Kyle1Senior Contributor
Vicarious
A long time ago in a very distant land there were a book slid from the dusty shelf. And a story shook from inside there and a picture made in duplicate formed amid the dust. Though, there were a variation to be be recognised between the pictures, and that was the point...
The story made a picture of hell. And in this picture there were great tables laden with cornucopias of delight, the likes of which were to die for! A true feast of finery and spectacle. And around each great table sat as many people as could fit (oh, there were acres of them), and in their hands were held cutlery of silver and of gold. Divinely wrought, ofcourse!
Yet the forks and spoons were admittedly unusual. For they were rather long! So long were they, infact, that each one holding on to them could not at all find their own mouths! Yet forever and a day they continued to try...
The other picture amid the dust was very much alike. There were the same great tables to be seen. Laden with the same piles of plenty befitting paradise. And there were the people, and the same unusually long cutlery of silver and of gold. And though everything appeared the same, this was infact a picture of heaven, and not of hell. For you see, now: the people in this picture used their great long forks and spoons to reach across the table and to feed someone other than themselves...
It is a lovely story. Well, I think so. I also think some of us tend to live that way, too - in service to others. And such people will be given names like 'carers', or 'parents', or 'empaths' etc, etc... But then there are times when it all becomes too much. The giving. The reaching out to support another. Or likewise, there may be times when it isn't yet enough!
The other day I wrote a little expression of my feelings and shared it here at Sane Forums. I wrote of the story of Noah's flood. And I did manage to imply that I was akin to Noah, only I hadn't the privilege of foresight or an ark...
A dear and keenly tuned friend asked of me what might my ark be?..
As parent to three children my impulse was to claim them as my ark. Yet I had the whispering urge to perish the thought. And just today I know why?
To live vicariously is to take the place of another. Or else, allow another to take yours...
As carers, and in reference to the remarkably similar pictures of heaven and hell given above, how do we reconcile the dangers of looking after oneself without usurping, or being usurped by, those that we hold close in our lives?
