Author: ECKANKAR

By M. Jane Hocking

When we were younger and living in Alaska, my husband and I had sled dogs. He did some racing, but I never really enjoyed running a team. With beautiful scenery and my dog buddies, mushing should have brought joy, not a heavy lump of dread in my gut. But I loved raising puppies, training lead dogs, and finding and clearing old trails, so I concentrated on those tasks related to sledding.

My lead dog, Dizzy, was born in one of the last litters we raised. We had a special bond from the time of her birth. While she was still in her prime, she suddenly refused to run. Normal sled dogs go wild with joy at the sight of harnesses or a sled, but now Dizzy would sit on her house like a statue, head turned away from me. We could find no physical reason; she simply declared herself retired. I ran my team less and less until I, too, retired.

One day, in contemplation, I saw myself walking up a high hill. When I reached the top, I remembered that old feeling of dread, so I asked why.

The scene instantly shifted from a hilltop vista to an open birch forest in late-winter sunshine, between one and two hundred years ago. In that life I was a Native or Metis man (a person of Indigenous and European descent living in Canada or the northern United States). I drove my dog team toward a trading post to sell my winter’s catch of fur. An inner voice in the contemplation told me that I would be killed for my dogs and furs. The voice also named a farm in Ontario where my body would be buried.

Now that feeling of dread about running a sled-dog team made sense! Every time I had driven a dog team in this lifetime, I was subconsciously reliving my approach to death in that other lifetime.

I decided to let go of the baggage from back then by loading the dread into my sled and hitching my old dogs for one last run. We would take a short loop trail and dump out that past-life memory at the turnaround point.

I gathered harnesses and carried them to the dogs. To my surprise, Dizzy was leaping and screaming with joy right along with the others. I instinctively knew that she had died trying to defend me back then. Clearly she, too, needed to let go of the past.

Like that long-ago day, this was also a bright, late-winter day. During our symbolic run, Dizzy and I left behind the residue of that lifetime and returned with light hearts into the freedom of Now.

—Photos courtesy of M. Jane Hocking

By Allen Anderson

Standing in line at a sprawling grocery store, I placed five bags of large sweet potatoes on the conveyer belt. A mature cashier with a kind, smiling face (I’ll call her Stacy) enthusiastically said, “Leaf’s food!”

Startled, I looked up. Although I’d been in Stacy’s line a couple of times, she wasn’t usually the cashier who rang up my weekly haul of sweet potatoes. And I didn’t recall ever telling her my cocker spaniel’s name.

Stacy enthusiastically explained. “We sometimes talk in the break room about Sweet-Potato Man,” she said. “Every week he buys bags and bags of sweet potatoes so he can cook food for his dog’s special diet. One of the cashiers told us at a store-employee meeting that the dog’s name is Leaf.”

I was very surprised that anyone remembered my purchases, much less my dog’s name. In the past, a cashier might say, “My, you must really like sweet potatoes,” or “Are you making sweet-potato pie?” or “Are you having a party?”

I would say, “We make home-cooked food for my dog. He has pancreatitis.” Often this explanation triggered a story about the cashier’s pet.

I realized I must have mentioned Leaf’s name to one of the other cashiers. “Wow!” I said to Stacy. “You have a great memory, considering all the people you see every week going through the line.”

Stacy glanced down at the bags of sweet potatoes covering her station. “You’re memorable,” she replied.

Leaf’s Special Recipe

We adopted Leaf from an animal shelter when he was about a year old. Although he’d suffered abandonment and abuse, he was generally in good health. When he was seven, he became dangerously ill with pancreatitis and repeatedly needed emergency veterinary care. After a few years of the disease, he was no longer able to tolerate prescription dog food. We were facing serious trouble. To save his life, we had to find a solution.

My wife Linda and I are ECKists. We appreciate the blessing of having a spiritual teacher, the Mᴀʜᴀɴᴛᴀ, who inwardly helps us find solutions to problems. We’ve learned how to use our creativity to make better lives for ourselves and the family of pets in our care.

After finding out about Leaf’s condition, Linda and I each went into contemplation and used a spiritual exercise to focus our attention on his health. We sang HU, a sacred mantra that opens our hearts to the love within all life. The contemplation time I spend, often with Leaf in my lap, is key to a fuller expression of love, including the love he and I have for each other. This quiet time doing a spiritual exercise also allows me to see practical solutions to problems such as what would help Leaf become healthier.

Although the spiritual exercises didn’t immediately reveal what would reduce Leaf’s pain, our inner guidance was to take him back to his veterinarian for further consultation. We were relieved that our vet contacted a veterinary dietitian. This animal health-care specialist created recipes for Leaf’s breed, weight, and medical condition. His food options became limited due to all he couldn’t eat, but they expanded into human food mixed with prescribed minerals.

We were on the road to improved quality of life and longevity for our little dog.

