Edge of Somewhere

Stricken

I’m beginning a new category here entitled ‘Synchronicity’ as it’s becoming an ongoing theme.

For the past week or so, I’ve engrossed myself in C.G. Jung’s Psychology of Religion and Synchronicity by Robert Aziz (it’s not exactly beach reading). I’m going to make an extensive quote here as it’s directly pertinent to recent life experience. I should note that, though I’ve read Jung for the past year and kept my eye open for anything on Synchronicity theory, I did not specifically seek out this book. I came across it in the library whilst looking for something else—which is how Synchronicity works anyway (though that is arguably the sister concept of Serendipity).

For those of you not familiar with the theory, here is a brief definition (though there are many more layers as, at its heart, it delves into how everything is related to everything else—from oneself to the cosmos). The Wikipedia definition (which is as good as any) follows: Synchronicity is the experience of two or more events which are causally unrelated occurring together in a meaningful manner. In order to count as synchronicity, the events should be unlikely to occur together by chance. There is a larger related question regarding the timing of the events that I’ll not go into here (as simultaneous Synchronous events might not actually occur at the same moment because we have a limited understanding of time in the relative sense. We are talking about the underlying order of the universe and, basically, though the universe is coherent, it doesn’t necessarily meter out time from one moment to the next. Something can happen in my grandfather’s childhood and my old age at the same moment …but that’s for another posting).

Jung speaks of synchronous events as if they are a way for the Universe to ‘course correct’ an anomaly in the stream of things; there is a natural imperative to bring a ‘compensatory effect’ into play. These occur, in an individual’s life, to aid in the process of individuation (the becoming of a whole person—or development of a harmonious connexion with the order of things). However, the key thing is to become aware of the presence and meaning of Synchronicity. It’s important to foster a keen sense of recognition:

The ability, for example. to recognize at the earliest possible
point when one has drifted, either consciously or unconsciously,
from the more comprehensive pattern of one’s individuation is particularly important, because it is not uncommon when one is so
floundering for the synchronistic compensatory response of nature
to become increasingly aggressive until the situation is satisfactorily
corrected. It is, therefore, very much in one’s interests to catch such
developments in their beginnings and to take the appropriate action
as quickly as possible. Jung refers to such a situation in a letter to
Philip Metman dated March 27. 1954. Metman and his wife, apparently.
had just narrowly escaped serious injury in a car accident. In
writing to Metman, Jung very notably, as we shall see in the following.
drew Melman’s attention to the possible synchronistic relationship
between their narrow escape from injury and some writing
Metman was engaged in at that time. Jung’s essential point was
that Metman may not have been giving his creative energy sufficient
freedom in his writing, and consequently he found himself at odds
with the synchronistic flow of outward nature. “I gather with great
concern,” Jung writes,

“that you have had a hair-breadth escape from a car accident.
The accident has affected only the outer shell, but evidently
you and your wife were not affected physically by this broad
hint. Naturally this may have an inner connection with what
you are writing, for experience shows that accidents of this
sort are very often connected with creative energy which turns
against us because somehow it is not given due heed. This
may easily happen; for we always judge by what we already
know and very seldom listen to what we don’t yet know.
Therefore we can easily take a step in the wrong direction or
continue too long on the right path until it becomes the wrong
one. Then it may happen that in this rather ungentle way we are
forced to change our attitude.”

Much as is the case with dreams, synchronistic experiences,
such as the above, tend to repeat themselves, as Bolen explains,
“until the inner psychological conflict or the conflicting external situation
changes,” that is to say, until the desired compensatory effect
is realized. Bolen, interestingly enough, presents a case thai is
rather similar to the above, only with her example, not one but
three car accidents took place before things were put back on
course. Bolen relates how a woman with a perfect driving record
found herself in the very awkward position of having to make two
“it’s me again”-type calls to her claims adjustor. Particularly troubling
about these accidents was the fact that in each case the
woman herself was blameless. In the first collision, she was hit
from behind while stopped at a traffic light by a woman who failed
to brake quickly enough on a rain-wetted street. On the second occasion she was hit again by a woman who was changing lanes. The
third accident was similar to the first, only more serious still. She
was again struck from behind while stopped at a traffic light, but in this instance by a woman whose brakes had failed. This time the
impact of the accident was so great that her gasoline tank ruptured.
fortunately without igniting, and her vehicle was dangerously
pushed forward into the intersection. After this third collision, the
analysand, we are told, finally began to give serious thought to a
possible synchronistic connection…

