"I have often been ridiculed for my high sensitivity, for my many emotions, for my ability to feel such a range of feelings."

Larissa Kaye Batten (LLbeara@aol.com) writes "Soul Food," a weekly column for SpiritSite.com.  

Larissa is a prolific writer whose work has been featured in several publications.

I sat in a 3 by 3 foot cage this morning atop a layer of thrown out newspapers, a few old towels, and a petrified and adorable dog named Emma.

I didn’t get a degree from the University of Pennsylvania with the intention that I would wake up this morning, "borrow" one of my husband’s t-shirts, fill up a bottle with warm water, trudge off to the animal shelter, and climb into Emma’s cage. College taught me how to be successful, but life has taught me to take time out to be humble and giving. The classroom of life has taught me the grace of compassion.

"If you can’t stop what you’re doing in your life to find time for compassion, then what’s the point?" Dr. Hennessey, my dogs’ vet, told me once as he kneeled down on the floor.

Dr. Hennessey kneels down constantly on filthy floors and barn stalls to talk tenderly to his animal patients while he soothes his human friends who worry about their animals.

"Hey Ike," he says to my 6.4 pound Yorkshire Terrier. He speaks as though he has nothing more important to do in the world than to have a conversation with a dog the size of his shoe. "What's up, buddy? I hear you're not feeling too well in your tummy today."

Then Dr. Hennessey turns to my Labrador Winnie and my Jack Russell terrier Billie to make sure they don't feel left out. He gives them cookies.

He never forgets about me either.

"You did really well today, Lara. Remember how you used to leave the room when I gave a shot? You're doing great."

The night Ike was attacked by a Golden Retriever 8 times his size, we paged Dr. Hennessey long distance and late.

"Help, what do we do?" I virtually cried into the phone.

"Tell me what's going on," Dr. Hennessey said with calm concern.

He didn't moan and groan about the late hour. He didn't bill us for the late-night telephone diagnosis. He didn't tell us we should have called the nearest animal hospital instead of him.

He gave us his full attention, with his usual unconditional kindness. We were able to return from our trip with a healing dog and hearts full of unconditional love.

Compassion is catchy, and this morning I gave little Emma my own heartful of love.

"Emma honey, I’m back again. I brought you a blanket to make you feel safe. I know all about your trust issues. I was abused, too. I know how you feel. Let’s go really slowly. I love you, sweetie. God is watching over you."

As usual, little Emma scrunched herself as tight as she could into the back corner of the cage. When I touch her sometimes, she shivers all the way down her back. When I finally held her, I felt her heart beating so very fast. My heart has beat like that.

She is petrified of touch, of movement, of people, of noise, of anything. I am certain she was abused. I visit her to share with her what I have learned about learning to trust again.

I wrap her up in her safe blanket and watch her just lie there, motionless.

My compassion for Emma, for other animals, for humans, for the world at large, has come naturally.

Sometimes I think I will need to go through something terrible to become more compassionate," my husband told me recently. "I look at you, and I see all this compassion. I know how much you've been through, and sometimes I think I need to go through something terrible like you did to learn compassion."

I have heard numerous people talk about compassion, but I am not sure how many of us understand how simple compassion really is.

To be compassionate is to be with feeling. To be compassionate is to share that feeling, to relate to others as a result of that feeling, to form a bond with another via a feeling of love and understanding.

I have always been quick to feel. Not only do I feel what I feel, but I can feel via my own experiences what others must feel as they go through their own experiences.

"Honey," I tell my husband. "I am compassionate because I have so many feelings."

I believe I am compassionate because I have almost always been a super-sensitive person. I "sense" the feelings of others by feeling so deeply myself. I have often been ridiculed and criticized for my high sensitivity, for my many emotions, for my ability to feel such a range of feelings. Yet choosing to live a life with feelings, choosing to own the feelings that are mine, is a gift.

I believe compassion is a choice.

My husband craves compassion. He has so much respect for it. He reads about it. He studies it. He listens to me share my experiences with it. He takes steps toward compassion. He is compassionate in his own, loving way.

He just returned from 10 days in a Buddhist monastery in Nepal, and he is extremely drawn to the Buddhist emphasis on compassion.

He reads the Dalai Lama’s books on compassion. He talks about compassion. He says often how he wants to be more compassionate.

"I don't believe you have to go through something terrible to become compassionate," I told my husband. "I think it's our egos that try to convince us we need tragedy to be compassionate."

And how can we teach compassion?

I do not teach spiritual principles like compassion by telling people what to do.

I teach by doing, by being, by living the principles that embody the foundation of my being. Love, truth, faith, hope, joy, honesty, loyalty, etcetera. I have sometimes made the mistake of trying to tell my husband when and how to be kind. Teaching by example is much more powerful. My words mean nothing unless I live by the principles they describe.

Yesterday, my husband Dan finished up his 13-hour drive back from his company in New Jersey. He must have been exhausted. He drove straight to the local Wal-Mart, where I was holding a super-cute puppy and collecting donations for the animal shelter.

My husband and I drove back to the shelter together, and I climbed into the cage with Emma. My husband then walked out into the yard and talked to all the homeless dogs with his own gift of compassion.

Just this morning, Dan stopped at the site of a car accident to help out. He didn’t leave until the police sent him on his way. Tonight, he took the time to remember the woman who was injured in the accident.

"I really hope she’s okay," he told me on the way home from a quiet dinner in a restaurant.

My husband is compassionate like that. I never know when he will halt in the middle of time spent together to think of someone who needs our prayers.

I pray that my life is never too full or too busy to stop and show compassion. What is life without compassion?

I believe compassion is one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given.

I also believe compassion is one of the greatest gifts we humans have been given.

Compassion is the collection of feelings that binds us all together as one.

If we are not here to help and love one another, for what purpose are we here?

I do not expect the whole world to climb into 3 by 3 foot cages to teach abused animals how to trust again.

But I trust that one by one, human by human, animal by animal, we will learn to share this precious gift of compassion.

I used to cringe at the thought of what an emotional person I was.

Today I thank God I can climb into a cage with a perfect stranger of a dog and share the gift of life, the gift of feeling, and, most importantly, the gift of love.

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