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Word Gems
Personal Statement #30
August 11, 2009
Kids are so funny. So sweetly self-centered. No wonder Ma (P.S. #18) was always laughing at her little boy as he, with neurotic fixation, ate his cornflakes. It is often said that parents, in quite a functional sense, assume the role of God in the lives of their children. There I am, 10 years-old. I have ridden my horse to Mark's farm. We are reading comics, playing baseball, climbing around the barn... oh, yes... there's also someone in the background... not too far away... smiling down upon us... now offering us snacks... I don't really talk to her... it never really occurs to me to do so... you know how it is... 10 year-old boys are just a little too busy for that sort of thing. But, Carolyn, like God, was always there... smiling... always so warm and gracious... hovering... by design, just beyond reach, so as to not interfere with our very important little-boy work. She would have been age 45 in those days... far too ancient for me to notice or interact with... well... anyway... she's just Mark's Mom... she's not really a person, you know... mmmmm... maybe it was I who was not quite a person... 48 years would need to pass before I would be sufficiently baked to really notice this Special Person.
(July 11, 2009) my dear friend, and cousin... 93 year-old... Carolyn Kuhn Sperle
A few weeks ago, while visiting my hometown, my Sunday-Afternoon Mom organized a small get-together, allowing me to speak with several of my childhood community "mothers." When I greeted Carolyn, for the first time in my life, I sensed who she was to me. And I immediately felt this strong friendship-connection with her.
The chronicles of Carolyn My wise and affectionate 93 year-old cousin has offered me many stories. Most times, when I call her, she has one more for me; and I write them down. I will share some of them with you here and in the coming articles. Education has recently been on my mind. I have just finished my writing featuring Carolyn's sister-in-law, Betty Sperle. These two are so much alike. And I would like to augment what I said in P.S. #27 with some thoughts from Carolyn.
Listen to the children I've already mentioned Carolyn's comment about the necessity of respecting and listening to children. Today, on the phone, she told me a story of Aunt Mag (P.S. #10), her sister-in-law. Carolyn remembers visiting in Aunt Mag's home. Another lady, a relative, was a member of the group, and all were chatting. In the midst of this, the lady's toddler approaches his mother and begins tugging on her dress. She, deeply engrossed in conversation, ignores the tyke. This drama of plea-and-rebuff plays out for some minutes. Aunt Mag, a sensitive spirit, attuned to the needs of this little one, can stand this no longer, and now blurts out: "Will you please ask that child what he wants?" The importuned mother, jerked back to reality and her primal duties, addresses the child and asks, "What do you want?" ... to which this hapless ingenue, now, finally, having been granted audience, meekly responds... "I forgot." A simple story; yet, how I feel the interplay of energies... I think we all can.
Birds and bees... chickens and cats Carolyn laughs as she begins to relate a very cute story about her youngest son, John. This youngster, over 40 years ago, was playing roughly with the family cat. Carolyn notices this and intercedes: "John! don't hurt that cat... she is going to have babies soon!" John, mystified, is taken aback by what he considers to be esoteric and hidden knowledge. He demands of his mother: "How do you know that she is going to have babies?!" "Well, John," Carolyn coolly responds, "you know how chickens have eggs. It's sort of like that with cats, too." "Ooohhh," says John, quite satisfied with this quick science lesson, and runs out to play. This little story might naturally end here, but there is a Part II. During this episode, Carolyn's mother had also been working in the kitchen; and, as a Victorian, she feels the need to correct her daughter: "Did you have to say those things to him?"; meaning, "It's not nice to talk about the birds and bees to children!" Carolyn's answer, characteristically sagacious, hits the mark: "Mom, isn't it better that he hears these things from me, instead of learning them on the street?" A final footnote to our tale, all true. Later that day, Grandma is working in the garden, and an incredulous John skips up to her and breathlessly informs her: "Grandma! did you know that our cat is going to have babies!" A die-hard Victorian to the end, Grandma not only refuses to speak to John, but will not even look at him!! All these things churned in Carolyn's heart when she offered her synthesis:"Listen to the children. Respect them. Don't talk down to them. They are your equals."
