Quote: “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger”. Nietzsche
The Action: Separation / Connection / Separation
I watched for a few moments as perhaps eight to ten individuals skied past the figure in the ditch. This person was what seemed obvious to me in some sort of distress. The flailing of arms and legs, like some insect trapped on its back trying to right itself. The movements disjointed, frantic at one moment and then cumbersome and awkward the next.
I stopped close, yet still unobserved, as the struggle continued, and now I could also hear the ragged breathing, and the sputter like gasps. I watched the dance of futility with the ever-shaping snow, that had form though no substance to push against for leverage. Each wrestle with the snow seemed to be victorious for the snow, and a loss for the now recognized older man, as he seemed to grow more fatigued before my eyes in those few moments.
Now it seemed the battle was completely lost as he seemed to give up the struggle half buried in the loose drifting snow. I could almost taste the bile of defeat that was beginning to permeate from his body. Perhaps aware of the futility against an abyss of declining years, and perhaps the vitality of youth and strength that at one time would have led to victory over self and the moment.
I reached out and touched his shoulder with my gloved hand, and squeezed gently, yet firmly to convey that I was there to help, to connect with him in that moment. A bridge and perhaps a connection of unity against the moment of despair.
The struggle now became more coordinated, synchronous to my directions and encouragement, of voice and my hands, shoulder. The first attempt to stand failed, yet in that moment there was a glimpse, a sense of accomplishment. Momentum in the direction of triumph.
I moved in closer, physically and in presence, using my body and my grip as gestures of support, encouragement and community. As I did this, I became aware of how close he was to exhaustion. His body felt weak, spent and on the verge of collapse, yet still a pulse of perseverance and resilience.
The final push. His body weight shifted from his own self-contained struggle to an active dependence on my strength and the leverage that I offered with my arm and shoulder. He began to rise, legs shaking, loose and uncoordinated, frail and somewhat splayed for support.
He began to gain momentum, certainty as I am sure he sensed the victory close, the snow releasing its grip, and vacuous envelope on his body and his being. In a moment it was over. He was standing, free upright, and I could see and feel the autonomy rushing in to fill the vacuum of earlier defeat with strength and certainty. He was back in the world of familiar, upright and victorious over the moment.
He now began to shift his gaze and for the first time, was willing to look into my face and ultimately my eyes. My mind registered a tired face, pale, stubble on his cheeks and a hint of fear receding from his eyes as he began to relax into the moment.
As I looked into his eyes, they were a very pale blue and “open”. He let me in and showed me who he was as a man, a human being at that moment. Vulnerable, trusting, scared and yet resilient, proud, obviously accomplished in other circumstances.
In that moment of our eyes meeting I recognized my own vulnerability, my fears and weaknesses and the nobility of being human in the presence of another. The veil of separation was lifted for a brief few seconds and I had a glimpse of our human community. That we need one another in the so-called good times and also those times where there are challenges and obstacles to be overcome. We need one another to lean on and to be leaned on. That there is no shame, no inferiority to need help or to offer help to another. It is not a gesture of weakness to need another but a symbol of strength and character to reach out, to connect and to touch another’s heart.
I heard the words “thank you” gently murmured under the sound of the wind and the snow as I released my grip on his shoulder and his spirit. And also, in that moment I watched him shake himself, much like a dog stepping from a river to shed the water from his coat. And as I watched him shake, I realized what he was shaking. It was the vulnerability and the exposure to another to settle again into his armour of being and I could also feel the moment and the window close so gently on connection. To separation once more.
The Book: The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. Charlie Mackesy
A wonderful simple story about the four characters mentioned in the title, and their adventures. Perhaps written for children, though perhaps also very insightful for the adults as well. Generational is a word that comes to mind, for all ages and stages of life.
The importance of kindness, self-love, and true values of what should be important in life for each of us, though often forgotten. A wonderful, important read, excellent illustrations and a style that is inviting, insightful and timeless. 5/5