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The Hardness of Living at Ease
copyright by Jo Danieli

There is an article on this website concerning the death of my best friend, my dog Kimba, and how everything that has happened around his appearance in my life, taught me about focus. I have to tell you, more than one year later, that the story is not over yet.

I am writing and teaching about the Huna-principles every day, and,truly, I am walking my talk. But sometimes, I almost get knocked down by sudden impacts of sorrow. A wave of mourning builds up in my being, higher than the waves at Ho'okipa, no surfer could master it ... I never know when it comes, and when it happens I am so sad that I wish I could die on the spot. This is, because I am human. This is to teach me things again. I know. But it is so hard to take it easy.

Understanding the principles according to which all cosmic events happen does not mean, that it makes it easier for me to bear my pains. I hate it, and I could throw up just by getting a glimpse of any memorized image of the Norwegian scenery that changed my life more than anything else before, but I find myself on that street again and again, in the second before the accident happened, knowing, that something terrible would happen within a second. I keep seeing my dog looking at me, and knowing that I lost him. I keep hearing the noise of the car hitting his body. I see myself running around in the dark, screaming, searching for him. I find myself standing in front of the sink, hours later, the water flushing my dog's blood from my hands. I could have stood there forever ... The blood will never be gone.

I wonder, how I survived that night in the storm, under the roof of an old Norwegian farmer's house. Knowing Kimba's body is lying in the back of a car, wrapped in his blanket ... and yet, I know it is not healthy to dwell on thoughts about something terrible. For you it is information, what I tell you, nothing more. Could be for me, too, but I consider it being much more. It is torture. I deserve it, as I gave Kimba hard times, sometimes. Wait a second ... do I really deserve it? Am I that bad? No, actually, I am good, I help people and animals all the time. What I mean is, even my weird stepback into painful memories is "right" in a cosmic way. Cosmos means "order." Nothing ever can come differently than it comes. We can only influence the future, but have to accept the present and - LEARN. It would not be smart of me to ignore my despair. I have to accept, that it IS part of me. I can handle it. I am on my way. But it is awful in those times, when I wish so much I could step back in time an be with Kimba again.

Always focus on what you want to experience! Energy flows where attention goes. Don't let it support traumas. I know. We ALL know, right? But does this make it possible for us to always live in ease and Aloha-mood? Yes. But this implies being really bad off, sometimes. Because our "active mind" is communicating.

As soon as I find myself imagining again, what has happened, I pull out my image of my happy dogfriend, when he was jumping through the snow or one of the millions images of happy times.. I miss him so much, that I often think, I cannot stand it. I want to cry. And I cannot tell anybody. My partner is the most wonderful person in the world. But how can I explain it to him that even looking at him in joy and laughing can be accompanied by a sudden imagine of the shattered body of my dog and my wish to just be dead and not having to go through it again? It is not fair to wish to be dead when you are with somebody you love and who loves you.

But I DO find myself standing in the cold Norwegian rain again, barefoot in the garden, waiting for my dog to come running. He doesnât come. The water of the fjord is turquoise and icy cold. The rabbit in the cages looks at me, waiting for me to bring him a carrot. The mere sight of him makes me fall down and cry into the soil, as I see Kimba happily running around, sniffing. And I hate myself for having spent too much time in the farmhouse right after our arrival, while Kimba had to wait outside, desperately wanting to come in. Everything was so new for him. But I had to follow rules. He did not know. I hope he knows now.

I do still find myself reaching out for him, even talking to him, sometimes. I feel his fur, see his eyes, watching me (I hated that, sometimes, to be stared at ...). I smell him, I love him, I need him! His energy was so much intermingled with mine, that some parts of my being feel empty now. But the dog is dead.

I did not take his collar off, when I buried him (and how I dug! ... until my hands bled, close to the waterfall, in rocky ground, the noise of the falling waters in my ears, where days before Kimba and me had such good times). And so now there might be a bundle of broken bones with a collar on, in the ground. Maybe one of the wolves that wander around that fjord, has already dug him out, though ... No, I donât WANT to think things like these. But I do.