Breakfast with Carolyn... and an evening walk I laughed as I recently told my Uncle Paul that my trip to ND constituted visiting with little old ladies in the village. But, see... this really trivializes the issue, doesn't it... makes it sound like I was doing someone else a favor... you know, be the "good person," visit the widow, that kind of thing. It wasn't like that. There are few experiences more wonderful in this life than to visit with a 93 year-old dear friend, whose nearly-every word seems august enough to make one want to take notes. How rare, and how wonderful! On three occasions during my trip, I would feel compelled to stop at Carolyn's little house. Every day she seemed to be waiting for me. Every day it seemed to be such a natural thing to spend this time with her. And she treated me to pastries, the traditional delicacies of our community, ones that I'd not enjoyed in many years. And one evening we walked together. At 93 she still walks briskly! I was surprised at her pace. As we walked, she told me stories of Frank. He's been gone for a couple of years now, after their more than 50 years together.
Pray without ceasing I was deeply moved by one story about Frank. During World War II, Carolyn Kuhn, for several years, worked in California in a defense-related factory. One day she was surprised to find in the mail a letter from a hometown boy, Frank Sperle. You may be surprised to know of Carolyn's reaction to receipt of this missive... she tossed it aside and, for a month, didn't even open it! She could not believe that it was from Frank! Frank was a good, but quiet, young man. Carolyn could not envision him as bold enough to send a letter! She assumed that it was prank orchestrated by someone else! Finally, Carolyn did open the letter and found the earnest writings of a young man who wanted to be friends... they would be married within three years. Some years later, Frank confided in his bride that he had prayed that they might be together. That first letter she had received was the fruit of seven years of prayer!
Three photos of Mark Carolyn's son, Mark, my friend and cousin, was a regular at my birthday parties. See his handsome self on the right in each of the following photos, taken by myself:
(July 10, 1961) my 10th birthday; in front of the old red barn that Pa (P.S. #18) built
(July 10, 1964) my 13th birthday; a picnic-pool party in town
(July 10, 1964) again, my 13th birthday party
Hey! Wagon... Hay Wain... Hey, Wayne!
The Hay Wain, oil on canvas, John Constable (1821) The eminent psychologist, Carl Gustav Jung (whom I shall be frequently quoting in upcoming articles), coined the term synchronicity. It is the manifestation of two or more events, causally unrelated, occurring together in a meaningful way. And I think I experienced one of these magical moments recently. Here's how it happened. During my hometown visit, unable to sleep one morning, I decided to jog around the village. A seemingly innocuous activity, such diversion, for me, has frequently caused some grief. I can't pass by some of the old streets, the old buildings, without being haunted by certain ghosts of the past, vestiges of the trouble of my youth. In any case, I find myself sailing past the old park, by the community swimming pool. Suddenly, I am jerked to a halt. There is a new addition... a small monkey-bars... but of a unique sort, almost an art-piece. It is adorned with a sign, one that shouts to me: Hey! Wagon. Someone has whimsically fashioned this kids' gymset into a caricature of an old-style wagon that might have been used to transport hay. And I'm staring at this collection of bars and pipes. And now many things are flooding into my head all at once. A long time ago, I had a British friend who would tease me with the words, Hey, Wayne... by this term, he meant to playfully reference the English artist, John Constable, and his famous painting, The Hay Wain... a depiction of a haywagon drawn by horses. Wain is the old English word for wagon; the surname Wainwright means wagonmaker; and my own first name literally derives from wagon. And, as I stare at this artful Hey! Wagon, somehow, it seems to be calling to me... instructing me... to wake up... to realize something...