… We see from the above examples, therefore, that when one is
at odds with the compensatory flow of one’s individuation, it is
very much to one’s advantage to discover as quickly as possible how
the subjective position is not right, and then to make the needed
adjustments immediately, lest the compensatory synchronistic pattern
take an even more sinister turn.” (Aziz 161-62)

I sat in an armchair on Thursday evening reading this; for a moment, I put the book aside and considered the import of the words. My mother looked over at me and said, “Did something strike you?” Yes—indeed; I think I’ve been stricken.

There is a pattern; and we can even take the notion of a triad as described in the example above. Over the past year, there have been three occasions where I’ve been severely stricken off course. First was an issue with my MSc; I was not able to finish the program as I had hoped (for reasons I’ll not go into here as the discussion on this has swirled round in other quarters). Second, was my inability to obtain a UK visa and stay in Europe. Third, of course, was the road accident that could have easily taken my life. All three incidents were, in many ways, ‘beyond my control’; however, in all three, I was in some sense ‘in the driver’s seat’. At the time of each incident I felt that I had control of the situation till it was clearly and suddenly made evident that I was not. Each incident pivoted on the narrowest of margins; a few points, a few Pounds, a few centimetres one way or the other and the outcome would have been different. (As an aside, though I was not listening to music at the time of the accident, I looked at my iPod the next day and the last song I had listened to beforehand was Lose Control by Evanescence.)

I am at the threshold of something significant in my life—it may have already happened and I’ve just not yet come to comprehend all the pieces; but, I know it has begun. And, the mind boggling thing is, as I hinted at above, I think it’s possible that the beginnings of it may have been long before I was born. It’s a continuum of events. Everything happened just as it had to happen. Every decision of mine—and everyone before me—leads on to here.

Or, perhaps, rather than say, ‘I’m at the threshold of something significant’, I should say that I realise there may be more significant than previously comprehended.

Synchronicity • 27 June 2009 Comment [2]

The Event as it Finished

I’ve obtained several images from the accident scene itself and updated my gallery; they are—pretty gruesome (especially the last image of the cabin of the car…if one can still call it that). Click here to go to the gallery.

It looks like we probably stopped traffic both ways for a while (obviously whilst the helicopter came in and out). In some of the images I did not post, there are cars lining the highway in both directions. Also, there is a long long line of skid marks where the truck pulled me along underneath (I remember that part as it took some time compared to the initial impact and etc.). I think it’s really ironic that, on the back of the trailer, there is a sign stating We Hire Safe Drivers.

I’ve not written a lot in the last few days; I’m taking some time to meditate on several things and ponder what is next. I began physical therapy this week; strangely, some muscles are more sore and tight now than they were shortly after the accident. However, the therapist assures me we will be able to get everything back in shape. He asked if I have any range of motion difficulties; I said that, normally, I’m able to put both feet behind my head (really) and that I was having some difficulty with this at the moment. He said, as that’s not even a starting point for most of his clients, this would be a challenging goal to work towards.

Journal • 24 June 2009 Comment

Why I am here

(not an existential question—just the practical stuff)

Several people have emailed to ask why I am suddenly in the States and no longer in Europe. Was I not supposed to be in France or Scotland or the Czech Republic or something? Well, yes; however, there is this gap between supposed to and the actuality of life.

Several episodes ago, you may remember that my company sent me to our office in France to satisfy a new rule concerning visa applications in the UK. This would have worked if the Home Office would not have changed the rules in mid-stream again. Halfway through my time in France, I went to check the application procedure for UK visas at the embassy in Paris only to find that the requirements had changed again (quite suddenly only a few weeks before that); I was now completely ineligible for a British visa. I had fallen through a bureaucratic black hole.

My company had done everything and more than could be expected and just had to let me go (I could have extended my French visa only for a few months more…and my job was really designed to be in Scotland anyway). So, quite abruptly, I’ve found myself back in the States after three years in Europe. This was—disconcerting; I had planned to live in Scotland for at least the next two years, very much liked my job, and was just generally keen on life in Europe in general.

