Coastline Pilot

13 February 2004

 

Chasing the Muse

Catharine Cooper

 

An elephant sits in the middle of the room.  He’s metaphorical, of course, but his presence is felt as if all 12,000 pounds of him actually dented the floor.  He’s a large hunkering lump of space consumption that we wish would move away.  He is that something about which we cannot talk.

 

You know what I mean.  He represents the issue that’s burning in our hands, but too highly charged or emotionally sensitive to speak of directly.  The friend whose child has recently been arrested for drug dealing.  The 502 that put another friend in jail.  The lump on the breast, which is not benign.  The dark spot on the lung scan.  The homeless man passed out on the sidewalk.  The corporate lifer, who at 58, has just been laid off.

 

It’s not that we can’t talk, it’s just that it’s difficult.  We speak of the event, but skitter around the contextual meanings.  We circle the room, make idle chatter and find ourselves somewhat tongue-tied, struggling with feelings of inadequacy.  How to make what is horrid, okay?  Not an easy task.

 

A good friend of mine, while at work in foreign country, drove an ATV off a cliff and fractured his cervical vertebrae.  In an instant, what was normal was irrevocably changed. His wife was watching a stunning sunset as the accident occured, unaware that her night would be one without sleep. Later, she described the hours that followed as those of continuously holding space: waiting for what was unknown to be revealed, waiting for him to be airlifted home, waiting for the doctors to impart their measured diagnosis.  In the weeks that have followed, we have all learned to wait for that which cannot be hurried.  We have hungered for him to be released for home.

 

We talk around how their lives have changed.  We circle the difficulties of his recovery and rehabilitation.  We don’t know whether to be cheerful or serious.  We offer whatever help we can divine, and hope that we will be called upon to assist.

 

Walter, Linda’s nephew, is a giant of an 11-year old.  I call him a giant, because, even with his small body wracked with cancer, his spirit is indefatigable.  He has seen more of the inside of a hospital in the past year than most of us will see in a lifetime, yet remains cheerful and optimistic on his worst days. Linda has gifted him a computer, so that he can email and ‘chat’ with other cancer kids across the country.  We talk about his illness, but we don’t delve deeply into the complete chaos that has become his family structure.  Inadequate to fix much, we send love and good wishes, and silently are thankful for our own circumstances and health.

 

Richard advises that I’m too cheerful or optimistic when confronted with adversity in my life.  It may be true that the old cheerleader rears her head, but given the choice of blinding sorrow or forward-looking opportunities, I’ll select the later at every turn.

 

Michael tells me, “God will have his way.  You may or may not really believe, but it never hurts to pray.”  I’ve taken his words to heart, shared them with friends, and now impart them to you.

 

There is a saying in the Talmud, (forgive me if my quote is not perfectly correct), “If you believe in God, then God made this all for you.  If you don’t believe in God, then God made this all for you.”

 

The elephant in my room becomes a metaphor for a larger issue, which is our journey here on earth.  The stunning sunset, the bodily injuries and diseases, when placed in a broader context, are merely part of the baggage of our human endeavor. What we don’t talk about, challenges our emotional growth and our languaging skills.  It begs us to be better and more.  In the last breath, it speaks to how we hold each other, and what we are willing so share.

 

Catharine Cooper loves wild places. She can be reached at ccooper@cooperdesign.net