And now my heart -- playing audience to the silent summoning of this Hey! Wagon -- begins to fill, nearly to the brim, with a pervasive darkness. And I hear the Ego's little voice in my head, chattering wildly, encouraging me to be afraid, goading me, You can't visit here anymore, and that I should not come to my hometown again. I finish my jog... and return to my Sunday-Afternoon Mom's house where I am staying... and now one of the first things she says to me, as she cheerfully greets me...You need to visit here more often! How strange. Within the short span of 30 minutes I found myself in receipt of two somewhat-mystical experiences! And I feel this overriding awareness that her casually-spoken words had been Providentially prompted... I instantly know what the words mean... my Spiritual Advisors are telling me that the time for allowing the ghosts of the past to run my life is over... the time of the Ego's domination, in my psyche, is over... and while the events of 1964 will not be resolved today, they will yet find resolution, and healing... and that everything truly is ok... all things moving toward something good...
Anger: the vice of the virtuous I was once an angry person. For many decades, the troubled waters of anger roiled and simmered, within my heart, always near the boiling point. I didn't throw things, and I wasn't violent - although I did over-discipline the children at times - but family members could not talk to me. Not really. I had become the reborn image of THE GRANDFATHER, who, Odin-like, could not be approached in his fortress lair-livingroom, without suffering the threat of a swift and merciless death (P.S. #8). And if you had asked me why I was angry... I would not have been able to tell you. I provided good cover for my vice. A part of me was very moralistic... very "right"... but also, very "touchy"... family members had to be careful what they said to me... you know, this powder keg might go off at any time... Henry Drummond, in his remarkable little book, The Greatest Thing In The World, written over 100 years ago, speaks of this strange phenomenon, that of "good" people who become, temporarily, at times, possessed by the demons of rage and malice:
Anger: the Ego's shout of defiance I am different, better, today. Not perfect, but better. I think that, maybe, 95% of all that rage in my heart, has now dissipated. The truest test of such transformation is my daughter's commentary: "Dad is so different now." My recovery and healing continue.
I have stated elsewhere, regarding finding one's Cosmic Soulmate, that, when the lights come on in one's heart, you will not only enjoy the capacity to find her, but, oneself, as well; indeed, finding oneself must come first. And, with the guidance of spiritual teachers, and my own growing maturity, I now begin to see what happened to me... why I was angry. Eckhart Tolle, in his The Power Of Now, explains that the Ego is The Great False Self; an imposter whom we mistake for our true identities. He is the chattering little person in the head who never quiets; who always has something to say about everyone he meets; and who seeks not only to survive, but to aggrandize the self. The Ego is not a retiring type. He will not slink silently into the night. He will fight, and resist, and battle to maintain his view. And even when you come to the point in life when you've finally had enough of his domineering, it will not be easy to get rid of this parasite - such difficult extirpation is what saints refer to as "the long dark night of the soul."
Of course it's unfair. That's why we came here. We came here to experience the Unfairness. We came from a Perfect World of Happiness to gain depth of wisdom and understanding by allowing ourselves to temporarily experience some sordid things.
This does not mean that one should live life as a limp dishrag or flattened doormat. We are to improve ourselves, and our situations, as propriety and resources allow... but, as we do this, all necessary things in life, we must not sink into the misguided luxury of self-pity, hostility, victimhood, and anger.
Anger: the blinding of the Soul Anger's toll, upon the True Self, is incalculably terrible. Its poison works quietly, subtly. It produces an insensitivity, a blindness, of the worst sort - its victims do not know that they have been blinded... they believe that they are ok... and that all those around them are the problem... such is the great delusion. With the Ego, it's always someone else. And, in this darkness, as we barricade ourselves from the pain of life - that life from which we were meant to learn lessons - we lose our capacity to discover, and recognize, those who love us... those whom we were meant and destined to love... if only we had eyes to see.
Anger: learning to peck philosophically Once our eyes begin to open, we will find that all of life becomes instructive. Even chickens can teach us. One of my very favorite storytellers is James Harriot, the beloved British veterinarian, author of the series, All Creatures Great And Small.