A Labor of Love

Leaf quickly let us know which of the recipes he preferred. One called for green beans. We found a stack of them next to his food bowl. He had carefully removed each green bean and only eaten the rest of the ingredients. However, we noticed he gobbled down the food that included lots of sweet potatoes.

Who would have thought the process of selecting sweet potatoes every weekend would give me joy? I picked them out of a giant pile near the grocery-store entrance and carefully placed ten “perfect” potatoes in each of five bags. While examining each potato, I experienced quiet happiness from knowing this was for Leaf.

Other customers noticed my routine and the bags of sweet potatoes in my cart.  Some were curious, maybe picking up on my joy, and asked why I bought so many. I gladly told them. Out of courtesy for their time I kept my answer short, but I was always greeted by smiles and bright eyes. After hearing Leaf’s story, many shoppers looked happier. Maybe they were thinking about their special animal companions.

After buying Leaf’s sweet potatoes each weekend, I cleaned, peeled, chopped, and cooked them before mixing the bite-sized pieces into the recipe. Then Linda and I portioned the batch into twenty-one single servings. We put the week’s supply into containers and stored them in our freezer and refrigerator.

Although buying and making Leaf’s food was a labor-intensive, time-consuming process, I was rewarded with the attention of my doggy supervisor. He squatted next to me in anticipation that I’d drop pieces of sweet potato onto the floor. (I did.) The preparation proceeded with great care for a little fellow who brought so much love into our lives.

Even though his three meals were the same every day, he devoured them with gusto. It was as if he’d never tasted anything so delicious in his entire life. Every day was a new day for this dog. He exemplified the happiness of Soul living in the present.

Sweet-Potato Supply

When Stacy told me about the grocery employees’ nickname for me and how Leaf and I were a topic of staff conversations, I said, “Other stores only have small amounts and small potatoes. This store stocks a lot, and the sweet potatoes are big, so I don’t have to peel as many.”

Stacy leaned over the counter and whispered, “The people who keep up our inventory make sure there is a fresh batch of big sweet potatoes for you every weekend.”

My experiences at the grocery store and at home have shown me the spiritual value of Leaf’s sweet potatoes. Through the spiritual exercises I’ve learned in Eᴄᴋᴀɴᴋᴀʀ, I’d been guided to find solutions for our dog’s survival. Leaf and I are two individuals going through life’s ups and downs together and helping each other as comrades. Fulfilling his needs was based on our mutual love and respect. Our love expanded to draw in the customers I met as well as the store employees. Together we’ve maintained Leaf’s health, but we’ve also shared so much more.

Leaf, as a spiritual team, we always have each other’s back.

Leaf, this grocery store has your back.

Leaf, the Mᴀʜᴀɴᴛᴀ has your back.

—Photos by Kristy Walker and Allen Anderson

By Sri Harold Klemp

“Rose” works in a day-care center. Every day when she drives to work, she likes to sing HU, which is a love song to God.

When she got to work one day, she found she was to be in charge of twelve children, ages two to three. She gathered up her little flock and joined the other children and teachers outside. As the little kids began to play and enjoy themselves, Rose found a quiet spot where she could keep on singing HU.

While she was singing HU, along came a moth. It was a beautiful, golden moth, and it landed on her blouse, right above her heart. Rose put out her hand, and the moth made its way down her arm to her hand and sat there.

The two- and three-year-old children saw immediately what was happening. They said, “It’s a gift from God to you.”

It was a golden moth—a beautiful moth. Several of the kids ran off to get another teacher. When that teacher came, she said, “Aw, it’s just an ugly moth.” A second teacher said, “It’s just a moth.” But the kids knew better.

God’s Love

So when it was time to go in, Rose and the kids talked about the moth as being a gift from God. Just before they went back into the school, they said to the moth, “We’re going to have to say good-bye now.” And the moth took off. It flew away, but it came back and landed on Rose once again. And the kids said, “You’ll always be with us, but you’ve got to go now.” Because the kids had to go too.

Then the moth took off for good. But it definitely could feel the love that was coming from the sound of HU and from Rose.

When Rose and the kids went inside, these little two- and three-year-olds talked about God’s love and the moth—how it had been time to let the moth go, but it would always be with them. The kids said, “We know that, Miss Rosie, God is always with us.”

The other teachers couldn’t shift gears, but the kids did just as naturally as a river follows its bed. They knew. And the adults, who supposedly knew much better than the kids, didn’t know at all.

By Sri Harold Klemp

A certain woman was considered to be very strong by her friends. She was the person that others went to when they had trouble in their lives. But one morning she woke up feeling depressed, lonely, forgotten, and unloved. Seventeen years ago on this date her father had died, and she had kept her sorrow to herself all these years.

She felt terrible, but she went to work. Her boss was a very understanding person. “On a day like this, sometimes it’s better just to forget work,” he advised. “Go to some special place or talk with a special person.” And the woman had someone in mind, a very close friend.

