In Shock

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Here's something I wrote a few months ago after I witnessed a nasty road accident. Funny how all I wanted to do was document it right away. It's a bit muddled because of it, but an interesting experiment for me...


I want to see what it will come out like if I write while I am in shock. I have never had the chance before. I was close to home at the time of shock, with two hours to be alone except for the sound of the lawnmower outside, which is pissing me off and disturbing any capacity I have (limited) of calming myself into tranquility. I want to ignore it but I can’t. I can hardly breathe, although I am forcing myself to take a deep breath here and there. Mostly I notice I am holding my breath, there is resistance to inhaling, of breathing into the experience that shocked me. They’ll be done mowing soon enough I suppose. The smell of cheap and chemical-laden laundry soap wafts through my summer windows too, I don’t like living here.

On the busy, dangerous intersection, where I have been amazed to never witness an accident, because it is actually a constant accident waiting to happen on that corner, I just saw a man knocked off his motorbike. I heard the smash, looked in my rear view mirror and saw him and his bike spinning across the middle of the intersection, all wrong. I couldn’t pull over where I was so I took a moment to turn around, park, go to him. By now, someone had called the emergency folk, a man trying to help everybody, sweet, very panicked, running around with his cell phone, taking charge. Two cyclists were also in shock, were standing near him looking blankly at the road, willing the ambulance to come. He was writhing in pain on the ground, no-one near him.

I went straight to him, smiled and said ‘hey’ as I knelt down. He responded with a flicker of hope in his face, he looked at my eyes and I felt that he knew that I was help. He was covered in blood, clutching one shoulder, writhing to try and be comfortable. He could not breathe this pain, grimacing, scared, looking for help, crying out, his leg kept straightening out in rigid spasm with his shocks of pain. His ribs, his back, his shoulder, it all hurt so much. Some wounds to his head too, bright red blood, over most of his upper body and dripping down his face. I asked him if I could put a hand on him for comfort (I actually said that, for comfort). I put one hand on his right hip, a place that I somehow just knew would soothe, would allow him to be still for a second, allow him to take a breath. Only 5 seconds I had my hand there, he was finally still for those 5 seconds, by which time the police man had arrived and taken over. I moved aside in full respect.

I watched as the police guy acted tough. He too had a good sense of where to hold to keep this man still, but he did not have the effect of calming him, asking him what happened, what hurt and what his name was. Telling him he needed to keep still “ you need to keep still Don, if you’ve hurt your back you’re going to make it even worse by moving” “it hurts like a motherfucker Don, I know, but the paramedics are coming, you gotta keep still Don, keep still Don” “I’m not trying to hold you down Don, just trying to keep you still Don”. Don is trying to keep still, trying to take comfort, but he is writhing.

I am bold enough to get back down to the ground, over Don’s spasming body and ask very quietly and gently if the police guy would like me to be with Don while he went across the street (he wanted to go over there, needed to speak to the lady with the vehicle who pulled out and hit this guy). He looked at me with no eyes. I can’t explain it any better than that. He did not even want to acknowledge my existence there, in front of him. I was double bold and, although I did not touch Don again (the police man was doing this, Don was struggling, he just needed to move. I trusted Don more than I believed he was doing himself harm. It was incredible to see Don get himself naturally in the positions he needed to be in to ease the pain, shifting, moving, working with it), I put my hand 6 inches from a spot on his back that I knew was contorted, wanted to soothe it. A few seconds later, Don, very firmly, and in a calm but raised voice said to the police officer,‘let go of me, I need to go on my side’. Police man allowed it, knew he was serious. The paramedics arrived, I felt it was ok to go.

The cyclists still shocked, ignoring. I said quietly to them, “are you guys ok? That was a shocking thing to see?” They both broke out of their shock for a split second, I saw recognition and glimmers of smiles, relief, but not really. I walked away slowly, shaking, feeling helpless, feeling strong too, knowing my place. My hand was over my heart, eyes staring, quivering inside, no thought.

