One day, the Wisdom Master saw a Jack Russell Terrier at a local shelter, and she asked me if I wanted to give an old dog a home. I said, “Yes.”  Little did I know, how this one word would change my life so drastically and deeply!

The dog was eleven-years-old with long white hair, except for two black ears and one black eye. I gave her the name, Hannah, meaning “flower” in Japanese, but spelled in the western way. It was also my niece’s name. The shelter staff told me she was only partially house-trained and an escape artist. This was why she had lost so many homes.  No one could contain her.  

Contrary to what they said, Hannah was perfectly house-trained.  It was only that she needed to go three times during the morning. I took her with me to the office, and when she needed to go out, she gave us a very clear message by barking and running to the door. I knew right away that she was exceptionally smart, maybe too smart for her own good. Many times she outsmarted me and got herself into trouble.

I expected Hannah to have some mental baggage as a result of losing so many homes, but I did not expect it to be so severe.  She was totally unruly, oblivious to everything around her, except for small animals she could chase.  You could call and call her name, and she would not hear you. She constantly pulled hard on the leash. Every time she pulled, it felt like my arm was yanked out of my shoulder joint. In addition, she lived up to the description of an “escape artist.” She shot out of any small opening, running like a bolt of lightning. She was so fast, no one could catch her.

The Wisdom Master explained to me that Hannah became oblivious because of the hardship she’d had to endure in her life. She further explained that Hannah’s high level of tolerance to pain was due to the fact that she had experienced so much pain, both mental and physical. It was easy to understand this; we do the same thing. We shut the world out if it is filled with pain and suffering. I have also observed that people who have had difficult lives seem to have a higher pain tolerance, and carry a lot of anger inside, as did Hannah.

She also had nightmare. The number decreased over time, but she was not totally free of them. When she saw big dogs, she flew into a blind, uncontrollable rage and attacked them. If a car came too close, she did the same thing. Without any warning, she would run into a busy street. I could never relax. She must have been attacked by big dogs and probably had been hit by a car at least once.  When I tried to use a clicker for training, she became very afraid and cowered, shaking like a leaf. All these things were valuable windows into her past experiences. They told me that I needed to be gentle with her, that she needed extra understanding and patience from me and everyone. The amazing thing was that, in spite of her previous hard life, she still loved people, exposing her tummy to everyone to get a tummy rub. I felt that she had a big spirit that refused to be defeated.

I also faced a big dilemma: It was Hannah’s utmost desire to be free, free to run and explore, something that had been denied her all her life. I wanted her to have it, and I knew that it would make her happy and be an important element in her healing. But, I could not let Hannah run free within Padma Valley (the monastery’s 13 acre fenced-in living area) because she chased the cats.  She could run free outside Padma Valley, but it was a natural forest, and there were predators such as coyotes, cougars, and bears. However, I decided that I was going to take the risk and let her run free in the woods, even if it meant Hannah’s life might be ended by a predator. Every day I let her out with a prayer. She gave everything to this new-found freedom. I saw her flying with all four feet up in the air simultaneously. The big smile on her face told me that I was doing the right thing. In about four months, she was no longer an escape artist. She relaxed, and her eyes shone with vitality. Every day for six hours, she ran like it was the last chance she would get. She was happy and starting to mellow.  

In many ways, the bond between us deepened. But soon, I faced a different kind of difficulty. It was really a difficulty with myself and not with Hannah, but I stubbornly refused to look at it that way. It was clear that Hannah and I were very similar, both willful and stubborn. I admitted this, but kept saying that she was thr difficult one and tried to change her, to get her to behave in a certain way by the force of my will. Hannah was a very worthy opponent. She was as willful as I was, and we got into a stalemate. By this time, I was exhausted from fighting; I was miserable and desperate. I said, “Someone has to give,” and knew it would have to be me.

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.

 Back to Hannah: Lessons from her life and death article

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