Black Dogs and God's Poems

 

One of The Race recently mentioned to me that for her to really relate to art, it couldn't be too direct... there needed to be something left to unwrap. She felt she needed just enough symbolism, just enough ambiguity to allow a perfect fit. For that reason, she felt that a love song-- about a missed chance for a reunion-- reflected her bereavement even better than songs written about bereavement.

When I think of my deepest experiences-- spirituality, intimacy, loss-- words fall short. Artistic symbols hold much more power. The spaces and gaps, those things not shown, are greater than what is seen.




Poetry is founded on symbolism--
images and ideas as raw materials, waiting for you to form them into something recognizable.




In the Greek, workmanship is “poiema.”

St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians stated, “we are His workmanship.”

Human beings are God’s poems.  If poems are careful constructions of beautiful illumination, what does that make us?

And just as with poetry, there is something powerful inside of us that must be unwrapped.

Like poems, what can't be seen-- in us-- is of more value than what can.

The poem, "Cologne Cathedral" (shared on the post "Beauty For Ashes") was written by Vassar Miller (1924-1998). Vassar was born with cerebral palsy, yet became a gifted poet.

"She was who she was largely due to her parents. Her bookish Dad lugged home his typewriter from work for Vassar to play with, and criticized her early, trite poetry. Her stepmom encouraged her to read and write; both parents took on her education at home until she entered junior high. After receiving B.S. and M.A. degrees, Miller accomplished more than most able-bodied people. She published nine volumes of poetry, edited a literary anthology (Despite This Flesh: the Disabled in Stories and Poems), was included in numerous periodicals, selected as a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize (1961), named the poet laureate of Texas (1988; alternate in 1982), and inducted into the Texas Women’s Hall of Fame (1996).

Vassar Miller was a poet of great courage and skill, a crusader for the disabled, a self-taught theologian, and a teacher of creative writing at a university. She had a raucous, bold laugh, even if she fell from the motorized cart which whisked her to class and back home again. She would proclaim, “Don’t help me. I can do it myself.” Bach oratorios, chocolate ice cream, her dogs, friends, and Sundays were among her favorite things. If asked her life-mantra, she’d say, “To write. And to serve God.” Frances Sage described her as “a rather shy, friendly woman with intelligent eyes, warm, and interested in conversation.” ( Jenni Simmons, She Spoke to Silence, 2008)



Vassar writes frankly of her joys... and struggles. In one poem, she introduces the idea of a Black Dog. Though I have not felt the utter hopelessness of clinical depression, I can think back to sorrow and anxiety that seemed it was stalking me.

I believe most of us have our own Black Dogs.

Dark Cycle

No prayer or penitence, no positive thinking,

No science, reason, neither spells of magic,

No courtroom pleadings clever, deftly tragic

No devil-may-care tricks like boisterous drinking,

No methods professorial and pedagogic

Can stave it off a breath, elude by blinking

Away the black dog as Churchill used to call

His intimate darkness, Lincoln knew it too,

Did Shakespeare? Did Jesus? As ounce by ounce

The verse and praises throbbed? And maybe Paul

Besought God thrice against it—yet finally knew

God stopped the sun one time, but only once.

The idea of melancholy as a Black Dog was popularized by Winston Churchill. He wrote to his wife, who suggested a German Doctor to treat his depression:

"I think this man might be useful to me – if my black dog returns. He seems quite away from me now – it is such a relief. All the colours come back into the picture." 

Nassir Ghaemi said this, regarding Churchill:

"...Great men cannot be ill, certainly not mentally ill.
But what if they are not only ill; what if they are great, not in spite of manic-depression but because of it?
My recent research has suggested that in times of crisis, it is sometimes those who are seen as quirky, odd or with a mental disorder that show the greatest leadership. Mania enhances creativity and resilience to trauma, while depression increases realism and empathy."

Vassar Miller's poetry reflects her acceptance of a Black Dog in herself, and how it may make her what she is. She leaves us to wonder whether our greatest leaders and teachers have paid such a price for their gifts.



It is worth mentioning other "handicaps," other "black dogs:"
Temple Grandin, the great spokeswoman of Autism, said, "If you get rid of the autism genetics, you wouldn't have science or art."




So, Dear Reader, I ask you to consider in this time of Thanksgiving, what gratitude you might have for your Black Dogs. Could it be that your handicap is also your greatest gift?



You are God's Poem.

Don't curse your weaknesses. Use them, as Vassar Miller, Winston Churchill, and Temple Grandin did: as vehicles to Greatness.

If you keep trying to harness the genius of those "black dogs," who knows to what heights they may take you?