What Animals Can Teach Us about Spirituality

by Diana L. Guerrero

Surrendering to the Divine Energy

Animals teach the important concept of willing surrender. When I refused to let students use choke chains in my courses, many people did not understand how to get by without them. Using choke collars is an old-school training method that is still popular today. I prefer other training methods, which involve tools and techniques more palatable to the animal and easier for the layperson to master. Sometimes these other methods take a little longer to obtain the same result, but the attitude of the animal is better.

If you force a dog to sit, you may get the behavior, but the energy behind it is resignation. "Okay, I will do it. Now give me the reward and back off." Or, "Ouch, I'll do that and be done with it, but I am not going to enjoy it." However, if the dog sits because he learned actively, or because he yielded to leadership, the energy behind the behavior is different: "Whatever you want, I will do it." Noting this energy is important because it is also the energy we fight when moving from forcing our personal will to accepting divine will.

If you have ever heard of the "dark night of the soul," I assure you, I've been there. I remember yelling up to the heavens, "What part of 'I can't take any more!' don't you get?" Even though I thought I surrendered, the real concession didn't come until much later. After a tantrum followed by a cry for healing, the energy shifted in a big way. I felt peace and calm replace anger and anguish. Up until then, I remained locked into old behavior and doing what I thought was right. When I gave up and just accepted what was, everything changed.

Pets in training courses do the same thing, but in drastically shorter periods of time. They get the idea right away. I should have paid attention to their example years ago. I certainly noticed it before, but I wasn't quite ready to get the lesson in my own situation. Having clarity sooner would have saved me a lot of grief. My life was shifting into a new direction, but instead of going with the flow, I fought for what I thought I should do and resisted any synchronistic occurrences. If I heeded the examples of my astute canine students, I might have gotten the lesson in eight weeks instead of eight months. Once I opened up to the divine current, my life shifted overnight. I still didn't like some of it, but it definitely got easier.

Listening to the Unspoken

Listening is one of the disappearing arts in modern society. Attentive animals do not miss much. Pets pay attention even if you think they do not. When a person is in a dire emotional state, animals use their intuition to listen, to sit close, to be simply in the room, or to act goofy to make the person laugh. They are fully present and available.

"Animal renegades" is the term I give to critters who are very smart or very sensitive and out of control. One such dog, Clyde, was a real pain. He was so naughty his owners did not want to keep him. Unfortunately, they dumped him off in the mountains to survive on his wits. He was rescued, but not before becoming strong-willed and streetwise. Upon arrival at his new home, he promptly terrorized the family's other pets and destroyed the residence. When I got the call for help, I didn't plan to keep him. But three homes later, he had to be rescued from a life on a chain in a litter-filled yard. Her was so emotionally distraught that he "anxiety chewed" if left alone for even a minute. And so started our companionship of thirteen years.

Clyde grew into a secure, loyal, and wise companion under my tutelage, and I grew under his. He helped teach other dogs to tolerate other canines; he happily let fearful children and adults approach him; and he enthusiastically educated everyone about how terrific big dogs were. He had a large vocabulary and communicated in subtle ways - he knew what I needed even when I wasn't sure.

When I cried, grew too serious, or became excessively focused on a project, Clyde sensed the need for frivolity. Weighing over one hundred pounds, he flirted with me by displaying a playful bow, highlighted with a rumble so I noticed. If I attempted to ignore him, or told him I was busy, he grabbed a small stuffed animal and romped around the room chomping the toy, sometimes tossing it into the air. He tossed it into my lap, nudged me with it, or in extreme cases dropped onto his back and kicked his legs frantically while he wiggled and juggled the toy between his front paws and mouth. How could I resist?

If I worked too much, Clyde made me move. We sometimes walked for hours, and I never ceased to admire his exuberance for life and the simplest of pleasures, such as my companionship or the thrill of chasing a squirrel in the woods. He often brought to me as a present the biggest rock he could dredge up and carry from the bottom of the lake. When he knew I was distraught, he would lie next to me while I sobbed into his fur. Clyde always listened from his heart and accepted my confidences and me without judging. His happy face and gentle spirit never failed to be there when I needed them. He brought me heartfelt joy.

Excerpt from What Animals Can Teach Us about Spirituality: Inspiring Lessons from Wild and Tame Creatures, © 2003 by Diana Guerrero (Woodstock, VT: SkyLight Paths Publishing). Permission granted by SkyLight Paths Publishing, P. O. Box 237, Woodstock, VT 05091   www.skylightpaths.com