Of course, these kinds of sudden changes lead one to re-assess life goals and etc. And then, for good measure, let’s add a severe road accident on top of that…

Journal • 19 June 2009 Comment

What's in a name

I remember, in University, I had a Bible class in which the professor discussed the importance of names in scripture. Oftentimes a particular individual would be given a name in hopes of future calling or their name would end up significant in some part of their lives (or, in several cases, their name was changed to reflect a milestone). So, in light of what has happened, I have decided to change my name to Pauline Epistle The Road Less Travelled Sidhartha Quaker Friend IV. (Or—I might give that some further thought.)

In one of my favourite novels, Dune, names play an important role that the central characters don’t often understand until a particular event comes to pass or the importance of their name is revealed by an awakening of some sort. It is, of course, a literary convention to give characters emblematic names or names which denote the inner nature of the person. (See Dickens especially for this; I always wondered if Master Bates in Oliver Twist was intentional. Did Dickens know this would be the cause of much adolescent snickering in high school education for aeons to come?)

Jason means The one who brings healing. That has, at various times, given me pause; what is one’s responsibility to one’s name? How much power does a name have and what kind of energy comes from it? Recently, I’ve been reading the works of C.G. Jung (well, on and off over the past year since the Human Ecology program and more intently in the last few months). Last month, on my flight from France to the States, I listened to a biography of Jung. There was a particular statement that he made concerning the difficulties he faced in life and how that contributed to his practice, Only the wounded physician heals. This statement predates Jung but is particularly suited to psychology. One, in many cases, must experience something in order to empathise with another person.

I have, by no measure, lived a difficult life. However, I have passed through a number of significant experiences of physical, spiritual and psychological pain. How did these things wound the healer and what ability do I have to heal the wounded? I cannot claim I am entirely an adept listener (ask any woman who has known me for longer than, say, five months); but people generally open up to me. They talk out what has wounded them. I’m beginning to wonder how these events in my life, my naming events, may alter how I respond. Perhaps not even how they alter what I have to say; how will these events alter the way I listen? What healing may come from my wounds?

Journal • 16 June 2009 Comment [4]

A week past

…and all the future ahead. A week ago, at about this time, I was pinned in underneath a semi-trailer. For a moment, I thought I was about to die—but then I didn’t. The question I have to sort now is whether that life from before continued—or if this is something different. There is a significant difference in the shades between. I think some part of me may have passed on and, perhaps, something new was brought out bright and living.

Journal • 15 June 2009 Comment

Going on with purpose

First: Yes, still sore (will look into therapy this week after getting more of the insurance sorted).

Several people have asked how I’m doing psychologically; I think I’m okay considering everything that’s happened. I’m getting a little weary of talking about it (however, at least I can talk about it; that’s supposedly a good sign). It was a little difficult the other night here in my parent’s annual neighbourhood block party. I felt obliged to relate the story over and again; it’s just difficult to discuss what happened casually over a beer and roast pork. Also, people don’t quite know how to respond. The usual route is to relate either their own or another accident story. This is an attempt at empathy, which I appreciate; however, it doesn’t really do much to relieve the stress or trauma of my own situation. I mentioned this difficulty to a friend and she said, “You can always say you’d rather not talk about it.” This is a power I think I’ll need to invoke in the incoming weeks.

I’m sitting on the back deck; there is a deer strolling by about ten metres away.

I’m having a little difficulty sleeping; last night I had some Sleepytime tea and took Melatonin then slept straight through the night. The difficulty I had was just getting to sleep in the first place as I was—well, just thinking. A couple nights ago I was looking for support groups for this kind of accident (I’ve since learned it is called a “side underride” accident). There are apparently groups for victims families; however, there don’t seem to be any for victims—as they usually don’t survive.

I will be giving this a lot of thought; again, this is going to be a difficult thing to relate to people. Someone was asking me later in the week how my job search was going. I had to tell them that I’m not really thinking about that at the moment…I’ve got life to re-assess.

