James Herriot Lives Again in Western Washington By Katherine Carroll, NTP, Associate Editor

         

   I met him. I donned a radiation apron and participated in my beloved Liberty’s extended X-ray session. Who does this...Invites the client in to be a staff for a time??? Finally, and for the first time EVER, a man, a veterinarian, my hero, not concerned about covering his legal ass asked me if I want to help get Liberty’s x-rays and points to the heavy lead apron which, all-natural woman that I am, I heft on with some fear and  trepidation. I avoid ALL x-rays. But my dog’s welfare, my beloved Liberty’s comfort and peace while being laid down with racing heart on a cold, high table won out.

              Before the table, I could hear the consult for the prior patient, a diminutive dachshund, because it was about 6 feet away conducted on the floor while the owner sat on a plastic chair, a small dividing wall between us. No Hippa or privacy concern here. We are in dog-land. But really we are in 1940s vet-land. I have met James Herriot. He has practiced here, in this little house off Highway 508, for 46 years. And I love this tan, youthful man who channels him so well.

              Temperature taking, anal gland expressing, examination for lumps led to the x-ray room just behind the wall and rather primitive. This is where I handed over my leash end. That’s how it’s done, right? The dog is taken without the comfort of the owner to the “forbidden regions” and the techs take over and you only hope they care.

              Not here. “You might stand in the doorway to give assurance…” So I do. The (dream) employee of 36 years(!!!!) tells me, you might want to wear the lead apron and assist. ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? And I do. Happy to. Liberty and I have a language taught me my King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. I emit a low moan, very low, exhaling through this moan. Rub the dog/animal’s chest or heart area at the same time. This is instantly calming peace to the animal. We know dogs calibrate to our breath so breathe deeply, calmly. Liberty melts despite his terror, his head onto my arm. They all do. Try it sometime.

              Liberty remained on the high, cold table for some time as additional x-rays were needed. I did act as assistant. In exchange, at the conclusion where one x-ray was comped, I realized I had “washed the dishes for my dinner” and it was recognized and rewarded without charge for the last x-ray.

              When one’s staff (whose duration of employment matched the length which extends most marriages) turns to me and says, “He is wonderful to work for…” I know that I have found again the old style of veterinary care. I have found James Herriot with all his funny stories of farms, owners, and their animals; their foibles and their quirks, all recorded Yorkshire-style.

In a long-lived optometry practice, since 1979 when the St. Helen's volcano blew, I have many funny or poignant stories of my own. The woman who told her eye doctor, my husband, she had a “burning vagina” stands out…A doctor's a doctor, right? Or old Pinkie, as we knew him, saying his animals were “almost human” resonates too. Hey, they are at the “doctor’s office” so tell all and hope for the best, right?

 But today, I entered into another era. An era unafraid of lawsuits. Unconcerned about appearances and protocol. A pure era that cares for a creature in an aura of timelessness. This great doctor has been practicing for 46 years. He still looks great and by the way, when we ended at 6 pm he was headed out for a farm call still working after a now-ten hour day.

              We must put on the same “blinders” that we read about as children in the horse stories we loved. Just be human. Just love and care. Forget the clock. Just be honest when the bill comes due. Don’t let the superstructure determine your practice or your behavior. Just be a man or a woman at work, doing the best you know to do with the fairness you possess and the love and courage to buck the system. Just have integrity and shine. For once, at this clinic, I wasn’t in the “get in and get out” mode. Dr. Roden’s great aura presided. I chatted. I relaxed. I was impacted by his intention. I was blessed and I left blessed. Liberty too.

              

Dream a Little Dream for Me…. By Katherine A. Carroll

Having coffee in bed this chill mid-Spring morning a cloud, quite like a schooner and even shaped so, glided across Lake Mayfield. Sailing on calm “seas” driven by a zephyr it safely crossed into the mouth of the Tilton River which fed into the Lake.

