Sooner or later, a man must venture down from what, in the majority of cases, will be a figurative mountain. He must part ways with the allegorical flora and fauna whose largely implausible symbolic appearances have nourished his solipsism. As the slopes degrade into foothills he must ready himself to wade once more into the quagmire of the human experience. It's the braver way to live, balancing empathy for one's fellow man with enough self-preservation to avoid being exploited. A lot of joy and suffering is weighted in that struggle. I racked my brains for a fragment of verse that might embody this sentiment and do it justice. The best that I could come up with are the following lines from 'National Shite Day' by Half Man Half Biscuit:
“I try to put everything into perspective
Set it against the scale of human suffering
And I thought of the Mugabe government
And the children of the Calcutta railways
This works for a while
But then I encounter Primark FM”
My chameleon, Frederic, and I shared a very strong bond with each other. When he died last August I was torn up by the loss. A few days later I walked into town. I was grieving (nine months later, I am still grieving) but I wasn't visibly upset. The strangest thing was that, on three separate occasions, strangers randomly struck-up conversation with me – not about anything in particular, just shooting the breeze. If there was ever a day when I needed human contact, then it was that day, and I got it. I don't know why. My theory is that there is a state of being where you are at your most genuine and people pick up on it. It used to happen a lot with my grandmother. People would come over and talk to her. Animals liked her too. There was a blackbird who used to hop right up to the sliding patio doors where she used to sit. On the opposite side of the glass, it would watch Coronation Street with her. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.
Empathy is often easier when there is an obvious gulf between you and the other person, where their struggles are more apparent to you. I forget exactly when it was, but I was in Senafe, which is a small town in Eritrea, close to the border with Ethiopia, inside the UN buffer zone. When I visited, the Ethiopian army had recently rolled through. Every building of substance had been wilfully damaged to the point where it was uninhabitable and no longer viable for repair. There was a very well-organised camp, presumably for people who had been displaced from their homes, alongside a Médecins Sans Frontières field hospital.
I knew that there was a stelae in the area, dating to the Aksum period. I wandered around, flashing my archaeology permit until a couple of men pulled back some old sacks to reveal it lying on the ground in two large pieces – a tapering, lozenge-shaped obelisk with a full moon and a crescent moon engraved on the rounded tip. I understand that it has since been cemented back together and once again stands upright.
On the way back to the road, I was joined by a young girl – probably nine or ten years old. She was herding goats. As she walked alongside me, I pointed to a low stump of rock in the distance and said the Tigrinyan word for 'mountain', which I can no longer remember. That was the extent of our meaningful communication.
I thought about her life as it was: Born into a dangerous part of the world; landmines all over the place; the potential for an incursion by an invading force a proven possibility; the extent of UN involvement, in all likelihood limited to picking up the pieces in the aftermath. This girl already carried a great of responsibility on her shoulders. She had been placed in charge of her family's goats – a major asset. I wondered about her education, whether she was able to go to school. One of the reasons the Eritreans were able to hold out for so long in the war of independence was the emphasis that was placed on education. In peacetime there might be other pressures that would keep children closer to home. I thought about what schooling might translate into when she was older. Having come of age and gone through military service, and hopefully been able to extricate herself from that Kafkaesque nightmare, what would there be for her? Panoramic surroundings often yield limited opportunities. I thought about her perception of the wider world; what her expectations from life were. When we reached the road, she turned back the way she had come. I looked for vehicle that would take me away.
In meetings like the one that I have just described, it is often easier to empathise because the points of suffering and want are more obvious. Day to day, when you meet people who live in the same town as you and who look more or less the same, it is harder to get a handle on what's going on, and maybe it is harder to sympathize.
Yes, there's so much suffering in this world. Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk and peace activist, said that suffering is the mud from which the beautiful lotus grows. Without suffering there can be no understanding of life or the gaining of enlightenment.
