Here's a crosspost of my blog at http://www.spiritvoyage.com/blog/index.php/mantras-for-dying-animals/
Four months ago, my beloved dog Chloe (affectionately nicknamed
"Gopi") died quite suddenly of a particularly aggressive form of cancer I
didn't even realize she'd had. Long story short: I came home from a
kirtan late one night to discover that my normally exuberant, bouncy
spaniel mix was disoriented, listless and unable to walk.
When I
knelt down to investigate (assuming rather dumbly that she had some kind
of sports-related injury), Chloe--sweet friend that she was--tried to
give me a reassuring kiss. That's when I realized that her tongue was
cold. And grey.
Panicked, I rushed her to a 24-hour emergency
veterinary clinic near my house. There, the vet told me that my dog had
something called "canine splenic hemangiosarcoma" and that a tumor on
her spleen had ruptured. Basically, my sweet little Gopi was bleeding to
death internally. After delivering this diagnosis, the vet--a youngish,
tired-looking woman whom I had never met before--told me rather
dispassionately that there was nothing I could do and that the "best
thing" would be to put my dog down. Right then and there.
How do you react to news like that? One moment you are sitting in an artist's loft in Soho, sipping gingery chai and chanting
"Om Namah Shivaya" with
your friends; the next you are in a poorly lit, eerily quiet veterinary
office in some derelict section of Poughkeepsie, being told that your
nine-year old dog was going to die within the next twelve hours.
Needless to say I was stunned. But someone in this equation was going to
have to make a decision and that someone was going to be me, whether I
felt qualified to be doing so or not.
My decision took a second, and yet you could also say it took
lifetimes. Lifetimes of meditation practice, of studying dharma and
spiritual texts, of practicing yoga. "I'll take her home with me," I
told the vet. I wanted--somewhat selfishly--to have the opportunity to
say goodbye to Chloe. And I also believed--somewhat childishly--that
maybe Chloe wouldn't actually die; that I could take her to my "real"
vet in the morning and receive a more positive diagnosis. But mostly I
wanted to spend the next hours chanting for Chloe in a nurturing
environment while she made her transition. As a meditator and a
practitioner of both Buddhism and
Kundalini Yoga, I knew that these final hours were very important.
And so, whether my decision was a wise one or not, I arranged to take
my dying dog home. The vet gave Chloe a dose of strong painkillers and I
watched with a sense of surreal, sorrowful determination as a
technician lifted my dog into my car.
Chloe
Before I go on, I should clarify that I am not an expert on death
and/or dying; nor am I am expert on the nature of animal consciousness
or of human consciousness for that matter. I am simply a devoted
practitioner who happens to love animals and relates particularly well
to dogs, and was blessed to have shared a connection with a pretty
remarkable dog. She was a mood elevator and a mind reader and a
happy-go-lucky-goofball, and she spent much of her short sweet life
sitting next to me at churches, monasteries, spiritual retreat centers
and at our weekly Woodstock kirtans.
For nine years we walked the path together. Literally and figuratively. And now she was dying. And it was my duty--my
privilege--to walk with her right up until the end.
I felt wholly unprepared. And yet, one could argue that our yoga and
meditation practices are nothing but preparation for the moment of
death. One of my first Buddhist teachers, Khandro Rinpoche, used to say:
"If it doesn't matter at the moment of death, it doesn't matter now."
Likewise,
Yogi Bhajan always said, "You and your mastery must come
through at the moment of death." They were talking about one's own
death, but still. One of the great gifts we have as humans is our own
free will, to work with our minds and direct our consciousnesses.
Another great gift we have as humans is the power to help
others. And as human yogis, we have even more power. In the Buddhist
tradition, we place special emphasis on helping animals. To paraphrase
Lama Kyabje Zopa Rinpoche, renowned for his work with animals: "the
animal realm is considered to be one of more suffering and less
potential than the human realm. Thus, we want to do everything in our
power to help that being's consciousness to find a higher rebirth. A
very important condition for a better rebirth is for the being to have a
calm mind at the time of death. Also, being in contact with holy
objects (statues, stupas, holy images and mantras) purifies negative
karma and accumulates merit for that being which will help in this
regard. This is the biggest present you can give them: Good rebirth,
finish samsara, liberation."
