Other Family Members

Betty Malicoat

They wear fur coats even in Summer, communicate without words, and depend on our attention, care and love as members of our family. Not just the nuclear family, but as companions to the human family throughout a long history.

Archeological evidence suggests the dog, as descended from the gray wolf, was domesticated for its hunting skills roughly 15,000 years ago. The cat, descended from the subspecies of the wildcat, was welcomed around 5,000 years later also for its ability to hunt.

Today, the domesticated cat and dog still serve in their original capacities and much more. As with any long-standing relationship, The reasons for our seeking the companionship of a pet and a pet’s attachment to a human are varied and complex.

We can speculate that pets share their lives with us in exchange for shelter and protection, but many survive on their own. And, strictly speaking, we no longer need to rely on their hunting instincts to help us capture our food.

So how do we explain a strong mutual bond that has survived over thousands of years? Perhaps the answer lies in an entirely different kind of survival. It’s possible that the exchange between human and pet is also one of emotional support.

When we hug and pet a cat or dog and use our voices to make sounds of appreciation, we don’t know how they feel, but we do hear purring and observe tail-wagging and other physical responses of pleasure and playfulness that lighten our hearts.

It’s hard not to believe our care of pets is as emotionally healing for them as their presence is for us. their influence is unlike any other for making us calm and focused with an increased sense of responsibility for their care.

When we provide food and shelter, we receive pure affection and loyalty that never fails to touch our hearts. Cats and dogs also give us gifts of unconditional love and trust in ways as unique as their personalities.

Because of my attachment to pets, I responded out of sympathy to many online requests over the years for pet healing, but I didn’t consider offering a healing until it became necessary to heal my own pets. That’s when I realized its value and decided to make it available.

To read about this healing, I invite you to visit Caring Pet Healing under Services on this website. This webpage can also be accessed under caringpethealing.com

That Extra Gland

Betty Malicoat

You know you have it when you cannot say no to the downtrodden, forlorn and, above all, master manipulators of those of us born with a sympathy gland. To be fair, I should include all those who have acquired a similar phantom gland through guilt.

It’s not the same absolute sincerity and foolishness, but it will allow for the same complications and lead to the same enormous amounts of time given over to those who would enslave the energy of others for their own benefit regardless of the detriment to others.

Please understand, I do not include the genuinely troubled who are always open, appreciative and who enthusiastically participate in their own recovery whether it be from emotional or physical complications.

They are, without exception, a joy to work with and allow for a true exchange of human thought and feeling to occur for a successful and satisfying healing. I wish to narrow the scope down to the sympathy-seeking, ever-thoughtless professional energy-stealers.

At this point, you’re probably wondering why the tirade about the behavior of people who should appear to be obvious and therefor easily avoided under all circumstances, extra gland or not. Ah, this is the worst part of glandular excess.

The personal satisfaction, the personal identification of this healer-counselor is in helping others. This sounds reasonable, even logical unless this also includes the need to be needed as the means to self-worth which includes the need for approval from others. “you helped me” becomes the siren song.

“You didn’t help me” becomes the manipulator’s refrain. That extra gland puffs up with equal parts determination and misplaced responsibility to heal that which cannot be healed like the all-consuming need to have someone’s devoted sympathetic attention on every sad, bad emotional change the manipulator experiences.

The intention is never healing or even self-improvement. After months and sometimes years of diligent attention, the manipulator still feels wounded and still insists on transferring emotional burdens onto the very person trying to foolishly help. There is no help for the professional victim.

So, dear reader, I cannot remove this extra sympathy, but I will respectfully apply its amazing capacity to those truly seeking counseling and healing. Those who are inclined to use and abuse other people’s time and energy are invited to go elsewhere to satisfy their endless need for attention.

On Becoming A Healer and Counselor

Betty Malicoat

The ability to help others first occurred to me when I was 12. Some friends urged me to please talk to their parents as a way of influencing them to give permission for a party. It worked, but not how my classmates imagined. In order to know what to say, I had to listen carefully for clues from each parent. As they spoke, patterns emerged in my mind and somehow I knew which words were needed, including the tone of voice required.

This was during one of the times I lived with my mom, in-between living in different foster homes. Perhaps the first home was the most important. I knew I was special, but not because this was said to me.

I knew by my small handprint in plaster hung on the kitchen wall with a blue ribbon. I knew by my pictures painted in poster paint that lined the hallway. The couple asked if I wanted a brother or sister. I said I wanted a brother and I remember holding their adopted son Charles Dale. I was 5. And I was 5 when I left with my mom on an airplane. I lived with my mom for a year.

Then I lived on a small farm. The couple I lived with called it a gentleman’s farm. They had several chickens, a few goats, a cow with a calf and a vegetable garden. Every Saturday we went to the local church for square dancing. The husband was 50 and retired and his wife was 32.

I felt the heat in the cab of the dusty truck and I could smell steer manure. My mind drifted up and out the window. I saw the bright sky and bleached hills. My body was in the distance. I told it not to worry. I was 8 1/2 and had no word for what the husband was doing.

