Ethical Humanist Society of Long Island

Ethical Publications

Leader Dr. Anne Klaeysen's Blog

Leader's Message - "Ethical Growth" - May 2008

On my way to the American Ethical Union Assembly in Austin, Texas, last month, I took a detour. We were halfway there when the pilot announced that due to a security matter we would land in Richmond, Virginia. Shuttle buses took us from the middle of the airfield to the terminal, where we learned that a woman was being detained at JFK after missing the flight and suggesting that her luggage, which was already on board, carried a bomb. The NY Daily News would later carry an article about the incident called, “Irked Exec Bombs Out at Kennedy.”

I cooled my heels for five hours while the luggage of 300 passengers was unloaded, examined, and reloaded. While I waited, I read The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby — twice. It is the memoir of a man who suffered a massive stroke that left him a victim of “locked-in syndrome,” unable to move his body, with the exception of his left eye. By blinking, he was finally able to communicate. His story, so eloquent and moving, transported me, and the time flew.

Every National Leaders Council meeting begins with opening words, so that evening I read from the book that had kept me company on my trip. The author writes about a portrait of Empress Eugenie in the main hall of the naval hospital where he is a patient. He imagines following her retinue of young ladies, drawing near to her, and burying his face in the folds of her dress. “She did not send me away. She ran her fingers through my hair and said gently, ‘There, there, my child, you must be very patient,’ in a Spanish accent very like the neurologist’s. She was no longer the empress of the French but a compassionate divinity in the manner of Saint Rita, patroness of lost causes.”

Although he died two days after the publication of his book in France, Jean-Dominique Bauby was hardly a lost cause. He continues to inspire others, putting our own challenges in stark contrast to his. When he heard about the rumor whispered in the Café de Flore, “one of those base camps of Parisian snobbery,” that he had become a vegetable, he decided to send a monthly letter to friends and associates “to prove that my IQ was still higher than a turnip’s.” Thus began a new and rewarding phase of his life: a remarkable collective correspondence that kept him in touch with those he loved — and grew to love.

“Some of them are serious in tone, discussing the meaning of life, invoking the supremacy of the soul, the mystery of every existence,” Bauby writes. “And by a curious reversal, the people who focus most closely on these fundamental questions tend to be people I had known only superficially. Their small talk had masked hidden depths. Had I been blind and deaf, or does it take the harsh light of disaster to show a person’s true nature?”

I wondered about his question when I joined the colloquy [shared reflection] led by Adam of the Austin Society on Friday morning. The topic was growth. Looking around the circle, I saw some familiar faces and some that were new to me. I love colloquy, especially when everyone settles in and lets it work on them, taking in the flow of thoughts and feelings, and cherishing them as precious gifts. I often experience that curious reversal of people I had known superficially revealing their hidden depths. I also hear myself saying things I hadn’t expected were there.

I reflected upon how I had grown this year, amidst all the turmoil of change and the swirl of rumors. I experienced a shift from a thought about setting the record straight, as Bauby had done, to a feeling of serenity, and talked about a visit I made in March to my parents in upstate New York.

My folks have made a new home about five minutes from their farm. Their house is smaller, and their neighbors are closer. Mom does not make new friends easily, so she stays home and knits sweaters for us, keeping up with old friends and relatives by phone and the occasional “ladies who lunch” outing. Her new neighbors love the corn casserole she brings to monthly potluck suppers, and that feels good. Dad has become a social butterfly, greeting everyone on his daily walks, going to the clubhouse to exchange books he has read for new ones. He has discovered an elderberry patch in the thicket near the creek that edges the community, so Mom made me an elderberry pie. Can you believe it? Their next-door neighbor had never even heard of elderberries, much less tasted them!

We spent a companionable few days: reading, walking, talking, napping, and complaining about the new host on "The Price Is Right." We also pulled out the old slides, set up the vintage projector, and, cocking our heads to the side at times when the images were askew, relived part of our family history. I remembered that I am still Bill and Irene’s daughter. What had felt rocky last fall now felt rock solid this spring. I do not know where I will be next fall, but I know who I am and what is important to me.

And that feels like real ethical growth.

Anne Klaeysen -- Apr 28 2008 09:38 am | | |

Your message was not sent because it contained non acceptable HTML code or the Name or email fields were left blanks.