"Every Little Thing": Conversation 6

Snail, Gerard Brender à Brandis. (Spiral reminder courtesy of Ev.)

1)

I once read a story about a famous American novelist. He had worked interminably to produce, most certainly, the “Great American Novel”. The Novel was a thick paper manuscript in a manila envelope, strenuously typed on an Underwood mechanical typewriter. He travelled by a steam-engined train with the manuscript to see his publisher in New York City. On the trip, he was lulled to sleep, having finally rested from his finished work. The train arrived, and he awakened abruptly from his sleep, quickly deboarding the train, in the process leaving the manila envelope with his manuscript on the seat beside. It was never retrieved. The "Great American Novel" never saw the light of day. The author worked the rest of his life in the shadow of the loss of his greatest novel.

 

We finished our 6th and final conversation. It was a rare and wonderful time of sharing, wisdom, and listening. I captured nine pages of sketchbook notes spread over the remaining corner pages of two sketchbooks. 

The next morning, I awoke early. I saw the opportunity to go downtown to visit Honore Balzac for an espresso. I took my manuscripts and pen selections with me to collate the notes to compose a final epic blog post stitched together from the group’s contributions. 

Before I could finish the epic post, we packed our suitcases for a flight to visit our daughter Charity in Victoria. I had pulled the pages from the sketchbook to take with me, also confident that they were the backup to the digital summary. Neither turned out to be true. The notes went missing. 

In that present moment, I was left only with my memory. What I recalled from memory of the summaries was that it was important to not let the benefits of our conversations fade from memory. We needed to find a way to remember and return.

2)

On the flight, after I discovered my error, I consoled myself by starting to watch the documentary “Every Little Thing," which came very highly recommended.  The sketchy onboard wifi only successfully permitted me about 25 minutes of film. The story is the magnificent and inspired tale of Terry Maeser, a woman in California whose work is to mend ailing hummingbirds. She supports anyone, anywhere who has come across a tiny bird needing attention. She counsels callers and receives visitors. The footage of the incredible creatures, their names, and their stories is unspeakably beautiful. (The film is available on kanopy.com, with many others, using a Stratford Library card.)

In those few minutes, I realized that this story, these stories, human and beyond human, were our stories. Their conversations were related to ours. Their tiny lives are akin to our tiny lives; merest breath, chasing the wind, hevel. 

3)

I later discovered that I had retained my collated notes after all. What I rediscovered in them was a strange, inner experience of transformation and hope. The polycrisis is actually our inner state. To ‘solve’ the crisis, we need to change our inner state. Re-centre our centre. This may mean changing our outer narratives to change our inner narrative. Essentially, this is a spiritual act, an act of the Spirit. We need to begin to tell a new story. 

This new story started to happen in our shared conversations. A strange inner experience of hope began to rise. We need to help this process continue between and beyond our conversations. This is a process of slow healing. Broken things can be repaired and made beautiful again. 

Belfry Theatre, Victoria, BC.

4) 

We landed on Vancouver Island, in joy and reunion. We found an opportunity to encounter Casey and Diana. Casey and Diana is a play that passed through the Stratford Festival for two weeks one summer. By the time we heard about it, it was gone. The day after we arrived, it was opening at the Belfry Theatre.

 

Casey is Casey House, the globally famous Toronto AIDS Hospice. The play tells the story of the 1991 visit there by Princess Diana. In brief, the real story is how she changed the world’s perspective on the crisis by visiting and touching the residents, something unthinkable in that fear -based time. Our experience of the play was profound, reaching far into the past and further into the future.

We believe that we are living in a crisis. Krisis is a Greek New Testament word that implies a crisis of inner judgment, a confrontation with ourselves. The play was an exposé, another confrontation. The 20th-century North American church and society neglected the outsider during the AIDS crisis; this is not a new thing in our day. We need to experience this inner confrontation, not in a harsh way, but in the way of truth. 

Oceanside, Vancouver Island, B.C

5)

On Salt Spring Island, in an oceanview condo, we were able to watch the entirety of Every Little Thing. It is the story of giving care and healing to the tiniest of creatures. But it is also the story of the healing of the healer. 

The visuals capturing the hummingbirds in vertical flight are incredible. We learned that a hummingbird can see a flower in the canyon from a mile away. I became awed by the mechanics of creation, but more so by the presence of soul in creation. 

What ails us is only believing that Eden is burning and failing to see that Eden, remade and regenerated, is strangely thriving. We were surprised that astronauts escaping this earth and seeing it from afar helped us to shift our story from hopelessness to hope. We are brothers and sisters, though we might not live like it, nor feel like it. But we have this hope, based on a promise, which we share collectively, being mindful to return to Eden, to the original communion, returning to our centre. 

Butchart Gardens, Vancouver Island.