Sue’s wavelength

“Then she gets you on her wavelength,
And she let’s the river answer that you’ve always been her lover.”

Leonard Cohen, Suzanne (I’m the Leonard Cohen fan – Sue, not so much.)

These days, more so than ever, we thirst for connection. The distances that have been forced upon us by the virus have taken a psychic toll.

My recent discovery is that Sue overcomes these gaps by being linked to a cryptic collective unconscious and I’m left searching for words…

We were on our morning walk around the farm with Ruby (the basket case hound) when, following a prolonged silence, Sue blurted out a statement so disconnected with our most recent conversation that I stopped and looked at her in pure confusion.

I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

After a flurry of annoyance, Sue realized that I could not have heard the lead-up discussion that had been taking place in her head.

“Right!” she said, “You missed the meeting in the small boardroom, didn’t you?”

Indeed, I did miss that meeting.

Sue seems to hold plenty of meetings in the small boardroom – and they tend to be rather rambunctious!

I get the impression her inner dialogue takes place on high-velocity spaghetti highways - her thoughts and words like blurred vehicles careening and colliding around her head – with on-ramps and off-ramps connecting to interstates that lead lord knows where.

Sue had been engaged in an intense inner debate on a topic unknown to me and after arriving at a conclusion and stating it firmly – she expected me to somehow connect and download from the cosmos the essence of the unspoken.

On our walk back home with Ruby, I observed another bewildering exchange. We noticed a neighbour busily putting away outdoor seat cushions and an umbrella due to the threat of rain – her repartee with Sue went something like this:

“Strong winds are coming!” exclaimed the friendly neighbour.

“We really need the rain,” Sue replied.

“Yes, they’re calling for more than 20mm!” said the woman - arms full and heading for the garage.

“Let’s finger hope!” Sue exclaimed while raising her hand in the air with two crossed digits.

Our neighbour nodded. “Indeed!”

Sue and I continued our stroll.

“Finger Hope?” I asked. “Really?”

“That didn’t come out the way I intended,” Sue said. “I think I meant to say ‘Let’s hope so’ or ‘Fingers crossed’…”

“Right,” I said.

“But I’m pretty sure we’re on the same wavelength,” Sue confidently stated.

Mysteriously, that appeared to be the case…

When we got home, we hosted three dear friends – Jen, Co, and Ken – who came up from the city to spend some (socially-distanced) time outdoors in the country.

The rain held off and we visited the goats, and shared snacks and craft beers on a glorious summer day.

My lessons in the dark arts of connection continued.

Sue, Jen, and Co were soon engaged in a deadly serious exploration of how to establish bonds while pandemic mask wearing.

“I’ve practiced smiling with my eyes,” explained Jen as she demonstrated their transformation into inverted half-moons.

Sue and Co praised her accomplishments and donned masks to rehearse their own eye smiling.

What then followed I can only describe as unworldly. Ken and I watched the ladies engage in an impassioned exchange - void of a single complete sentence. They excitedly tossed out baffling fragments – somehow remaining on the same page – and building off each other’s incomplete thoughts.

“Is that a conversation they’re having?” Ken asked shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t say so,” I answered. “More like a shared stream of consciousness – it’s a fire hose of Delphic missives.”

Ken nodded in agreement, reached for his phone, and asked me how to spell Delphic missive.

Co & goat

I interrupted the ladies clean-out-the-fridge-word-salad to tell the story of Sue’s small boardroom meeting from our walk that morning.

I could just as well have shoved a stick in a hornet’s nest.

“A healthy inner dialogue is a good thing!” Co insisted.

“The way we talk to ourselves can improve our thoughts, feelings and behaviour - even reduce anxiety. It's critical in what it means to be human,” she added.

“Our ability and willingness to talk ourselves through past interactions – observe them from an eye-in-the-sky point of view is a cornerstone of empathy. Talking to yourself from a self-distanced stance, transcends egocentric viewpoints - allows for introspection and is a prerequisite for authentic connections,” explained Jen.

I downed my craft beer. ‘We’ve all been impacted by these aching distances’ – I said to myself from within the safety of my own small boardroom.

As that perfect day came to a close and our guests packed up, I began to understand what had been going on.

It was the way old friends – separated by six feet – expressed their innermost thoughts and feelings – arms suspended in the air emulating a hug – a gentle kiss into the gap the virus has thrust between us - a few more teary, incomprehensible fragments, and I finally got a glimpse into this unconscious connection.

Each of us knew exactly what that moment and that kiss were about – and no words – no matter how perfectly crafted – would enhance our understanding of their meaning and significance.

Standing in the driveway as our friends drove away, I put my arm around Sue and whispered in her ear a snippet from one of her preferred performers:

“It’s only words and words are all I have to take your heart away.”

Bee Gees, Words

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