Hannah:
Lessons from her life and death

By Miyako Sawada

(Page 2 of 2)

I remembered the Wisdom Master telling me years ago, “Do not look in at your feelings so much.” I saw that I was overly concerned with my feelings, what other people thought of me and Hannah, whose behavior reflected on me, and my own expectations of how things should be. I had to stop it if I was going to bring a change to the situation. After all, I was the human with the more capable brain. Hannah was not the problem; I was. So, henceforth, this became my daily mantra: Do not look in; look out. Back to the basics.

This was the real beginning for me. I started to focus on “not looking in at myself” and instead, “looking out.” It was not easy, because I was so controlled by my habitual ways of thinking and acting. It took a lot of self-discipline to constantly monitor myself. Whenever I caught myself looking at my feelings, I said, “No.” It took months of diligent effort, but I started to feel the difference. The change came in increments until, finally, I stopped feeling and saying that Hannah was difficult. What a change it made! Hannah’s same behaviors did not bother me any longer. I relaxed and laughed at her antics. Hannah felt the change in me and also relaxed, and I am sure, was happier. It was all a question of perception. The key was, “Do not stare at myself.” After this breakthrough, things were really good between us. True love and trust begin to develop. I came to see her as a precious “flower.”

We were becoming true companions and partners. She was less oblivious and carried her body in a joyous transport. She started to pay attention to what I was asking of her, and was becoming more and more trusting of me. On the way back from the morning class, I would find her waiting near the gate to check in with me, then she would take off for more exploration in the forest. Thus my life with Hannah entered a new phase of ease, love, and trust, reaping the fruit of our labors. Then, on January 18 of this year, Hannah took me to the gate at about 9 am to be let out into the woods. She never returned. When I went back after lunch and did not see her, I knew, deep inside, that she was gone. When I saw the Wisdom Master in the evening, I told her about Hannah and she went looking with me. I put Hannah’s bed out at the gate in case she came back, and went to check several times during the night, but as I had known deep inside, Hannah was not there.

The next morning the Wisdom Master told me that she had seen Hannah in a vision. Hannah was lying on her side, looking peaceful. The Wisdom Master’s feeling was that something internal gave out; she walked a bit to lie down, and died there quickly and quietly, in peace.

In the Temple that day, the Wisdom Master told us that Hannah’s consciousness determined how she chose to go, running and exploring. She was very happy and died doing what she loved to do most, wholeheartedly. It was a very good way to go, and she jokingly told us that Hannah recommended that we all did the same. I, for one, would like to go like she did.

It took two days before I remembered that I had seen her in a dream. She was standing on the other side of the fence, under a roof, facing me. In the background, and where she stood, was bright light. The way she was standing was so solid; it was a mirror of confidence. She looked good, strong, healthy, and happy.

When I relayed this dream to Wisdom Master, she said with compassion, “I knew she would show herself to you.  Emotions blocked your memory of the dream.” The pain of the loss had been so great; it had overwhelmed me until I could regain some inner quiet. Another precious lesson on the importance of having a quiet mind.

This dream eased my pain considerably, but more lessons were to come. Two weeks after her passing, I was at home and all of a sudden my left leg started to shake. “How strange,” I thought. Then my left arm and the whole left side of my body began to shake. Intuitively, I knew “Ah, Hannah is here.” The shaking stopped and I felt Hannah relax. I could not see her, but I felt her presence and talked to her. Soon, her presence was gone. This experience not only left me with the warm feeling of the companionship between us, but also made me feel that death was not a definite separation.

A few weeks later, I received a CD from my niece Hanako with a song in Japanese. One sentence resonated powerfully in me. It could be translated into English as “I did not die,” but it means more in Japanese.  Each time I listened to it, something shifted inside me.  “How right it is ! We are not our body. We do not die. Only the body dies.” For the first time, I felt the truth of “not being the body” beyond the intellectual level.

Now, I have come to peace with Hannah’s passing. Her stay was short, only a year and five months. However, the lessons about what I need to do to wake up spiritually were many and valuable. I was so fortunate to be her friend.

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