I see myself living years in Vienna with Kimba, at different places. It was so safe. So wonderful. I was painting, writing, talking wonderful walks with him, in the snow, in the sun. Our daily routine was fun and joy, mostly. Sometimes I did not know what to do with him. Sometimes I had to leave him with friends. I can only hope that he did not suffer during those times. I had a safe job in a publicity agency and worked as a freelancer journalist for different magazines. People loved Kimba. We were such a pair. He was always with me. One time even in the theater. People wondered, when he started licking his fur amidst of a quiet scene ... So innocent. Always ready to follow me to wherever I wanted to go. He was so well trained. He really protected me, and sometimes he overdid his duty. I so often wished he would not look at me with that question in his eyes ... Sometimes I hated taking him out and I accused him of using me. Being egoistic.

I wish I would not have to remember, how he came close to me, whining, one hour before he died, trying to get more attention than my friend did. How he looked at me with the question in his eyes. How he galloped besides my bicycle, until I allowed him to run ahead - right in front of that car. I wish I had never thought of giving him away. That I never had slapped him when he wouldnt stop whining from excitement. I slapped him because I knew the neighbors, my mother and other people hated to hear it. I did not really care. I had to keep him from being himself to maintain his place in my world on my side. People put up so many restrictions. Did he know that I only wanted his best?

I see myself walking along the park paths, under golden autumn-leaves, or in light, fresh snow, early in December.. Running through vineyards, and he picked his own grapes. At the water in the hot summer. In my apartment, coming home from a night out, and he welcomed me always with such joy, like I was the only being on this planet ...

I start crying now, it is about time, I did not allow myself to do it for a while. Did not want to scare my partner. But I have to. My dog and his wonderful presence are gone, I know that. Yes, I can focus on nice memories, but it is ...... not the same. (I almost wrote a swearword here.) My brother died of cancer nine years ago, when he was only 27. Why am I not crying about that so much?

I know why.

When I mourn because of my dog, I long for being in my old life. I long for being myself in a different version than the one I am now. I miss my old life. This is something that feels safe now. It was NOT then, as then I longed to be somewhere else. But from the point of view of now, it feels cozy and safe and wonderful. I long for being so safe in my daily routine with Kimba again. I long for experiencing that unconditional love. I long for knowing again where I belong. It is a kind of sorrow that deals with my old life. Of course it is connected with Kimba. But mourning about him is more than that. It is mourning about my own self. Basically I know that Kimba did not feel pain, that he is going on with his existence right now. He is okay. I am not.

I have to make decisions. I don't feel safe in my current situation. I play roles in a foreign country. I don't really belong anywhere. People try to check me out. I usually know how to behave to make them appreciate me. I am manipulative, because I am smart. With Kimba I was JUST MYSELF. And I so much miss that.

There is so much I am not sure about right now. I long for being safe again. That is what it is about when I dive into my Kimba-memory. I am a Huna teacher, yes, but this does not require me to be perfect. I am able to admit that I am not, and that makes me a real teacher.

Meanwhile I rescued a puppy out of the trash: Aniko is now half a year old, a beautiful dog, living a happy life. And the day I found her in Mexico she knew already how to behave like Kimba was trained to, though she was only three or four weeks old! She is Kimba, in a way. I got his message. And I keep understanding more and more about my message towards myself. My Ku uses my memories about Kimba to make me become aware of one thing: I have to take the right steps for my future according to the best focus. I want to be safe, healthy and successful. Mahalo, Kimba, for reminding me, whoever you are now. One thing is for sure: You are part of myself forever, as I am connected to every single quantum of energy in this Cosmos.

P. S. Some days after I wrote the above story, I slipped again into the mood "Kimba is dead, and I can't stand that fact," driving along the highway up the volcano Haleakala (House of the sun) on the island of Maui. I was near crying. My mood had been triggered by the sight of a dog at the beac, that had reminded me so much of Kimba. Sitting in my car, swallowing tears, I thought of Kimba's eyes, his beautiful face and saw him again shortly after the accident ... but bravely tried to focus on something different. And in that moment I looked slightly to the left, and thinking of Kimba I looked straight into the eyes of a dog. A twin of Kimba! Golden brown. I was shivering in a certain kind of shock. How often does it happen that you think of your dead dog, and in this second a truck passes by your car with a dog on the open loading platform! And that animal has the same golden brown eyes, and does not look somewhere into the countryside, no, his glance finds his way right through the little window of your fast passing car into your eyes! The first impression I got of that amazing sight was as if the dog wanted to say, like a good friend, patting your shoulder while you are crying, "It is okay ... it is okay ..." With a mild and caring expression in those loving eyes.

Dogs always love you, whatever you do to them. They accept you as you are. And they have their cosmic network to communicate stuff with you (like we humans have). That's for sure.

palm isle
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