At the moment l'm reading ' Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor Frankl. Have you ever read it? He expounds on his Logotherapy, which he explains as a therapy to help to find meaning to life. He quotes Nietzsche: 'if you have a why, you'll settle for any how' in living life. I like too, Nietzsche's take on 'amor fati', that we need to wholeheartedly embrace our fate, whatever it may be. You have a very tough fate-cookie to chew on...but as you rightly point out, so do many, many more of us humans. Like me! I have to deal with some major shit: parkinson's disease and functional neurological disorder which makes walking very hard and life in general a big challenge. I have had an immensely horrible day with a lot of pain and spasticity. Thanks, Paul! I feel better after unloading here! I really hope you got something even vaguely positive from my ramblings...maybe you feel like we shared? But l'd like to end by sending lots of love your way. From one suffering human being to another 🙏❤️😘
I read that book a few months before my accident as it happens. I found it pretty convincing in terms of our need for meaning. I guess part of my problem is that I've been going for a year now with no discernible 'why'. My therapist (who actually recommended that book to me) says I need to try and give it more time. I hope he is right.
That's so interesting Paul. Hanif Kureishi talks about the same phenomenon. One way to look at it is that empathetic listening is a great gift to give to someone. Listening and being listened to can be profound and transformative for both people involved. That seems like an obvious thing to point out, but I find it particularly interesting that you say that it wasn't a thing that happened to you so much in your old life.
I’m reminded of an aphorism that was making the rounds a few years ago, that says basically, just because someone carries it well, doesn’t mean it’s not heavy. The first time I came across it, I was so moved. Of course! It rings true immediately. And as you write here the same realization is hitting you in a whole new way, now that you are so profoundly disabled yourself. These are healing realizations and I hope they lead you to some kind of peace.
I have had similar experiences on my six year cancer journey. The human experience is very rich under the surface and sometimes it take tragedy and suffering to see the beauty that has been right in front of us all along. You have opened your door so others can also open their doors. Bravo! And thank you for sharing your story.
I like your final sentence: "it is not without its insights." I say "it's an experience". As such, it makes you richer. But I could have happily done without.
Thinking about people who have suffered or are suffering right now does not ease my own pain. When I was at the rehab centre I always thought there was way too much misery in one single building. It humbled me but I kept asking myself: "what did I do to deserve this? How can anyone possibly deserve this?"
A bit of suffering is normal, I guess, but having to endure long-lasting physical or psychological pain is pure senseless torture to me.
Sooner or later, a man must venture down from what, in the majority of cases, will be a figurative mountain. He must part ways with the allegorical flora and fauna whose largely implausible symbolic appearances have nourished his solipsism. As the slopes degrade into foothills he must ready himself to wade once more into the quagmire of the human experience. It's the braver way to live, balancing empathy for one's fellow man with enough self-preservation to avoid being exploited. A lot of joy and suffering is weighted in that struggle. I racked my brains for a fragment of verse that might embody this sentiment and do it justice. The best that I could come up with are the following lines from 'National Shite Day' by Half Man Half Biscuit:
“I try to put everything into perspective
Set it against the scale of human suffering
And I thought of the Mugabe government
And the children of the Calcutta railways
This works for a while
But then I encounter Primark FM”
My chameleon, Frederic, and I shared a very strong bond with each other. When he died last August I was torn up by the loss. A few days later I walked into town. I was grieving (nine months later, I am still grieving) but I wasn't visibly upset. The strangest thing was that, on three separate occasions, strangers randomly struck-up conversation with me – not about anything in particular, just shooting the breeze. If there was ever a day when I needed human contact, then it was that day, and I got it. I don't know why. My theory is that there is a state of being where you are at your most genuine and people pick up on it. It used to happen a lot with my grandmother. People would come over and talk to her. Animals liked her too. There was a blackbird who used to hop right up to the sliding patio doors where she used to sit. On the opposite side of the glass, it would watch Coronation Street with her. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.
Empathy is often easier when there is an obvious gulf between you and the other person, where their struggles are more apparent to you. I forget exactly when it was, but I was in Senafe, which is a small town in Eritrea, close to the border with Ethiopia, inside the UN buffer zone. When I visited, the Ethiopian army had recently rolled through. Every building of substance had been wilfully damaged to the point where it was uninhabitable and no longer viable for repair. There was a very well-organised camp, presumably for people who had been displaced from their homes, alongside a Médecins Sans Frontières field hospital.
I knew that there was a stelae in the area, dating to the Aksum period. I wandered around, flashing my archaeology permit until a couple of men pulled back some old sacks to reveal it lying on the ground in two large pieces – a tapering, lozenge-shaped obelisk with a full moon and a crescent moon engraved on the rounded tip. I understand that it has since been cemented back together and once again stands upright.
