Following the Path of Life

All my life when I ask for guidance regarding the best path for me to be following through life (that path which helps me grow spiritually, not gain material possessions), I’m usually visited by one or more burly, bear-cub-sized dogs. These dogs always appear during my sleep periods and they either lead me somewhere or just stay with me and make me feel better.

The primary dog is white, but sometimes there is one or two others that accompany the white one and these are usually brown. I see the colors as indicators of what the dogs represent: the white one is my guide, my true guide, while the brown one(s) represent different aspects of myself, such as want/desire or instinct. Therefore, sometimes the white dog, the guide, will show me a path, but the brown dog will balk or whine because my desires or wants aren’t always in line with what I really need to do.

I’ve come to recognize that if I’m on the best path for me, then we don’t go anywhere. We simply frolic, play, and enjoy our time together. Most times, though, I find myself actually following the white dog as it leads me down one path to another, or down one path to a clearing or small house.

The brown dog(s), if they are present, will docilely surround me and follow along, but occasionally they will whine or snarl abut a choice that the white dog is showing me. Still it is the white dog that I follow, at least during these periods; after all, I asked for guidance and that is what the white dog provides. But by noting the actions of the brown dogs, I know that I may have to struggle to reach the path being shown to me, because the part of me that loves the drama of physical life isn’t real keen on going that way.

Sometimes the path appears tranquil, yet realistic, and I’ll see a dirt, gravel, or bark-covered path meandering through fields or woods, with sunbeams shining down and a touch of spring or summer in the air. Other times the path appears more menacing, filled with large boulders and other pit falls, wending its way through dark, creepy forests, and over rickety bridges, or sometimes there are no bridges and I have to ford through rough rivers of cold murky waters.

I’ve come to recognize those forest paths as representatives of my wanderings through this life of drama and unreality. Whenever I was concerned about a job or a relationship, the dogs would come and, in their way, show me either that things were okay, or that I needed to move on. It’s always been that way, and I’ve grown to rely on them.

Lately, the paths we’ve been following have changed—not the purpose, and not my reliance and trust, but the paths themselves no longer wend through outdoorscapes of forests, fields, or cities. Instead, I now find myself wandering through long, winding, and dimly let, neglected corridors filled with doors of various colors,  sizes, and shapes. Some doors are open, others only partially so, and many others are closed and covered with cobwebs. The whole atmosphere is of some long-forgotten and tatty old mansion that no one has visited or cared for in years.

I know the building, the tatty old mansion, is me. The abandoned feeling and the neglected air is because I spent too much time focused outward, and not nearly enough looking inward. The rooms are aspects of me or of my life that either were explored and abandoned or are better left unexplored. These are dark areas, areas not of life and light, but areas of death, despair, and darkness; however, being prone to bouts of the blues, I can sometimes be fooled into thinking that I deserve the darkness. So, I will follow the dimly lit corridor to the rooms of darkness, the rooms of depression; I will follow my wants and my desires, rather than my guide.

Usually when my guide comes, though, I find the strength to leave behind my wants and desires and follow the guide. However, I wonder how many people can’t hear or see their guides? How many folks get lost in their own dark rooms and never see the guides who try to show them the way back to the light? Could it be that perhaps they don’t recognize their guides?

I would hope that everyone would learn to recognize those of us who try to help you find the best path for you, or lead you across to the transitional plane so that you can move on with your lessons, or meet with someone that you would otherwise not connect with. However, it’s not always easy to tell who your guides are. So just remember, the next time you dream of someone or something trying to show you an exit from a gloomy room, a path leading from a desert to a garden, a golden stairway, or anything even similar, listen, follow, and trust.

About TA Sullivan

An author, writer, photographer, and fellow life traveler who offers her wit, wisdom, and stories with others who share her path, if even for a moment.
This entry was posted in angels, astral travel, canine, Death, Dreams, Fantasy, Ghosts, Love, Metaphysics, mystery, out of body experience, Paranormal, parapsychology, Past lives, pets, Poem, Poetry, psychic, remote viewing, SciFi, suspense, technical writer, technical writing, thriller and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Following the Path of Life

  1. Fascinating. How fortunate you are that you are fully conscious of your guide dog, and the “doggedness” of wants/desires and instinct and more, and what they can impart to you!


  2. psychichousewife says:

    Thanks for sharing that is really interesting and informative 🙂


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