Big Dipper

“It is by believing in roses that one brings them to bloom.” - Anatole France

It’s early evening and already dark as I pull into my driveway. I park the car and grab whatever it is that I am taking in the house and step out. Hands full, I pause and look up at the night sky and search for the Big Dipper. I am a star-gazer of ill repute and the only asterisms I recognize are The Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. And, yes, I know there’s an app for that. That’s fine, but I am comfortable just being able to identify these two sets. I’m not in a contest, like I am in so many parts of my life, to see if I can name more stars than you. I limit myself to these as I am keeping space in my head for other things that I need to remember.

After finding the Big Dipper, assuming the night sky is clear, I send up a goodnight wish to my daughter, Megan, my brother Matt, and my sisters, Liz, and Bernie. I then sometimes add my parents and a few other names but it varies night after night depending on who is in my thoughts. Why I must send the wishes ‘up’ as opposed to just sending them ‘out’ is probably a throwback to my Catholic upbringing where I was taught that heaven was above, hell was below, and we are all stuck in the middle. When you die, I was told that you either go up or down, depending on how you “behaved” here on earth. I no longer believe that, but I still like to think that the dead are floating above. It’s nicer that way and we are surely lighter in death, well perhaps not all of us. It’s also less likely I will trip over them than if they remained under my feet.

Once I have offered up my good night wishes, I talk to God, or the universe, or whatever might be out there and ask them to fill up the Big Dipper ladle with all the healing energy available and gently pour the entire contents on a dear friend, whom I love and have known for years.

To provide some idea as to how much energy I am requesting and to refresh my geometry skills, let me provide this little aside. The Big Dipper is formed by seven bright stars in the constellation Ursa Major. The four stars that shape the ladle appear to us as being in the same plane, which they are not. The distance between the stars in the ladle is calculated in light years. They appear equally bright because some are larger and some closer than others. But, for the ease of calculation, (I seem to be forever calculating something), let’s assume they are in the same plane and call the ladle a trapezoid. As you may recall from geometry class, to find the area within a trapezoid, you multiply the sum of the bases (b - the parallel sides) by the height (h - the perpendicular distance between the bases), and then divide by two. (A = ½ (b1 + b2)h). To spare you the calculation, the area of the Big Dipper ladle, assuming a trapezoid, is approximately 14,266,682,573,769 miles. That’s a big field to fill with energy.

For these past eleven evenings, even with cloud-covered skies, I have asked that this healing energy be poured over my friend who is tied up in knots within, tangled by years of struggle. To him, the oppression from this bondage appears inexorable and although he struggles mightily, his efforts have not given way to freedom, only submission. He is perpetually burdened and often sad. Everything is endured in the belief that someday, some way, a miracle will occur rendering life tolerable. To loosen the ravel, I picture him being showered with drops of soft energy, soaking him to his core and loosening the knots. I am betting on volume to do the work that the targeted energy of specific prayers has so far failed to do.

On the twelfth night, I tell myself, “Philip, this is stupid stuff.” A recent interaction with this individual alerts me to the fact that out of all the prayers and the torrents of healing energy spilt, no miracle has come forth, there hasn’t even been a microscopic vestige of relief. I ask myself why I cling to this ritual. Am I lost in magical thinking, believing I have a unique connection to the universe and that I can cajole or wheedle a miracle that can somehow bend the fabric of reality? I am giving up. I am tired of beseeching the universe to come to the aid of someone who isn’t even willing to open the door.

It all turns on affection. Affection for others. Affection for oneself.

The universe may well be indifferent to our suffering, but it’s when we feel the suffering of others as if it were our own that we truly become human. I have been Werther in despair, and I know the daily grind of treatment-resistant depression. I have been alone and sad with all hope gone. I have traveled the complex landscape of grief and have thoroughly mapped the territory. Because of this, I care deeply, perhaps too deeply; perhaps more than I care for myself. I have come to realize that I mustn’t let my empathetic nature take precedence over my own emotional well-being. I must withstand the desire to get into someone else’s cage with wild beasts and be mangled, thinking I can show them the way out. The only way out is through and they themselves must seek it first. 

Eventually, I must come to terms with the limits of my desire for another’s well-being and my own capacities. So, on this twelfth night, I go back outside and lie on the ground. Looking up, I see the stars glimmering like distant memories, each one a flicker of hope in the dark. I find the Big Dipper and ask that the entire contents of this healing energy rain down on me. Lying there, I am warmed by the heat of seven stars and calmness envelopes my troubled spirit. I take a deep breath and let the sound of my exhaustion flow out. 

As I soak in a new found peace, I realize I have a bit to spare and I send it to my friend. Perhaps this evening the door will be open.