So yes, I am talking about reincarnation here. But even if you don't
believe in reincarnation, you have the power to surround your loved ones
with love at the time of their death. It sounds so simple--and it
is
so simple--but it is also easy (and natural) to lapse into feelings of
powerlessness as we are faced with another's imminent death.
I know I lapsed into feelings of powerlessness quite a few times that
evening. But I am so grateful that I had a mantra practice. When I brought Chloe home from the emergency clinic, she was too weak
to climb the stairs, so we spent the night in the foyer, on the cold
wooden floor. I had brought one of Chloe's beds down for her to rest
on, but for some reason she chose to stay on the floor--perhaps because
the wood was more organic, more related to the Earth. In solidarity, I
lay next to her, foregoing any padding so that I could stay close to
her. The next few hours were and still are a blur. I know that I
chanted and prayed and sang for hours, I know that I told her again and
again that I loved her in so many ways, but when I look back I seem to
remember only a few minutes and a few scant details. The sound of the
music. The sound of her breath. The sound of recorded monks reciting
mantras, and of gongs and of
Snatam Kaur.
And myself, crying and chanting; chanting and crying. As the hour of
sunrise neared and the sky outside began to lighten, I made some phone
calls: to my vet, to a neighbor, and to the Tibetan monastery where I
planned to bring my dog. Even as I write this blog four months later, I
am asking myself if I did the right things. If I should have tried to
save Chloe's life with risky surgery while I was at the veterinary
clinic; or if I should have shortened her life with euthanasia. And yet,
I know that friends of mine who chose the euthanasia route are also
asking the same questions: "Did we do the right thing?" I guess the
answer is: anything done with love is the right thing.
With the help of some friends, I was able to get Chloe back into my
car, and I was able to drive her up to Karma Triyana Dharmachakra
Monastery, where one of the resident lamas attended to her (working with
her consciousness in ways I still can't comprehend), and then I took
her to my vet, which opened at 9:00 am. Chloe died as as soon as we
arrived at the vet's office. The last word she heard before her
consciousness left her body was "Om." Or rather, I should say: the last
thing she heard was my voice, singing "Om."
After Chloe died, I posted a short announcement on my
Facebook page and on my personal
blog pages,
and I was both humbled and floored at the amount of response I
received. Hundreds of people wrote to me wanting to know which mantras I
chanted. So here, finally, is the list.
Akal
From the Sikh tradition, we have the beautiful, simple mantra "
Akal"
to assist our animal friends at their time of transition. "Akal" means
undying, and I am going to quote Spirit Voyage blogger and Marketing
Director
Ramdesh Kaur on the deeper definitions of the mantra because she describes it so beautifully. "Chanting '
Akaaaaal'
is said in the Kundalini Yoga tradition to help liberate the soul from
the dense field of the earth, giving it a boost into the peace of the
divine beyond. Akal means that there is no death, only liberation. It
reminds both the departed and those who remain behind of our true
identity as deathless souls."
"
Akal," to me, is one of those chants that can fill the room
with a white light and literally set the soul free. Many of us are
aware that our intense love of and grief over a dying companion can
actually hold that companion back. The soul, in other words, sticks
around longer than it technically should. (Forgive my lack of eloquence
here, but the topic of death somehow turns my prose to wood.) By
chanting
Akal, we are reminding ourselves--and our loved ones--that it is okay to make this transition, that all is well, that we are safe.
I chanted along to
Snatam Kaur's version during my dog's transition (available as an
MP3 free download here on Spirit Voyage). There's also a soaring version by Simrit Kaur, from her album
The Sweetest Nectar). The sweetness of the mantra can bring so much comfort in times of pain and loss.
Mantra of the Medicine Buddha
Tayatha Om Bekandzay Bekandzay Maha Bekandzay Bekandzay Radza Samundgate Svaha.