I knew something was wrong with me. The husband asked why my face looked funny. I had no answer. The wife had me dust the living room furniture then asked if I thought the job was done. She asked me why I was so slow. When I looked in the dresser mirror, I looked plain, like a piece of paper. I knew I was slow. My mind was always going somewhere else and not paying attention.

I held my suitcase and looked at the dark blue curtains with tiny red school houses. I heard the wife say she hoped I would remember what she taught me. I walked down the stairs, careful not to show my relief. I was 9 and my mom took me home until the next time.

My life experience allowed me to observe how other minds work and how other people’s emotions are expressed. My circumstances taught me how to survive: to hear what is unspoken, to know a person’s thoughts by the sound of a voice and to receive information from outside myself. These trauma-inspired gifts are now used to help others, and that is a most ironic, but rewarding use of my experience.

 

How Can I Become More Spiritual?

Betty Malicoat

 

Hi Betty,  My wife Mary and I have been separated for about 3 months and no matter what I do she won’t listen to me. I don’t know what to do at this juncture. She wants me to go to a marriage counselor with her. Do you think counseling will help my marriage?  Thanks, Frederick

Hello Frederick,  This is the information I received:

This is not so much about a marriage as it is about two souls who promised to help one another.  I was also given a picture.

You are bending forward, focusing aggressive attention on Mary.  She is pulling back from you and has turned her head away with mouth shut tight and eyes closed.

Then the picture changes:

You sit casually and comfortably in your chair, giving your attention to the counselor while occasionally looking toward Mary when she speaks. Your feelings for Mary are confined to those given to a respected and beloved friend.

Mary is sitting forward. She frequently glances at you when you are not looking and can no longer feel her power to provoke you. For the first time she can now express her emotions without resentment because her husband is no longer casting the shadow of his needs over her own.

The difference is brought about as you become emotionally centered and let go of her, and ask for the best resolution for all concerned. Know the outcome is completely out of your hands. If you can do this, the healing and subsequent gifts of the heart will be beyond anything you can imagine.

It is human arrogance to think we can change another; it is divine wisdom to know we can influence another by changing ourselves.  Sincerely, Betty

Hi, my name is Kathy and I was wondering if you can recommend how I can become more spiritual. I appreciate any advice you can give.  K.

Hello Kathy,  To be spiritual means attending Catholic mass and smelling the warm fragrance of incense for one person, working in a vegetable garden and feeling the rich cool earth for another and fishing on a lake at 5:30 and watching the sunrise to someone else.

At its most basic, it is a heightened sensitivity and connection to all things around you.  Sometimes it’s described as being at one with the universe.

Begin by finding out what activity makes you feel most connected and a part of this world. Discovering this will reveal that part of you that most easily connects to the spirit in all things.  Sincerely, Betty

If you are seeking an answer to a life problem, please write to me at [email protected]  All questions will be anonymous. From the Heart of the Lotus . . . is dedicated to spiritual service.

If you wish to have a Spiritual Counseling Session, please contact me for an appointment.

Who Wants To Be Different?

Betty Malicoat

What does it feel like not to fit in? All of us have felt it, still feel it from the playground at recess in fourth grade to the office cubicle on the first day of a new job.

I remember shaking hands with the co-workers of a beloved employee who left for a job in another state. So many people complimented her job performance that by noon I knew, not only could I not fill her shoes, I was destined to fail and I did.

Then there was fourth grade and the terror of a teacher I will simply call Mrs. Gray who looked over my in-class math assignment and politely asked, “What school did you last attend?” This was more of an accusation than a question.

I remember feeling like I had forgotten to dress myself and there I was naked, my strange bare self hanging in midair for all to stare at, and I knew the other students were grateful it was me instead of them.

Shawn folded his napkin in half and wiped the spot of yellow mustard off his jeans. He repeatedly folded the napkin in ever smaller squares and wiped at the spot until his mother removed the napkin from his hand. She looked at him with her dark eyes as if she were waiting for him to tell her something important. She turned away, placed her elbows on the picnic table and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Shawn held the orange in front of his nose so the smell of hot dogs and smoke would go away. He put the orange down and squinted up at the sun. He loved the lights that danced on his eyelids. He felt his mother’s hand on the back of his head. “Don’t do that. You’ll hurt your eyes.” His mother’s bracelet sparkled in the light. Last week he asked if he could have one just like it. She told him boys don’t wear bracelets.

“Hey Shawn! You want to play?” Shawn didn’t look at Billy. He knew Billy didn’t like him.

Billy’s mother yelled, “Ask him again. He didn’t hear you!” Shawn felt his face get hot like the sun.

“He doesn’t want to play. He’s got a stomach ache.” Billy threw the ball to one of the other boys who had to run after it.

Shawn’s mom smoothed his hair back from his forehead and gave him a smile. The woman across the table offered Shawn some potato salad.  She looked sad when she told his mom it must be hard raising a special child . . .

What impressions or thoughts came to you?