The Aneurysm, Part IV

[photo by Mia McCullough]

Who sees inside from outside?
Who finds hundreds of mysteries
even where minds are deranged?

See through his eyes what he sees.
Who then is looking out from his eyes?

— Rumi, Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks, p. 94



This is all a lot of news to take in.

Were I on the internet I would feed my obsession that way. The internet is awesomely fertile ground for fueling obsessions, whether they be well-intentioned or not. Instead I’ve gotten the facts by speaking to live people and have put phone calls out to both Portia and Graham, two people I’ve wanted to be in contact with, because they both worked with E. and me.

In trying to reach Portia, Rob picked up the phone — early morning basketball player, master birder, out in the woods in Western Washington — and I heard his voice. A long lost voice to me yet it only feels like a month since I spoke to him.

I heard his voice, and could picture the white beard, the ever-apologetic look on his face. Could picture him in the tall pines on his land, and in his woodlot.

Haven’t heard back yet from either Portia or Graham but expect I will in the next couple of days.

The Aneurysm, Part III

Like a fresh idea in an artist's mind,
you fashion things before they come into being.
You sweep the floor like the man
who keeps the doorway.
When you brush
a form clean, it becomes
what it truly is.

— Rumi, Essential Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks, p. 102



E.'s mom gave me the caringbridge.org information where E's husband and dad have been posting updates regularly.

I know about caringbridge. When it got out on Facebook in 2008 that an old schoolmate/acquaintance had nearly lost his triplet toddlers in a house fire, a caringbridge site offered updates and a place to post messages.

I was wondering if this was a moment to make an exception to my experiment, if this was the emergency I said in the beginning would be a reasonable exception, was I being selfish or bad by refusing to get on the internet.

No. There is no substitute for the human voice. I left E's husband a message on his cell phone yesterday, expressing my love and concern and making it perfectly clear I did not expect a call back. He asked Peter to contact me, too, so I wasn’t calling out of the blue.

But how many times have we said, or had said to us, “It’s so good to hear your voice.” There is nothing like hearing the voice, the inflection, of an old friend. It is a small substitute for being in the presence of the actual person. Internet communications cannot be replaced same as a person cannot be replaced. And internet communications cannot make up for the fabric, tenor, laughter, and idiosyncrasies of a human voice of someone who loves you.

Hearing voices

[photo by Mia McCullough]

Friend, our closeness is this:
anywhere you put your foot, feel me
in the firmness under you.
— Rumi, tr. Coleman Barks

Today Dave Cohen, Jeff's BFF who texts like an adolescent, texted and I called him. I told him he can text me but to expect a phone call in return. I knew he would give me holy hell, in a nice way, and he did.

But we had a nice conversation — and it was SO GOOD to hear the voice of my friend. So much better. Because if I can’t hear you — I may misinterpret what you are saying. Recently I heard a statistic that 40% of what is said (or was it 60?) in e-mail is not understood the way it is intended.

Yesterday Mark Canizaro texted me and I wrote him back a short one. Felt like I was taking a drink. I won’t do that again this year. Just receiving texts, which I receive very few of and only from certain people, feels a bit like cheating on this experiement, so I’m owning up. The only one I can text in and out with is Jeff — and only when necessary. Like "Where are you? We're by the T-Rex."

It feels good to take control of communications this way.