I already have a fairly wicked sense of humour—and an experience like this sort of gives one licence to step it up a notch; one of the BuildaBridge Institute participants e-mailed this to me last evening:

I am reminded of David Livingston’s words, “I am immortal until the will of God for my life is accomplished.” (Or something along those lines.) Clearly God is willing something more for you…

To which I responded:

That would have been a great statement to make right after the accident; if only I had know/thought of that at the time! When the truck driver came in underneath the trailer afterward to see about me…“Man! Oh, God! Are you all right?” I could have responded, “I am Immortal!…” Would have been great…probably would have completely freaked out everyone on the scene and they would have assumed I had a head injury, but great nonetheless.

Journal • 15 June 2009 Comment

Awareness of the now

I will attempt to not become the stereotypical “near death experience” person, but I was just waking in the forest and was so aware of every little leaf and branch. My parents live next to a nature reserve; I have a feeling I will be spending a lot of time walking there in the incoming weeks.

Today was devoted to sorting out the mess of my personal space (moving back here from Scotland…unpacking boxes and finding places for everything). This and sleeping; though I am sleeping fairly well at night, I’m just very tired…which, I suppose, is understandable. I am still a bit sore and my bruises are turning an awful pale yellow colour—but, again, to be expected.

Several people have asked how I am psychologically; I’m okay for the moment. I did have, as I was falling asleep, a sudden memory of part of the accident—just a split second of the time. It was like, as one falls asleep and has a waking dream that one is physically falling—and then comes to with a start. As I keep saying, it’s going to be a lot to process.

One of my parent’s neighbours brought over an Elvis fridge magnet to cheer my mother; I said it’s a good thing she is not a James Dean fan.

Journal • 12 June 2009 Comment

The Surface

Monday evening and today…

Journal • 10 June 2009 Comment [3]

Beginning the Change

A few weeks ago I spotted this sign whilst walking in Glasgow; at the time it was humorously applicable to my situation—now it seems prophetic.

I’ve received a lot of email wishing me well and asking further questions.

I am very sore; however, I used to practice Aikido and I’m not so much more sore than if someone had devised a particularly unpleasant technique that involved getting thrown down in a really wrong way…and then taken the mat away…and that was the technique we practised for several hours. I will probably seek out some therapy in the incoming weeks.

There is some pain; my left arm hit against something and it’s tender. However, I was saying to Mom yesterday that everything prepares one for something else. If you’ll remember, I once had a fourteen inch steel bar underneath my ribcage—I know something about pain so a bump on the arm isn’t really an issue (I’m not trying to sound macho there I just have some perspective—and a bottle of Motrin. I wish I still had Vioxx; if only it had not been banned).

I’m at my parents house where I will stay for the moment to recover; for those of you who have not been following my visa woes, I just returned to the States from Scotland about a week and a half ago.

There were a couple unfortunate comments posted on other websites concerning the driver of the truck. He, as is often the case in accidents like this, had no physical injury. A few people noted that, “this was a shame.” I do not at all think so; regardless of legal fault for the accident, the man is a human being who has value in himself and to others. There is no need to belittle him as a person because of the situation we found ourselves joined in; he was the first to me after the accident and, I think, he was more agitated than I (of course, I was covered in blood from a cut on my head, pinned inside underneath his trailer and the car looked like…well, see the pictures). I knew I was okay but he was probably thinking that he had caused someone’s death; that’s going to be a heavy burden to process. I hardly got to see anything on the scene (the paramedics had me immobilised and would not let me look around at all). My whole experience was very “localised”; he got to walk around and consider more what could have been. I know this must have shaken him as he was taken away with chest pains—so give the man his own space to deal with this.

When the initial impact happened and I began to spin around I relaxed (I consciously thought, “relax”). I went limp and (instinctively or from some momentum) bent over into the passenger seat. If I had not done this—the top of the car was torn off and then, as you can see in a couple of the pictures, the pylon that supports the roof went right into the driver’s headrest. Also, when I opened my eyes, there were pipes and hoses from the undercarriage of the trailer in front of me between the seat and where the windshield used to be (the firemen were contemplating having to cut them off to get to me). So, again, had anything not happened exactly as it did, this would have ended very differently.

Someone asked last night, “what did it sound like?” I attempted to describe it but, thinking about it now, that sound may be something that only people who experience it should hear—and then not relate to others. That sound is now imprinted into my mind and will never go away. That sound is something I may need to recall at times to keep me on track. That sound is mine alone; it would do no service to others. That sound was almost my end. One can offer one’s life to others, but only I can experience my death; I know now what that might sound like.

