The “gentlemen” of dogs
Were you to research the English Setter, it is likely that you would find this beautiful breed of dog described as the “gentlemen of dogs.” At least I did. Shored up by the echo of this description, I acquiesced to the fervor of my children and husband and added two from the same litter to our family.
Are they gentlemen? Inside the house, I’d say, yes – mostly. Because there are two of them, there is the occasional rumpus, but mostly they are content to be next to me, especially if there is something soft and cushy to lie on while they are keeping me company.
Outside, though? I would not say they are gentlemanly at all. They are magnificent. They are beautiful. They are two blurs of dog happiness zooming around the back yard. And they are usually remarkably disheveled and filthy – not traits typically associated with a gentleman.
“Pointing” at more than just what they see
The only time they might be mistaken for gentlemen outdoors is when they are on high alert, thrilled to a quivering aliveness by their curiosity about what might be just out of sight. Nine years into loving them, I am still not tired of watching them in this state. People who know way more about dogs than I do call it “pointing.” Whatever it’s called, it always makes me take a look. No matter my mood, it always lifts my heart and makes me smile.
Most mornings, my dogs and I start the day together with a long walk. Most mornings, we walk the same route – one that has proven to have lots of smells and not lots of cars. Toward the end of our walk, we climb a little footpath to a gate that leads to the bike trail that brings us back home. If they could talk, I am positive my dogs would tell you that the moment that I open that gate is their favorite moment of the whole walk.
These two, who are known for exploding through any door anywhere else, always freeze before creeping through the opening. Eyes wide. Ears perked. Tails wagging a million wags a minute. As we step through the gate, they are looking and sniffing and listening as if they’ve never been in that exact spot before – let alone 24 hours ago. They are wholly awake. They are entirely engaged in every single aspect of the moment when they arrive on the other side of that gate.
Could “pointing” be a way of seeing past everything we know and expect?
This morning, as I followed them through the gate, I thought how amazing it would be to live life that way. Not the frozen part, but the awake and alert part. What if we could be that curious about things we think we already know? People we’ve known for years? Places we pass through all the time?
The 20th century Christian mystic, Thomas Merton, in his book No Man Is an Island, got close to what I think this could feel like. I imagine one would be “always alive to the divine light concealed in the opacity of things and events,” and might “sometime [see] glimpses of that light where other people saw nothing but ordinary happenings.” Wouldn’t that state of being get your proverbial tail wagging?
Another mystic, Patanjali, (way before the first century had even begun) named in his Yoga Sutras the state I think Merton was describing viveka. Viveka is often translated as the ability to see things as they really are. Without the help of my dogs, this “clear seeing” might feel a little humdrum – like realizing the hard way that texts can be misinterpreted way more easily than actual conversations because tone and facial expressions matter.
But, in that gateway that we pass through every day, my dogs reveal that viveka is far from humdrum. It is exciting. It is thrilling. It makes you feel keenly and passionately alive. There is no way to be distracted by daydreams or worries or plans in this state. The moment itself is way too engaging for that. You’re not willing to miss a split second of what is happening.
With practice, we too can learn to “point”
Both Patanjali and Merton taught that, not only can we learn to live this way at least some of the time, but that doing so is the secret to a life well-lived. What do we have to do? Pay attention. Because my dogs are dogs, this is a bit easier for them. Their canine brains don’t seem to be dragged away from the present moment by thoughts and worries and plans quite as persistently as the human mind is prone to be.
But, precisely, because of our astounding albeit distractable human minds, we can learn to draw our attention away from our thoughts, worries and plans to re-engage with what is happening right now, right in front of our very noses. It takes practice. And a lot of it. It is not something at which we will ever be 100% successful, but even a moment a day of viveka – of glimpsing the light concealed in everyday things – flavors the whole day with its energy and aliveness.
The key to “pointing” as a life practice is to do it even when you’re pretty sure you already know what’s there
The next time you find yourself in a metaphorical gateway – whether you are cooking a meal, setting a table, or calling your loved ones for dinner – try to switch gears. Ask yourself – what if I did not assume I know what is going to happen next? What if I gave myself the thrilling space to wonder, to be curious, to be surprised? Couldn’t that help me to savor every moment of this precious life of mine?
I think so.
In Yoga Sutra 3.53, Patanjali describes viveka as the ability to perceive things as they really are, without the “coloring” of our experiences, biases, opinions, beliefs. This clarity, which comes, Patanjali promises, as a result of contemplative practice, is, in the words of one translator, T.K.V. Desikachar, “immediate, spontaneous, and total.” I don’t know about you, but even a single moment like that would really get my tail wagging.