If you live among animals as I do (11 dogs, innumerable cats, at various times goats, chickens, turkeys, rabbits, and assorted other pets) you gain a sense often of what they are communicating to you and to others with their barks, meows, grunts, gobbles, chirps, and body language. If you have prophetic sensibilities, that communication can seem even more like spoken language. A "talking" donkey is not so far-fetched in a folk tale. Furthermore, I am grieving the death of the lovely donkey (I hear that phrase with an English accent from a children's TV show featuring a donkey) that ran into my car to its death one week ago. Although the police, the insurance company, and the other motorists agree that I was not at fault, the part of me that can prophesy keeps searching the split seconds in that fatal encounter for clues that I might somehow have avoided the collision. Now, some friends are prodding me to sue the owners for invisible stress and damage to me, while I consider the fact that I still am alive and OK a mighty act of God. The negligence of the owner of the poor beast is certain. But I would have to lie to claim damages to myself. The car is a total wreck, I believe. The financial gap may come when I try to replace it, and it was not yet fully paid for. How much of that gap do the negligent donkey owners owe me?
However, a far more serious event occurred while I was pregnant with our third child and undertook to build a set of eight bookcases (a wall unit) for our growing library. I borrowed my father's noisy table saw to help with the job. My mother and my husband both warned me about doing such a thing while pregnant. But I was "today's woman" and rejected their warnings. Sixteen years later, when that child was being treated for dyslexia at The Listening Centre in Toronto, I came to realize that I had maimed the baby's hearing in utero. Pretty much everything about his learning problems, family relationships, addictions, and the schizophrenia that developed soon after treatment, came back to my arrogant insistence on building those bookshelves. My life's work became the research and study that brought to light a new anatomical system: the importance of right-ear dominance in the functioning of the CNS, vagus, and parasympathetic nervous systems. If we walk as "children of the light" we may "redeem the times that are evil," but that includes the times when, like Balaam, we are part of the problem.
Thank you for sharing this, Laurna. I am so sorry about the donkey and the accident. Even when we know intellectually that we were not at fault, it is remarkable how quickly our minds begin replaying those moments, searching for some different outcome that might have been possible. I'm glad that you came through it safely, even if the experience itself sounds deeply distressing.
Your reflections on Balaam also strike me as very honest. Most of us can look back on moments where confidence, certainty, or stubbornness led us somewhere we would not choose again. Yet I wonder if one of the hardest lessons is learning the difference between genuine responsibility and carrying burdens that were never ours to bear. Looking back, we can often draw straight lines between events, but life is rarely as simple as it appears in hindsight.
Thank you for sharing such a thoughtful and personal reflection.
If you live among animals as I do (11 dogs, innumerable cats, at various times goats, chickens, turkeys, rabbits, and assorted other pets) you gain a sense often of what they are communicating to you and to others with their barks, meows, grunts, gobbles, chirps, and body language. If you have prophetic sensibilities, that communication can seem even more like spoken language. A "talking" donkey is not so far-fetched in a folk tale. Furthermore, I am grieving the death of the lovely donkey (I hear that phrase with an English accent from a children's TV show featuring a donkey) that ran into my car to its death one week ago. Although the police, the insurance company, and the other motorists agree that I was not at fault, the part of me that can prophesy keeps searching the split seconds in that fatal encounter for clues that I might somehow have avoided the collision. Now, some friends are prodding me to sue the owners for invisible stress and damage to me, while I consider the fact that I still am alive and OK a mighty act of God. The negligence of the owner of the poor beast is certain. But I would have to lie to claim damages to myself. The car is a total wreck, I believe. The financial gap may come when I try to replace it, and it was not yet fully paid for. How much of that gap do the negligent donkey owners owe me?
However, a far more serious event occurred while I was pregnant with our third child and undertook to build a set of eight bookcases (a wall unit) for our growing library. I borrowed my father's noisy table saw to help with the job. My mother and my husband both warned me about doing such a thing while pregnant. But I was "today's woman" and rejected their warnings. Sixteen years later, when that child was being treated for dyslexia at The Listening Centre in Toronto, I came to realize that I had maimed the baby's hearing in utero. Pretty much everything about his learning problems, family relationships, addictions, and the schizophrenia that developed soon after treatment, came back to my arrogant insistence on building those bookshelves. My life's work became the research and study that brought to light a new anatomical system: the importance of right-ear dominance in the functioning of the CNS, vagus, and parasympathetic nervous systems. If we walk as "children of the light" we may "redeem the times that are evil," but that includes the times when, like Balaam, we are part of the problem.
Thank you for sharing this, Laurna. I am so sorry about the donkey and the accident. Even when we know intellectually that we were not at fault, it is remarkable how quickly our minds begin replaying those moments, searching for some different outcome that might have been possible. I'm glad that you came through it safely, even if the experience itself sounds deeply distressing.
Your reflections on Balaam also strike me as very honest. Most of us can look back on moments where confidence, certainty, or stubbornness led us somewhere we would not choose again. Yet I wonder if one of the hardest lessons is learning the difference between genuine responsibility and carrying burdens that were never ours to bear. Looking back, we can often draw straight lines between events, but life is rarely as simple as it appears in hindsight.
Thank you for sharing such a thoughtful and personal reflection.
Wisdom. Thank you!
Thanks 😊