During one of his farm visits in northern England during the 1930s, he tells the story of coming across the scene of a motor-vehicle accident. A truck, loaded with crates of chickens, had suffered collision. The crates had been jettisoned onto the road and into the ditch, some of which had burst, releasing their contents. Harriot, as I recall, adding a brushstroke of color to his word-picture, comments that the chickens, quite undisturbed by the driver's misfortune, "were pecking philosophically by the side of the road." I like that. Pecking philosophically by the side of the road. We can learn so much from animals. They have no egos to defend. They don't make speeches about how unfair life is.
Animals make adjustments when circumstances threaten - they fight, or give flight. But, when it's over, it's over. There are no egoic scary movies in the mind, endlessly looping and replaying, in which they star as the self-pitied, innocent victim. But that's not how we do it, do we? No, we are much more sophisticated, and we poison ourselves with the anger of the past horror movies of our lives... and we store this negative energy in our spirits, for years and decades... as we never tire of telling the story of what "he or she did to me." We would do much better learning from our little friends, the chickens... always ready, after the occurrence of something unfortunate, to forget, to release the negativity of the moment... to skillfully resume the Journey through Life, pecking philosophically by the side of the road.
My friend Carolyn... healing through presence Since my trip to my hometown, I've thought about things regarding anger... mainly, how anger blinds us to those we were meant to love. I have greeted Carolyn several times during the last decades. But I could not see her as the dear friend that she is to me... until now... so late in life... she, 93... I, 58. How strange. When I returned to Columbus, I met with my discussion group. Carol had a message for me from my Guides. It was about Carolyn Sperle:
I was encouraged to record her stories, her wisdom, which “will touch many lives,” through my writings.
And how could I forget Kevin (far left), Carolyn's eldest son, standing next to younger brother Mark.
I was not surprised when I heard this, as I intuitively knew that Carolyn was very special to me. And she felt this too, and offered to me these most kind words of acceptance, the highest compliment that a mother can give... that I was dear to her, as if I were her own son... Well... I'll have to tell Mark and Kevin... just to assure them... that I, as the favorite son, don't mind, very much, if they share in the inheritance... no, that's ok, that's just the kinda guy I am... [smile]
My friend Carolyn... the way of the heart When I think of Carolyn, I am reminded of
something Father Henri
Nouwen, in
I think that's what I want to say about Carolyn. There are some people, some evolved souls, who offer healing to another, simply by visiting with them; simply by being in their presence. Their very Soul-Essence, their positive energy, even without words, heals another's spirit. And, while I appreciate and enjoy Carolyn's wisdom and humorous stories, sometimes I cannot hear what she's saying because the Message of her life, and who she is, speak so loudly... I stated that, when I was a little boy, Carolyn, like God, was always there... somehow, now, in my advancing age, the lines of demarcation separating these Two, in my mind, seem somewhat blurred... [smile]
May 18, 2010:
(1941) The Two Cousins In Summerland: "Johnny" Kuhn-Marquart and Carolyn Kuhn I so love this photo - how I love it! - given to me by dear Carolyn when I visited her on May 18. I offer it to you as prelude to my forthcoming article, Personal Statement #50: Part II: Forgiveness, The Final Battle, Agape-Love In The Trenches: What I Learned From Father John Kuhn, The Man Who Had Reason To Be Angry: All Things Are Lessons God Would Have Me Learn! Look at these Two, goofing around on a North Dakota Sunday afternoon, 69 years ago! Enjoying carefree summer fun. Enjoying each other. Look at them affectionately leaning into each other... that subtle sign of ownership and affinity between these Soulmate-Cousins! You know... my Uncle John has helped me, another Kuhn-Marquart, in so many ways; but, seeing him here, that infectious movie-star grin of his; that authentic radiance and genuine good-person aura; that indomitable spirit of courage against the hidden hurts in his life; my own spirit lifts, and it's a little easier now for me to face what I need to do. Update, June 10, 2010 : While driving to a far-flung interview, I spoke with Carolyn on the phone. She'd discovered another old snapshot of Father John, and will get it to me. I commented on the above photo, how much I like it. "Do you still remember that day?" I casually queried, but with hidden motive. "I remember it," she began slowly, with a note of solemnity, "as if it happened yesterday..." That's what I thought, Dear.
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