The parable of the elephant

CHASING DOWN THE MUSE

” ... on a darkling plain, swept with confused alarms of struggle and

flight.”

-- MATTHEW ARNOLD

“Oh, the wild joys of living!”

-- ROBERT BROWNING

Swish ... swish ... sssswissssh -- the sound of the broom in its

mundane task of sweeping away debris from the recent storms captures

my attention. There goes the fallout from eucalyptus trees, bark and

pollen, seed capsules and leaves, twigs and small branches. They are

all mounded into a pile to be placed in the large green receptacle

nearby.

Swish ... swish. I am mesmerized by the sound. The image of

sweeping things away fills my mind. All over Southern California

people are taking actions like this to clean up the messes the storms

left in their wake. This is what we do. When there’s mud running

through your house, you don’t leave it there. You shovel it out. When

the roof leaks, you fix it somehow. When there is debris, you sweep

it away.

I think this is why, when we are stuck for solutions, cannot find

the actions to take, or feel that things are outside of our control,

many of us move into anger, depression or despair. Not having answers

to the myriad questions surrounding love, war, money, or politics, we

sometimes shut down, spinning in place or withdrawing. Questions fill

our minds and our hearts and become part of the sorrow. We want

answers. It is like having a large elephant in the middle of the

room, spreading out into the corners. We feel hopeless. We feel

stuck. The task is too huge.

Swish ... swish ... the sound continues as I drift off. The

gigantic presence of an elephant takes over my thoughts ...

Why is there an elephant in the living room in the first place?

Where did it come from? How did it get here? And when? Questions fill

my mind. They seem to serve no good purpose toward the removal of

said elephant.

But how do I get rid of this elephant? I can’t just sweep it away.

That is for sure. In consternation, I plop down on the floor. Why is

this happening to me? I hate this. I want it to go away. Closing my

eyes, I just hope that I will wake up from this bad dream. Yet, when

I open my eyes again, nothing has changed. The elephant is still

there. I can’t simply wish it away as I would like.

So I look at the elephant and check out the possibilities for

living with the situation as it is. Maybe the elephant is staying for

a while. Maybe what I need to do is figure out how I am going to

handle her presence in my living room. There must be something.

Wandering around the side of the elephant that is facing me, I

start by noticing. Look at all those hairs on the tough gray,

wrinkled hide! How deep some of those wrinkles are! I try to estimate

her height. Even lying down as she is, she goes all the way up to the

ceiling. There will be no climbing over her. Her large, dark eye

follows my movement. I realize in that instant that she is just as

“stuck” as I am, if not more so.

I mark off the territory. Measuring the height, I already saw this

wouldn’t be a way to go, but what about across the trunk? A little

tricky since I don’t know how she might react, but still a

possibility.

Maybe I can and will even find a way to live with it. For now, I

pick up the phone and call the local feed store, asking them to

deliver some hay. I climb out the window and head for the garage

where I know there is a large galvanized pail to hold water. I could

call the zoo for tips on care and feeding ... maybe learn more online

... now, which Web site would that be? Try keyword “elephant” --

possibilities abound.

Now none of this solves the problem of the elephant -- either hers

or mine. What it does manage to accomplish, is movement from the

sense of hopelessness about this to an area of possibility. The

questions are not put to rest. Answers are not clear. And, yet,

action has created an opening. Looking the elephant straight in the

eye -- acknowledging its presence, facing it directly -- allows for

hope of a solution.

One of the best ways to hold onto our hopes is to face directly

what threatens them. We need to look the threats straight in the eye,

not with despair but with the clear intention of not allowing

hopelessness to poison a sense of possibility. We need to get on with

the process of living -- with gusto.

Swish ... swish ... the sound reminds me my yard could still use

some cleanup.

* CHERRIL DOTY is a creative living coach, writer, artist, and

walker who lives and works in Laguna Beach. Contact her by e-mail at

[email protected] or by phone at (949) 251-3883. Your thoughts and

questions are appreciated.