When she arrived at her friend’s home, he was painting the garage. His dog Buck sat next to him. Buck had always been very unfriendly toward women and very protective of his owner. When he saw the woman approaching, Buck began to growl. The dog sat there growling at her as she watched her friend paint his garage.

The woman needed love, but she didn’t know how to ask for it. She was too shy to say, I feel really down; I just need a hug. As her friend kept painting the garage, she felt worse and worse. Pretty soon he finished. But rather than come over and talk to her, he began cleaning his brushes. She sat on the steps watching him, feeling worse than ever. Buck had gone off somewhere, and she was glad. She didn’t need him snarling at her.

Suddenly Buck crept up behind her. She stiffened and waited for him to start his usual growling. Instead, he licked her on the cheek, then sat down beside her and let her pet him.

The woman realized that the dog understood her need and had come to give her love because no one else would give it, mainly because she didn’t know how to ask.

The dog was also Soul, responding to the divine love that comes down from the highest plane of God. The woman wasn’t someone that others would expect needed any love; she was one of the “strong” people whom others asked for love. But the dog saw her need and understood.

By Sheri Kramer

Some years ago, I was having one of those days where I felt particularly sad and lonely. Rather than stay home and sulk, I opted to spend some time at a nearby nature preserve. As I drove there, I asked the Mᴀʜᴀɴᴛᴀ, the inner presence I can always count on, to help me feel less lonely.

Not long after starting my walk, I noticed a snake in my path, curled into the shape of a heart. I like cats and dogs and other familiar creatures well enough. But I also have an affinity with less universally loved creatures such as spiders and, yes, snakes.

So, coming upon a heart-shaped snake immediately lifted my spirits, and I decided to take a picture. Because the camera on my phone had a very short focal length, I had to get closer and closer to the snake. I worried that if I got too close, it would simply slither away.

Instead, this beautiful being looked up at me, as if to tell me, “I’ve been waiting for you. You are loved. You are not alone.”

It never ceases to amaze me that when I ask for help and I’m open to receiving it, Spirit will show Its love in the most wonderful ways.

—Photo by Sheri Kramer

By Marilyn Sickler

How does a person who hasn’t spent much time around animals prove her belief that animals are Souls? A tender experience near a cow pasture broadened my spiritual horizons.

Years ago, my husband and I lived in the country. Our mailbox was across the road next to a big cow pasture enclosed by an old barbed-wire fence. I luxuriated in the beauty of the scenery and enjoyed the wild pasture, the trees, the grasses in the ditch, and the quiet of nature.

Living in the country was new for me. Growing up, I had never been around animals. Now, although we had thirty acres, we did not have any animals. I always knew animals were Souls, just like we are, but my experience with them was very limited.

Every day while walking up our road to get the mail, I used the time to sing HU, my love song to God. I always enjoy this nondirected prayer, and it was especially meaningful for me one perfect day. The sky was blue, the clouds were white and puffy, and I heard birds singing and insects chirping. I was filled with love and gratefulness.

As I reached the mailbox, I saw that several of the many cows were also enjoying the day and grazing near the fence in the huge field. I would always sing to them if they were nearby. Over the months of my daily walk, when I sang HU some looked up and a few walked closer. Mostly, however, they continued their happy munching and ignored me.

A Golden Moment

This particular day, being alone and at one with nature, I grabbed my mail and walked up to the fence while still singing HU out loud. A big black cow came right to the fence where I stood knee-deep in weeds and wildflowers.

I started to sing louder. Then I bravely put my hand out, reached over the old fence, and patted the black cow’s head. Not being an animal person, I found it to be a nice feeling to touch its soft and silky fur.

To my surprise a big tear slowly welled up in one of the animal’s beautiful eyes and came streaming down its face. We watched each other for a while, and those huge “cow-brown eyes” seemed to look right into me.

It was as though we were no longer cow and person, but totally Soul and Soul. It was very clear to me that this Soul had felt the love of the HU, the sound within all sounds, and was able to connect with it. I felt moved by this perfect moment.

A Spiritual Surprise

Later that day I saw the owner of the cows when I went into town. We stopped to chat, and I told him some of what had happened between his cow and me. He was an older, salt-of-the-earth sort of gentleman and had been raising beef cattle for years. I said, “I was singing to your cows, and one of them walked up to the fence and let me pet it.”

The old rancher told me he couldn’t believe it. He said, “That animal you were petting was not a cow, but a very mean, aggressive bull!” He was totally amazed that the black bull had even come close to me, much less let me pet him.

I walked away with a big smile on my face. I knew now that I’d had a confirmation. This truly had been a golden moment of Soul reaching out to Soul. My heart overflowed with gratitude for the glorious experience.

It proved to me that even a so-called mean bull could hear and relate to the sound and call of Soul.