I came home. I called my friends until one picked up. I needed to talk my shock over a bit. I paced my house, head to one side, no feeling, adrenaline coursing, holding my own hand, hands clasped gently in front of my left shoulder. Sat, rocked, cried, strange breathing pattern, lightheaded.

In the moment, in the moment, in the moment. Nothing else matters. That man got hurt, that man needed comfort and love, I did the most I was allowed to do. I wanted to do more, but I was afraid of breaking the rules. Maybe next time I would be more sure of myself. Just the look of relief I saw on his face when I smiled and said ‘hey’, that’s all there is. That’s what I was there to do.

random

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Like the snow she had seen early this morning, untouched and pretty, she starts with this blank canvas. No need for correct grammatical use of past, present, future, it’s all the same here. Not sure what to write, she watches curiously as her fingers work gracefully and without hesitation to write what she assumes her mind is telling them to write. But why then, are they moving faster than her mind? No conscious thought, that is, no interpretation. She realizes that with our incessant interpretation of what is, we destroy ourselves. What is there? There really is nothing.



The ultimate in challenges lies ahead, always, now that she knows this she cannot ignore it and cannot fear it. How to live in this culture that is so alien to natural patterns of existence and stay true to ones natural self? To simplify herself as the world around her engages itself in a blindfolded frenzy to get somewhere else, fast.

A scene starts to paint itself on the paper, a desert settlement, an earthy people whose faces tell stories of depths of life we can’t imagine. Deeply dusty homes, women sit cross-legged on the earth, making flatbread, just being.

(she gets a text from a friend, who is sick of it always being on his terms, always his way. She responds ‘do it YOUR way honey!’ and returns to the desert.)

She’s yearning, yearning, yearning for this place to be, this place where nothing else is required. Nothing.

(‘ I’ve never done that before, it’s fearful…’ comes the text.)


It’s fearful. It’s full of fear. The way we live is full of fear. We fear the other person, what they might do to us, what they might require from us or take from us. We fear looking bad, feeling bad, being bad. We fear not obtaining things, we fear losing everything, we fear failure, we fear success.

Mostly we fear what will happen if we just let go of our fear, and of the notion that we could be in full control of our surroundings and the other people around us.

seriously, i'm only joking...

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A friend of mine emailed to say it’s good to be single from time to time, so we can check in with our own inner hotel reception. I fell in love with that phrase, it made me smile!

I have started a joke with him now, that we will write a bestselling (in-a-self-help-stylee) book, possible name ‘COMING HOME… checking in with our own inner hotel reception’ or some such.

I had already had a fleeting thought this week, that I could quite probably write a pretty decent self-help book (if I weren’t such a literary and spiritual snob… sorry, but some of them are so bad).

Perhaps I can make a few million easy dollars, bonus if it helps some people work something out for themselves…

Anyhow, I think we will have a quite a bit of credibility between us if we ham it up a little, he is a warm and hilarious (in a very surreal, English, eccentric kind of a way) astrologer, I am a the healer/childbirth hippy chick. We’ll ham up the English intelligent-yet-eccentric aspects of ourselves whilst delivering a thoroughly ‘proper’ spiritual contribution.

All I have to do now is ponder the content of said self-help offering...

What will it help with?

-Not being able to find our own inner hotel? Even with several different maps and a treasure hunt to guide us on our way?

-What to do when you arrive at your own inner hotel reception (been traveling your whole life to get here) and nobody comes to help you?

-Curiously exploring our own inner hotel reception area. (is there a vending machine, for example?)

-Decorating your own inner hotel reception. (This one I like. I’ve just had a bit of a renovation and clear out of mine – although, because I didn’t have my own future bestselling book to guide me, I just thought I was having more peaceful days than before)

-our own inner hotel reception as heaven?

-seriously


Thank you for allowing me to indulge my fanciful sillies this evening,
katie