Our dreams are like this…mere vapors heading toward a Source from whence they came. God feeds His creativity through willing vessels. When we live in Union with Source, determining where His thoughts begin and merge with our own is impossible. We are One. One in Spirit, in intent, and in purpose. We glide along toward the shore of fulfillment, of achievement, buoyed up by our mutual passion and desire not realizing oftentimes we are expressing the very vibration of God as OneFlesh.

My dreams explode into my life as a sense of being “driven” and I cannot resist the great impelling. They never fail to yield some valuable cargo, some loot that I’d never have attained any other way but by listening to the demand to pursue hard and fast.

Dr. Mark Mulrooney captured this on a bike ride with me in Mossyrock

The 7^th day of creation was one of rest to celebrate completion of that foundation. But do you presume the creating stopped there? Of course not. We are made to create; co-creators with God, our Source. Personally, when the creative outlet is subjugated to left-brained work, I am famished in Spirit. In order to be fully happy, content, and fulfilled, I MUST feel the river of the creative flow of the Universe through the vessel of my yielded Spirit. I must not just feel the urging toward creation but yield to the action of writing it down—what will become Reality.

Therein lies a magical act: writing the dream. The ancients knew it. We can think, we can meditate on it, but in my experience, before the dream is written it remains floating unattached in the ether to any real foundation that will provide the sea-legs for it to stand firmly grounded upon.

We are gifted with vapors, essences of ideas, desires, dreams, visions…but as is the nature of a vapor, unless it is captured it evaporates and like a dream is so soon forgotten. We might reach into the corners of our mind but we cannot quite find it ever again only the fragments of regret.

The secret of bringing miracles into our lives is to pay astute attention to the still Voice, the silent nudgings, the impelling drive. Go into the Garden of Paradise in your own center, your Adytum, the sanctuary without doors, the place God dwells if you have given Him entrance, and look into the eyes that hold your future. Your co-creations that will lift up this struggling Planet will emerge.

Sometimes all you receive is a flash of insight. Set the course. Through the mists and fogs it will all be revealed as you chart steadily and surely. Common sense has no place in the building of dreams. The ability to block distractions and opposing Voices is the weapon of greatest value in this sea of exploration of possibility. Just hold firm to the impelling whether vision or Voice. It will come to pass.

Adytum Sanctuary was built this way, a castle, a mansion, from virgin forest land where only Indians tread lightly before. Nutritional Visions was built this way before supplements entered optometry in an office setting. My career as an international food activist was built this way when I was far too busy to take on more. Regardless it came and I was made capable by the grace of God. My Tao/Way has come by listening even when it directly opposed what we perceive as Earthly Reality or Common Sense. I am a sheep listening to my Shepherd. And it has led me to serene shores every single time laden with blessing and fulfillment unmatched.

(c) 2016 Katherine A. Carroll

Traveling Lightly by Katherine A. Carroll

              

             Facing the leap, the chasm, which takes you from one life to the next, you pass with nothing but your “self” but that is too much. The body must stay behind. You travel lightly; spirit only can fit through that eye of the needle.

              I have known people who linger on because of possessions. They are either defined by them, as in “work” or past jobs and titles. Or those who just can’t bear to have them pass to others. Some grasp things to themselves too long, far longer than their bodies are able to clasp to themselves. The law of disuse sets in…things are meant to be used, enjoyed.

              Putting myself mentally at the moment of death, I see and know that we step away from all of the weights, these encumbrances that have demanded from us; made us their slaves in upkeep or a slave to pretension of being owned and defined by their presence. We take that step and we don’t mind at all. Suddenly we wonder why it drove or compelled us at all. It is so easy to step away and even easier to leave the weight of the body that weighed us down as much as it provided a vehicle for delight.

              We will, in the final analysis, leave with even less than we arrived with: sans body. We must discipline ourselves to attend to the things that truly matter; to be willing to be limited in our affinities. To be stewards and not owners—including our body. To hold things so lightly that, like sand flowing through spread fingers, we release as easily as things come.

              What remains? Faith. Hope. Love.  You must have faith in something. Some One or that leap and chasm is into fear and not familiar…love…home.

copyright 2016 Katherine A. Carroll