Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

I have a dear friend whose dog, a small, black dog named Andy, is very ill, and we're all grieving in advance along with her. Few things are as hard as the impending loss of a beloved animal companion. Little black dogs touch my heart, as do dogs in general. But my own little black dog was Sparky. Sparky was a toy poodle who belonged to my Mom and Dad. After my Mom died, late in 1995, Sparky was Dad's closest companion when I couldn't be there. We all know the magic of companion animals: they love us unconditionally, help to raise our spirits, snuggle with us for warmth and comfort. Knowing how my parents loved Sparky, I naturally brought him to live with my family after Dad died unexpectedly in early 1997. I had young children who adored him, and he became my 10-year-old daughter's bed companion from that moment until she went off to college. Sparky grew old in our home, and brought me constant reminders of Mom and Dad. When he died in 2006, at the ripe age o

Amid ongoing family drama and "wars and rumors of wars," I was blessed to be able to attend a talk given by the Vietnamese Buddhist teacher, Thich Nhat Hanh, last Saturday, in New York City. I hadn't been to New York in decades -- cities aren't really for me, and are not usually my destination of choice. I am such a provincial! Going to New York is, for me, like a Gaulish tribesman's arrival in Ancient Rome. But with my husband and a dear friend to guide me, I made it to the upper West Side and took my place in the upper balcony of the Beacon Theater. Prior to the actual teaching, there was music and group song, led by monks with violin, cello and drum. The audience stood and bowed when the teacher arrived onstage. What an experience! Nhat Hanh, or "Thay" (as his students call him -- it actually means "Teacher") was small and far-away when seen from my perch. Seated in front of his accompanying group of monks and nuns, all nearly indistin