Old Tears

New friend

All Souls Day

I sent an early text to a fellow theology nerd like myself this morning. She then sent me a few pictures of our mutually departed friends with rather cool AI-generated angel wings. I headed off to church. We said a few little prayers for those who had passed, and I hopped on my bike to ride into the autumn landscape. When I ride, I always offer a forgiveness and mercy prayer because riding a bike is dangerous. I don’t pray for safety because even God does not influence the rude dudes in the white pick-ups.

I have 1 long route or 3 shorter routes. Today I did the longer route. The Smoky Mountains are stunning this Fall. I told myself I was not going to take any pictures today, just a quiet Sunday Sabbath ride. I was pedaling and reflecting on my silence during the pastor’s request that we name aloud loved ones who passed this past year. I opted not to say “Porter.” Porter was my poodle. We sat with him a month ago to do the hard and kind goodbye.

I am 61 years old, and I think I have done “that damn goodbye” 16 times at least. My farm days were filled with joy and the difficult chore of letting go. I have gotten better with it, but I knew if I said his little name out loud, I would cry. Plus, there were a lot of grandaddies and kinfolk named, and I thought naming my little poodle might be bad timing.

I have almost 2000 miles on my bike. I pass the same beautiful fields, mountains, streams, and raggedy farm animals every time I ride. Today, for the first time, I saw the shortest donkey, and she was either very pregnant or drawn by Dr Seuss. She was so cute, and the mountains behind her were right out of a Hopkins poem, “Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough.” I decided to get the picture I wasn’t going to take. Typically, farm animals have no interest in me, so I was rather surprised when little fatty ran toward me. And then it happened. If you’re not an animal person, stop reading.

“Hello, little fatty, can I pet your big ears?”

Her muzzle bowed down, and then came my tears. She was Porter. At first, she was Porter, then she became all of my lost fury souls. Like the hills ablaze behind her, I saw every one of them for a moment. She tilted her head, and her brown eye was everything I have ever loved. And the tears kept coming. I wanted to bring her home; I wanted to build her a barn. I wanted to feed her my energy bar.

But she didn’t want me to do anything. Little Fatty was just saying hello. A silent hello from the secret beauty of hearts. For a cosmic moment, there was a Oneness. Moments like this do not happen often. They can not be AI-generated or forced. I didn’t want to leave her. My thinker started thinking… and then I made it stop. Tears are not a thinking thing; they come from the soul. I patted her head goodbye and mounted my bike. I rode away with tears that were not fretful but mystical.

“Thanks for a memorable All Souls day, Little Fatty.”