On the way back to the road, I was joined by a young girl – probably nine or ten years old. She was herding goats. As she walked alongside me, I pointed to a low stump of rock in the distance and said the Tigrinyan word for 'mountain', which I can no longer remember. That was the extent of our meaningful communication.
I thought about her life as it was: Born into a dangerous part of the world; landmines all over the place; the potential for an incursion by an invading force a proven possibility; the extent of UN involvement, in all likelihood limited to picking up the pieces in the aftermath. This girl already carried a great of responsibility on her shoulders. She had been placed in charge of her family's goats – a major asset. I wondered about her education, whether she was able to go to school. One of the reasons the Eritreans were able to hold out for so long in the war of independence was the emphasis that was placed on education. In peacetime there might be other pressures that would keep children closer to home. I thought about what schooling might translate into when she was older. Having come of age and gone through military service, and hopefully been able to extricate herself from that Kafkaesque nightmare, what would there be for her? Panoramic surroundings often yield limited opportunities. I thought about her perception of the wider world; what her expectations from life were. When we reached the road, she turned back the way she had come. I looked for vehicle that would take me away.
In meetings like the one that I have just described, it is often easier to empathise because the points of suffering and want are more obvious. Day to day, when you meet people who live in the same town as you and who look more or less the same, it is harder to get a handle on what's going on, and maybe it is harder to sympathize.
Dear Paul
Yes, there's so much suffering in this world. Thich Nhat Hanh, the Buddhist monk and peace activist, said that suffering is the mud from which the beautiful lotus grows. Without suffering there can be no understanding of life or the gaining of enlightenment.
At the moment l'm reading ' Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor Frankl. Have you ever read it? He expounds on his Logotherapy, which he explains as a therapy to help to find meaning to life. He quotes Nietzsche: 'if you have a why, you'll settle for any how' in living life. I like too, Nietzsche's take on 'amor fati', that we need to wholeheartedly embrace our fate, whatever it may be. You have a very tough fate-cookie to chew on...but as you rightly point out, so do many, many more of us humans. Like me! I have to deal with some major shit: parkinson's disease and functional neurological disorder which makes walking very hard and life in general a big challenge. I have had an immensely horrible day with a lot of pain and spasticity. Thanks, Paul! I feel better after unloading here! I really hope you got something even vaguely positive from my ramblings...maybe you feel like we shared? But l'd like to end by sending lots of love your way. From one suffering human being to another 🙏❤️😘
I read that book a few months before my accident as it happens. I found it pretty convincing in terms of our need for meaning. I guess part of my problem is that I've been going for a year now with no discernible 'why'. My therapist (who actually recommended that book to me) says I need to try and give it more time. I hope he is right.
You're already showing the 'why' to so many of your readers. I really hope you can feel it too, in time ❤️
That's so interesting Paul. Hanif Kureishi talks about the same phenomenon. One way to look at it is that empathetic listening is a great gift to give to someone. Listening and being listened to can be profound and transformative for both people involved. That seems like an obvious thing to point out, but I find it particularly interesting that you say that it wasn't a thing that happened to you so much in your old life.
Beautiful
Insightful
Glorious
Thank you
Thought-provoking as ever, thanks
Beautiful, interesting piece.
I’m reminded of an aphorism that was making the rounds a few years ago, that says basically, just because someone carries it well, doesn’t mean it’s not heavy. The first time I came across it, I was so moved. Of course! It rings true immediately. And as you write here the same realization is hitting you in a whole new way, now that you are so profoundly disabled yourself. These are healing realizations and I hope they lead you to some kind of peace.
I have had similar experiences on my six year cancer journey. The human experience is very rich under the surface and sometimes it take tragedy and suffering to see the beauty that has been right in front of us all along. You have opened your door so others can also open their doors. Bravo! And thank you for sharing your story.
I like your final sentence: "it is not without its insights." I say "it's an experience". As such, it makes you richer. But I could have happily done without.
Thinking about people who have suffered or are suffering right now does not ease my own pain. When I was at the rehab centre I always thought there was way too much misery in one single building. It humbled me but I kept asking myself: "what did I do to deserve this? How can anyone possibly deserve this?"
A bit of suffering is normal, I guess, but having to endure long-lasting physical or psychological pain is pure senseless torture to me.