When practiced with animals, Reiki is all about meditation. It creates a safe, peaceful space that promotes healing.
Until a dog barks, a truck beeps and backs up … what was that I was supposed to pick up today? I’ll have to avoid the construction at … aw, crud.
Anyone who has practiced (or tried) meditation will know what I mean. Many folks think they can’t meditate because they can’t sit still, quiet their minds, avoid distraction, or any of the other “supposed tos.” That’s the beauty of animal Reiki. While animals may call you on it if you’re not fully present, they’re all about second chances.
That’s true even if the moment includes a pig screeching, which pierced a quiet session with some horses in a pasture. I turned from the fence and ran toward the sound, wondering if I’d have to call the police or a veterinarian, only to find said pig simply wanted out of her enclosure. Somebody else with thumbs had obliged by the time I got there.
I headed back to the pasture, taking a few deep breaths along the way. The horses looked at me not with reproach for the interruption, but empathy for reacting to a noise they probably endured often. We continued with the Reiki session.
This ability to shift in and out of meditation was honed during my training in a sanctuary barn full of barking dogs, restless horses, and other anxious animals. We learned to hold peaceful space by adapting — moving around as needed, responding to interruptions — and refocusing. Dropping our expectations of what was supposed to happen allowed the energy to work … even when a rat ran across the floor and got the dogs barking again!
At the end of our three days at the barn, our teacher, Kathleen Prasad, pointed out how much quieter and calmer the animals were. (You can see and hear the before and after.) We could hear the rustle of hay and the chirping of birds in the rafters. The place felt lighter.
Occasionally, especially in this season of pandemic and protest, it’s my own thoughts that pierce the peace. As soon as I notice this, I gently steer myself back to the present moment and the “Just for today” Reiki precepts. Or I’ll listen to Gregorian chant, which the animals also like. They don’t mind that it’s in Latin. Neither do I.
We are 21st-century humans dealing with crazy stuff. Interruptions and distractions happen, but they don’t have to throw us off. Meditation with animals, especially rescue or working animals, is a perfect opportunity for flexibility and compassion. This includes self compassion. Practice doesn’t make perfect, but it can make better.
If you don’t have time for what you think is a meditation practice, try sitting, standing, or walking with your animal friend and taking 10 (or five, or three) deep breaths. Focus on the peace you have, or seek, with and for your beloved friend. If something else floats through your mind instead, notice it and return to peace. If your cat leaves the room or your dog barks at the UPS man, let them and return to peace.
Congratulations; you can meditate.
Whether we are practitioners or pet parents, I’m convinced that our ability to adapt to what is happening in the moment can only help the animals. Anything I have learned about mindfulness advises us not to judge the distractions, our “monkey minds,” or ourselves, but to acknowledge our humanness and try again.
It’s not about perfection. It’s about showing up, wandering off, coming back, and being there — sometimes all in the same breath.