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In this blog, I have often written about the use of logic-based therapy (LBT) to overcome problems of living. I developed this philosophical counseling approach largely from working through my own problems of living. I am presently experiencing such a problem that I would like to share because it is a universal one. I am also now in the process of attempting to use LBT to work it through.
Recently, my dog, Beaumont, a 12.5-year-old Coton de Tulear, passed away after a nearly five-year battle with adrenal cancer that ultimately metastasized and led to an acute event that ended his life. On the positive side, he lived a happy life during this period and there were no indications that he was in any substantial pain.
Beaumont had been on a chemotherapy drug that appeared to be working. He had increased energy, nausea was being controlled by an anti-nausea medication, his blood workup was remarkable for a dog with metastatic cancer, and I was feeling optimistic about buying more precious, quality time for my beloved companion. Thus, when he suddenly passed away, I was in denial. “No!” I screamed, at the top of my lungs, “This can’t be true!” and I wept uncontrollably.
I did not hold back my tears, and I let myself emotionally react, rather than trying to reason with myself. This was not my first bout with the loss of a loved one. I had lost both parents, my older brother, and three other dogs.
What I learned early on, after the untimely death of my father, was that it is a serious mistake to hold back grieving. As a young philosopher, I had tried just that, ending up having to go through the grieving process eight years later to work it through. Prior to working it through, I was an empty shell, emotionally.
“Working through” necessarily involves getting your irrational beliefs out so that, eventually, when ready, you can inspect them, see them for what they are, and thus begin the process of giving them up. This is where I am right now in the grieving process.
Many friends and colleagues have told me, “You tried your best, and there was nothing you could have done more for Beaumont”; “He is now in a better place”; “He lived a happy life”; and “You were fortunate to have had him in your life.” While these attempts to console me were said with the best of intentions, they tended to fall flat (except for one that I will discuss later). I would have much preferred attempts to validate my feelings rather than attempts to fix them. I then wanted to cry, not try to fix it.
As a writer, I often work things out by writing about them. So here I am, speaking candidly to you, the reader, about my attempt to practice what I have long preached, by applying my own philosophical counseling approach, LBT, to myself, in vivo, in the hope that, in trying to help myself, I might also help others in the same boat.
In LBT, the first step is to identify the emotional reasoning that sustains the negative emotion/s in question. I feel a deep, dark emptiness; a forlornness, like an ominous dark cloud surrounding me, keeping me from seeing any light. I believe that I am deducing this life damnation from existential perfectionism, that is, from a demand that such things as this untimely death of this sweet, kind, innocent being, whom I loved so dearly, never happen.
Of course, I know, on an intellectual level, that it did happen and that, therefore, it is irrational to demand that such things not happen. My demand contradicts and thus defies reality. In the language of LBT, I am presently in a state of metaphysical insecurity. I am feeling painfully uncomfortable with a world in which such a tragedy happened to my loved one. If I can manage to accept, emotionally as well as intellectually, a world in which such things can and do happen, I believe I can begin to heal. This means letting go of my perfectionistic demand, thus getting rid of the contradiction that keeps me trapped in this painful, ruminative cycle.
So, I have asked myself how I can rethink the death of Beaumont, philosophically, in a manner that could lift my spirit, and help me begin my journey to greater metaphysical security. Toward this end, a friend mentioned to me that Beaumont was “in my heart.” Hearing these words, as distinct from the other things mentioned earlier, left an impression on me. If he is in my heart, then, somehow, he is still with me.
This led me to think about the Hindu concept of a World Soul, of which each finite soul is a manifestation. From this Hindu perspective, other animals, including dogs, also have souls, that come from and ultimately return to this unified soul, however without losing their individuality, which is eternal. The Hindu monk, Satguru Bodhinatha Veylanswami, explains:
Imagine a string of 108 japa beads. The individual beads are all separate but inside each there is one cord binding them together. The bead represents a person in his normal state of consciousness—feeling separate from all the others. However, if the person looks inside, into the core of the soul, he discovers the one cord that permeates all.
In my suffering, when I think about this idea, I feel a sense of relief, that Beaumont’s soul persists and is still linked to me. In this sense, his soul and mine are intimately bound up with one another. I am in him, and he in me, coalescing, for all eternity, into the same unified soul.
Also remaining, in space and time, are some physical artifacts of Beaumont such as the videos and photographs I have of him. As I write, I see his image prominently appearing on my monitor screen. I want to pet him but cannot. However, I have some of his hair that I collected after grooming. The hair of a Coton, so named because it is cotton-like, feels soothing to the touch. On my wall hangs a painting of Beaumont that I painted several years ago. I thus feel a physical presence as well as a soulful feeling of him when I contemplate the Hindu philosophy.
I still have moments when the void returns, with its dampening shadow hovering over me, resurrecting that hollow, gnawing sense of loneliness and vacuous existence. But contemplating this philosophy, during these difficult times, seems to be helping a lot. While this philosophy may not similarly work for you in your time of need, there are countless other philosophical worldviews from which to choose, and there is likely to be at least one that lifts your spirit when you seek to work through the death of someone you love.
