Signs
Me with my mudra deck and Thich Nhat Hahn’s Mindfulness Deck. Photograph by Marisa LaValette.
TW: talk of death, dead bodies, dementia
This blog post is a personal one. I considered keeping these thoughts to my journal, but I feel compelled to write publicly about a recent experience (three recent experiences) that deeply moved me. They stopped me in my tracks and had me look at them individually and collectively. I asked what the message could be. And, leaning into openness, I tried to put aside assumptions of the what and lean into the possibilities.
I wouldn’t say I’m superstitious or fully into woo woo, but I’m definitely a some part woo, and the woo has gotten stronger the older I get. I take the things from religious and spiritual practices that speak to me, and so far have made my own amalgamation of belief systems with still many unanswered questions.
What I do believe in more and more are signs. Signs from the universe, source, intuition, whatever you might call it. Of course, as a yoga teacher and practitioner, yoga philosophy informs this practice of deep listening, as does my interest and exploration of Buddhism, along with astrology. This week/weekend has been quite a potent time for signs. I’m writing this on the new moon in Cancer, an auspicious new moon, especially given the other celestial happenings. Friday evening was the solstice - the sun’s transition into Cancer as well and what sparked the most recent blog post - two poems inspired by the seasonal shift. The water sign of the crab is dear to me, even if I don’t have much water in my own chart, nor Cancer - Cancer is the sun sign of my husband, a dear friend, and my favorite and closest in age cousin.
That was just prep for the story of Sunday (June 22, 2025), a day in which multiple things - signs - happened. Before I tell you exactly what transpired, I’ll say that since then I’ve been wondering what they all meant individually and collectively. Yesterday, a Buddhist newsletter I subscribe to had an article that got me really thinking. More on that soon.
Sign 1 - My husband and I try to walk our dog every morning to the nearest large park where there is a dedicated soccer field -turned dog park to throw tennis balls that squeak for our dog. (He only runs after balls that squeak because he likes to finish his play time taking one with him to chew, destroy, and dissect the squeaker). When no one is playing soccer, dogs are allowed, and if you get there early enough on the weekends, you beat the under 12 soccer clubs. It’s fully fenced and you bring your own lock. Sunday morning, we trotted off to the park for our ball play. The route is a bit treacherous, as there are few crosswalks in this city and the rules of the road are unclear. We have areas we typically cross that feel more safe within this chaos. As we approached our usual crossing spot, we saw police tape, a ton of police, and lots of bystanders. One side of the street was fully blocked, so we were able to cross. It wasn’t until we got to the other side of the street that we could tell why the tape, police and crowd of onlookers - a terrible car crash. A small sedan was wrapped around a utility pole, like you hear described on local tv. Actually wrapped around this pole. Glass was everywhere. An ambulance was parked on the street in front of the car. Then, we saw - a dead body, a mangled body. I glanced, saw what I saw and then looked away. You know how they say humans can’t look away from a car crash? I could on Sunday. I didn’t want to look at this dead person in swim trunks. Why didn’t the authorities have the body covered? There was a giant tarp nearby. Why didn’t they move the body that was clearly expired? The body was just out there for all to see.
Beyond these questions, what struck us both was that neither of us had seen death like that before. Sure, some relatives had passed away over the years and classmates, but we had never witnessed death so up close and recent.
Sign 2 - Fast forward to Sunday evening and we were in the building gym, doing core exercises. We had just finished and were recovering when someone ran in and in Spanish asked for our help. This person was insistent and serious and wearing scrubs - what many home care aides and nannies in this city wear to work. We followed her to an apartment whose door was open. The space smelled of urine and staleness. Then we saw why the aid needed our help. The aid’s client, an older woman (in her 70’s or 80’s?) was on the ground by the couch, head propped on a pillow. The aid needed our help getting the patient off the ground and into a nearby wheelchair. The patient was basically catatonic - couldn’t speak, was groaning some, eyes open, but basically not there in the room with us. Thankfully my husband is very strong and between the three of us, we got the patient in the wheelchair. That was step one. Step two was getting her into a hospital bed in the next room so she could sleep. Somewhere in that process a building security officer was brought in to help as well. After some sweat and two mobile objects (the wheelchair and bed were on unlocked wheels) not cooperating, the four of us got the patient on the bed. The aid thanked us profusely and kept assuring us that the patient was okay just on a lot of medication because she is “very mean” because of dementia.
Neither of us has yet had to be in a caregiving state for relatives. All of my husband's grandparents died when he was a child, two of mine did, and the remaining two passed in adulthood. We visited nursing homes and have vague recollections of our mothers acting as caregivers, but this has not been an immediate part of our adult lives.
Sign 3 - A few hours later we took our dog on his final walk - this time just between the two, smaller parks near us. On our way back to the apartment building, a dog about the size of ours kept running past. The dog was muzzled and drooling, clearly looking for home, for its people. A few folks also stopped to see if they could figure out what was going on - no collar or leash on the dog. He looked well-cared for and fed. He was circling in that way that he knew he was close to home but not quite there and disoriented as to how to get there. We stuck around for a bit, but not having phones on us or a second leash, there wasn’t much practically we could do. A security guard and another person who looked concerned, phone in hand were conversing about what to do.
Lost pets - I’ve had my fair share with this as a kid and adult. It’s scary every time to be unsure of where your pet is at. We keep our dog on a leash at all times in public for many reasons, this being one of them. We can’t get separated if he is on the leash.
Now, these signs. What do they mean? I don’t have exact answers, but I have some theories that are tied together. That very morning, before the first walk, I had received an email from a yoga/Buddhist teacher of mine. It was a promised 6 month follow up from a workshop in January where each participant shared with the group a word or two to embody our “2025 practice” or spiritual anchor. Mine were impermanence and compassion.
When I remembered this email at the end of the day, it felt like these three signs pointed to those two words, those two ideas.
Then, last night, I read an article from a Buddhist newsletter (organization affiliated with the Dalai Lama’s teachings) that discussed Buddhism’s “Five Remembrances” (below) and “The Five Divine Messengers” - one of which is “a bent-over broken toothed old person” another is “someone suffering from illness” and a third is “someone who has died.”
I am of the nature to grow old. There is no way to escape growing old.
I am of the nature to have ill health. There is no way to escape having ill health.
I am of the nature to die. There is no way to escape death.
All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them.
My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand.
So, deep exhale. I’m taking these signs from Sunday, from being out in the world, as a reminder of impermanence (mine and every living thing) and compassion (for all suffering beings, myself included).