From the Buddhist tradition, the
Medicine Buddha mantra
is an excellent mantra to recite for a sick or dying animal. As the
name implies, it aids in the healing of both physical illness and
emotional distress. This mantra is also used to "ripen the minds" of
animals, meaning that any animal who hears this mantra will be guided
toward higher rebirths, better conditions, and more positive states of
mind. (Remember: mustn't forget how powerful these ancient languages of
Sanskrit, Tibetan, Gurmukhi, Hebrew, etc are. These mantras are powerful
that animals and even beings from other realms can hear and understand
them.)
Mantra of Chenrezig (the Buddha of Compassion)
Om Mani Padme Hum
According to Lama Zopa Rinpoche, the benefits of reciting the
Compassion Buddha Mantra
are infinite, like the limitless sky. Not only will reciting this
mantra bring your animal comfort at the time of transition, the effects
of this mantra will be felt for lifetimes to come. "This makes a huge
difference. It has inconceivable result, unbelievable result. This
practice will plant the seed of all the realizations of the path to
enlightenment. That makes them have a good rebirth next life, to be born
as a human being and meet the Dharma." Rinpoche says it is best to
verbally
recite the mantras into our pet's ears. You can also recite this mantra
over their water and their food to increase its potency.
I sang Chloe my own version of
Om Mani Padme Hum (which she seemed to like) and one by Imee Oiee.
You can download Deva Premal's potent versions of the two aforementioned mantras, recorded with the Gyoto Monks, here:
Yod Hey Shin Vav Hey
My dog always enjoyed a CD from the Judeo-Christian tradition, called "
Holy Harmony,"
from master sound healer Jonathan Goldman. I used to play this
hour-long chant for her whenever she was anxious, and the healing tones
combined with the ancient chant would send us both into the cosmos.
According to Mr. Goldman, "Holy Harmony" contains the divine frequencies
of creation itself, with tones direct from the healing codes of the
Bible. The mantra, YHSVH (Yod Hey Shin Vav Hey), is an ancient name of
the Christ. So, as you can imagine, this mantra powerful beyond measure.
It was comforting to both me and my dog to have this track and its
frequencies playing in the background during her transition.
And I think, in hindsight, it was a wise decision to play something
that Chloe was familiar with. Because so much of what happened that
night was unfamiliar, after all. This is all the more reason to start
playing healing mantras for your animals
now, by the way.
I am not trying to be morbid here, or a doomsayer. I just want you
to know that, if and when you ever reach that moment in your life when
your beloved animal friend is critically ill, and your vet says: "I'm
sorry, there's nothing we can do..." that there actually is something
you can do. You can sing and pray and chant. You can create a vibration
of love and healing and ease so that your beloved animal does not
transition in a state of worry or fear.
Friends are now saying that I was "lucky" and that Chloe was lucky
that she got to die with me, at home, in a sacred environment, rather
than at the vet's office. Here I have to remind people that she actually
died in my mini-van, which I suppose was the dog's home of sorts, too.
But I won't deny that Chloe was blessed to have spent her final moments
at a Tibetan Buddhist monastery.
But I'd like to point out that any environment can be made sacred,
simply by putting forth the intention, or calling upon the Gurus. When
once voices reaches out to another in prayer, that is sacred. When one
heart reaches out to another in love, that is sacred. No matter where
you are--at home, or in a treatment room at a veterinary clinic, or
(heaven forbid) at the scene of a tragic accident--remember that you can
help your beloved pets on their journey with the sound of your own
voice. I can't imagine a more beautiful sound current to be carried
away on. And neither can they.
May the long time sun shine upon you!
Additional Resources: Jivan Joti Kaur Khalsa's spectacular and profound book,
Dying into Life,
presents teachings on death, loss, and transformation from a Kundalini
Yoga perspective. For me this book has been very therapeutic as I
process the death of yet another beloved in this lifetime.
If you are interested in learning more about Buddhist practices for assisting dying animals, visit:
http://www.enlightenmentforanimals.org/index.php/prayers-and-practices/death-a-dying
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