The drawing “Inner Light” came to mind during a my recent car accident. It was the picture into which I retreated during the traumatic move to the hospital and the one that visited me like a friend bringing strength during my stay there.
The peaceful mid-day sun gave no warning of the pick-up that sped into the intersection broadsiding my car and sending it into the field. The force of the collision followed by the impact of the power pole from which my car ricocheted pushed the passenger side into the middle of the car’s interior. Only after all was still did I emerge from the driver’s seat, take two steps and then lay on the ground. There was soft acoustic music playing from the radio whose power control eerily moved to the “on” function during the crash. One EMT commented on how the music companioned the emergency workers as he and others recorded my vital signs then rushed me into the ambulance.
I’d overheard snippets of conversation; the other driver said she’d been talking on her cell phone; the emergency crew discussed stabilizing the woman who was “in the field.” An EMT set an IV into my left arm and asked me if I had any allergies to medications. My body instantly reacted to the first infusion of morphine and I was asked about my hospital preference. As we sped away to Greeley’s Northern Colorado Medical Center I asked how the woman in the field was doing. “You,” he answered while picking dried grass from my hair, “are the woman in the field.”
My admission into the hospital was followed by a blur of x rays and scans then re-x rays and re-scans, blood tests, checking of vital signs, and my required signatures on a stack of forms. The presiding physician decided to forgo surgery because my pelvis fractures were stable. The random and searing pain of my lower torso could now be associated with specific areas so that although the pain was not lessened the feeling of chaos was. I soon learned that there was little or no internal bleeding, organ damage, or head injury. There was only surface bruising in my right arm, shoulder and hand. This sounded to me like I’d be back to work on projects at my studio and I was relieved.
There to witness the unfolding story was my neighbor. She’d come to find me after seeing my smashed car in the field. Staying literally at my side for the eleven hours of the physician’s assessment process she helped me to interpret the findings and most importantly to telephone my daughter Annie. I can’t imagine how I would be home and getting back to “normal” if my neighbor and Annie hadn’t directed these first 10 days of a 6 week recovery. The transition home was guided with the kindness and sensitivity of my dear friends.
Although I don’t have native American ancestry I’m encouraged when remembering accounts of how early people used the healing influence of bears. David Rockwell, in his book, “Giving Voice to Bear,” tells about North American indigenous peoples’ beliefs. One idea that was consistent among the different groups was that all beings in their healthiest state held the qualities of every other part of nature. If one could not run swiftly he/she might look to an antelope or deer to assume this ability. They believed that one could find this antelope-like strength within themselves and when activated become more whole.
Among the many attributes of bears, those creatures closest in nature to humans, was the ability to heal. This may have been because early people learned about medicinal plants by watching bears forage. If someone was ill it was believed that the bear in them was sleeping. They might go to a shaman or medicine man to awaken or enliven the bear that held their healing. The shaman would wait until, whether in the dream state or by some other intuitive means, the sleeping bear would tell him how it preferred to be awakened. This information would then inform the particular approach to the ill person’s healing.
Another reference to native American beliefs that comes to my mind as I’m focused on my own healing is that of the Cheyenne “Bear Dreamers.” A friend of mine told me that her ancestral heritage included her Cheyenne grandfather who was a member of this bear cult. One of the tenets of this exclusive group was that if one of its members was healed they were all healed.
The image “Inner Light” has remained a close companion during this initial time of healing.
Whether when being woken in the hospital to take pain meds, attempting one more grueling exercise in physical therapy, or sitting alone with my feelings of loss, it has visited my imagination like a supportive friend. The white bear looks at me and I remember that it holds a place like every other polar bear that I have drawn. I’m grateful for this character, this observer, this one light that remains constant amid my changing life experiences; it’s triumphs and tragedies, losses and joys.
As my activities resume with artmaking, raising free range chickens, and tending sheep and llama, may I not lose track of this center. May I continue to visit this place of light in each drawing I make and in the eyes of friends, non friends and family; chickens, llama, dog, cat and sheep.
Barbara
