline tomorrow. Even if the subject of our friendly patter is the dog herself—how has her day been? Has she been a good girl and resisted chewing the doormat?—what is actually happening here falls into the category of meaningless, if kindly intended, chatter. We are not really being present for our pet. We are simply using them as a proxy to give voice to our own never-ending, inner monologue.
Many of us are quite enthusiastic about talking to animals. What we’re not so good at is listening to them. Being present for them. Letting go of our own endless narrative stream so that we can tune into what they may wish to tell us.
It doesn’t take too much of a leap in imagination to put ourselves in the position of a being who would love to share an impression or feeling with someone, perhaps even an important message, but who finds it impossible because the other being never shuts up. We’ve all been there, perhaps with elderly and somewhat deaf friends and relatives. You only try so many times and then after a while, when you can’t get a word in edgeways, you give up.
How amazing would it be if the other being turned round one day and said, ‘I’m sorry that I spend so much time jabbering on about myself. Now I’m here for you. I’ll do my best to let go of thoughts, to just be open to you and whatever you may like to communicate. I am quiet and ready right now.’
What happens when we do that? If you haven’t tried it before, I suggest you try the experiment (see page 67). You may find, even in early sessions, that a shift of some kind takes place in your relationship. You open the door to a whole new dimension of possibilities when you are present for your pet.
MINDFULNESS AS THE BASIS OF COMMUNICATING WITH ANIMALS
‘Long ago when animals could speak’ is how folk tales of the past sometimes began, invoking the idealised innocence of a time when humans and other animals used to communicate, and shared the world in mutual appreciation, respect and balance.
‘Green language’ is an idea related to this, suggesting a form of communication among birds who, because of their appearance from the heavens, have traditionally been regarded as symbolising divine messengers.
Taoist writings reflect this same idea:
Even now in the country of Jie in the East, there are many people who understand the speech of domestic animals; this is a discovery possible even to our own limited knowledge. The divine sages of the most ancient times knew the habits of all the myriad things … the fact that the sages would … summon human beings of the eight quarters and finally assemble the birds and beasts and insects, implies that there are no great differences in mind and intelligence between living species.3
Living close to nature for most of our existence, humans have traditionally connected with animals in every way, from close friendships with cats and dogs that have been replayed down the ages, to awe and reverence for those animals who inspire us, and kinship with those who have spent whole lifetimes faithfully serving our needs.
But what if there was a time when animals could speak? Or when humans knew how to listen? Could it be that what’s changed has been not so much animals’ capacity to communicate as our own lost capacity to hear what they are saying?
Telepathy appears to be the basis on which many animals routinely send and receive messages, something made possible by their relatively quieter minds. As humans we have become so dislocated from nature, and our minds so agitated, that it’s hardly surprising we can’t hear a word that animals may be trying to tell us. Their intuitive signals come as the equivalent of a whisper from the seat beside us at a heavy metal concert.
Fortunately for us, Buddhism puts calming the mind front and centre of its practices, and provides a wealth of practical tools to help us subdue mental agitation. I share some of these in the following chapters. And it should come as no surprise that among the most practised meditation masters, subtle phenomena like clairvoyance, telepathy and precognition are considered the by-product of a more settled mind. As Buddhists we don’t strive for clairvoyance. But in striving for increasingly subtle experiences of consciousness, clairvoyance quite naturally dawns.
Because Buddhism frowns on making crass displays of siddhis, or paranormal powers, the vast majority of meditators will never publicly announce that they have any special qualities, and those who do should be treated with circumspection. But if we spend time in Buddhist circles we come to discover that our actions are as apparent to our realised teachers as if they were following us via video camera. Some will even come to privately admit it is as clear as if they are watching us on TV—even when we’re on the other side of the world.
In recent years the field of animal communication has grown in prominence, with an increasing number of books and training programs published by those who have come to the practice from a variety of backgrounds. Once the preserve of psychics and soothsayers—who, if Pope Gregory IX had had his way, would have been burned at the stake—animal communication is becoming an emerging discipline, with a growing number of practitioners, including those from traditionally left-brain backgrounds such as vets and conservationists. Some demonstrate truly amazing results in terms of helping locate lost pets, transforming the behaviour of depressed or aggressive animals, and diagnosing the cause of problem behaviours or illnesses.
What all animal communicators have in common is an ability to subdue their own minds, let go of their own thoughts, and focus instead on whatever message another being may be trying to communicate. While different teachers have different points of emphasis, they tend to share a few key instructions when communicating with pets:
The importance of a peaceful environment, free from digital interruption, is more conducive to subtle communication than somewhere that’s noisy or where we may be disturbed.
The importance of timing, which should not coincide with a meal that is about to be served, the usual early evening walk or some other regular activity that may be a distraction.
We need to get our own minds into a relaxed and open state if we are to be receptive.
Assuming that both the animal and ourselves are relaxed and present, we should formally ask our pet if they are willing to communicate with us. Only if we receive a positive response should we continue, initially with a simple question.
Positive and negative responses may take a variety of forms from non-verbal action—such as your cat getting up from where they are sitting, coming over and gently head-butting you—to a thought, impression, feeling or even symbol or other image.
Responses may be delayed. We are not messaging one another on a social media platform. It may take time to get a response. We need to remain patient, focused and calm. We also need to maintain an open mind, allowing for a perhaps quite unexpected form of response.
Feel free to experiment with imagery such as a golden flow of light from your heart to your pet, and other visualisation which may have a significance for your pet and you.
Be willing to cultivate trust in your own intuition.
Practise!
Animal communicators universally acknowledge that while some people may possess developed skills as communicators, we are all capable of some level of communication, and many of us already communicate to some extent, although we may not always recognise it as such.
One tip I have picked up over the years is the idea that pets respond as well to imagery as they do to vocalised requests. You can call your cat to come in for the night, and depending on their mood and the warmth of the evening, they may or may not respond. But for a change, try not calling, but simply imagine calling, and them responding. Visualise them coming inside through the door or window. You may be surprised to find it is just as effective when, a few minutes later, your feline friend makes an appearance—or, quite possibly, doesn’t!
An interesting corollary to this is to ensure that what you imagine and what you vocalise are consistent. For example, warning a pet that they must not jump on the sofa, while imagining them on the sofa, sends out mixed messages, and the visualised message may well trump the vocalised one.
The field of animal communication is intriguing and rapidly evolving, along with animal perception, cognition, pre-cognition, behaviour and relationship studies that are increasingly being undertaken around the world. For readers who are interested in exploring this subject further I recommend the work of Anna Breytenbach, which you will find at www.animalspirit.org.
EXPERIMENT: BEING MINDFULLY PRESENT FOR YOUR PET
Pick a moment when your pet is awake and alert, but not necessarily focused on an imminent meal, arrival or walk.
Sit together in a quiet place, inside or out.
Settle your mind for a minute or so by focusing on your breath. Each time you exhale, let go more and more of any thoughts and feelings.
Having settled your mind to some extent, ask your pet if they would like to share a few minutes of quality time with you. Ideally, the asking involves not only a verbalised idea, but an image of you attending to your pet, because animals can be receptive to visualised cues. During this time, assure your pet that they will remain the focus of your attention. Whatever they would like to communicate or do, you are open to them.
Wait. Watch. Don’t expect the reaction to be instant. The answer may come in the form of an action—such as approaching you—a symbol, or an image. This is not text messaging.
If you get a positive response, ask your pet what he or she would most like from you.
Be open and ready to respond.
Practise regularly.