As a side note, for the past couple weeks, I’ve been reading Judith Hermann’s Trauma and Recovery which covers PTSD. This was in preparation for discussions at the BuildaBridge Institute (as we deal with traumatised children); however, once again, it’s another synchronicity of my life.

Journal • 10 June 2009 Comment [1]

Trauma T1571

For a short time yesterday I did not have a name; I was Trauma T1571 at the Cumberland Memorial Hospital in Cumberland, Maryland. Before that, I was flown by helicopter off of Highway 68 Westbound. Before that, I was strapped to a backboard and given an IV. Before that, I was cut out of a car with giant pneumatic pincers. Before that, I had a man holding me immobile and shielding my face and legs from the tools the firemen were using to extract me. Before that, a bystander reached his hand through the smashed window just to hold mine and speak with me. Before that I was in the worst car accident I can imagine. By all apparent rights, I should not be typing this right now.

This past week I was at the BuildaBridge Institute in Philadelphia (which was superb, by the way—amazing people and conversations). Yesterday afternoon I drove back from Philly to Morgantown, West Virginia where my parents live…or at least that is what I was attempting to do. Somewhere east of Cumberland, MD, I was going down a grade (there is a long hill there that trucks tend to barrel through). My cruse control was on; I was just going along in the right hand lane (which, for my friends in the UK, remember to switch this…I was in the “slow” lane). I caught a glimpse of something very large in my driver’s mirror and then was suddenly spinning around and all hell broke loose.

I was hit in the rear driver’s side corner by an eighteen wheel truck that came into my lane as he passed me (apparently rather quickly). This spun me around several times and I then became lodged in underneath the trailer of the truck and dragged along the freeway for some distance. Of course, there is not a lot of room underneath a cargo trailer; fortunately, I was driving one of the smallest cars in existence. I was in a Mazda MX-5 (a Miata); the top of the car was shorn right off as I went under. The firemen who cut me out (they had to extract me through the side as there was no way for me to come out upward) said that, had I been in any other kind of vehicle, I would be dead. Actually, everyone that spoke with me could not figure out how I survived. One of the paramedics said he had never seen anyone come out of an accident like that alive (when they arrived on the scene, they immediately called for a helicopter before seeing me); I have some lacerations on my face and arms from all the glass and a sore shoulder and arm. I was not even kept in the hospital overnight. The medic on the flight took some pictures of the scene with his mobile and shared them around the emergency room; I just kept hearing “Damn…dayyymn!” and then people would just come over and look at me (and then say something like “…damn?”). I felt I was playing out the hospital scene in Unbreakable.

As they pulled me out of the wreckage, one of the firemen looked at me and said, “Man, there must be some kind of plan for you.” I have always valued my life and appreciate the blessings of it—but this is a new life. I remember thinking one thing during the accident, “Let me Live!” and I’ve lived—and that means something very special now. I hope to discover more fully what life is—because I’ve been given a chance to continue anew with living.

Update: pictures are at this link …my God.

Also, a news clip here

And even a thread on a Miata forum

Update 10 June: my father and uncle went to look at the scene yesterday; from the skid marks, it looks like we may have travelled as much as several hundred feet together before coming to a stop. Thank goodness the truck driver had the presence of mind to keep us both on the road with my car lodged in underneath the carriage.

Update 25 June: I’ve had several hundreds of hits on this post since I put up more pictures of the accident scene yesterday; someone asked to explain further the physics of what happened after I was hit. Apparently, from the description the investigating trooper gave, the truck drifted over into my lane and hit me from behind, this launched me out in front of the semi into the passing lane’s median barrier, my car then ricocheted off the barrier, spun round and went in rear first under the trailer in the passing lane (or wherever it was at this point). Then we all travelled together several hundred feet before coming to a stop. There were more saving graces there; had we gone much further, there is a chance my car would have flipped under the rear tyres and the trailer would have run over me; I could have gone straight through under the trailer, in which case I probably would have flipped over and again down the freeway; the car could have severed the brake hoses under the carriage, this apparently might have caused the brakes to lock down on the wheels—doing who knows what. Again, it happened exactly how it had to happen.

Journal • 9 June 2009 Comment [25]

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