A good cup of tea

Leslie is our village teamaker. It is his job to make cups of tea, and this he does with excellence. He hangs around the communal area, the village centre, the heart of Erleichda, and he will come up to you and say "Would you like a cup of tea?"

If you say "Yes" Leslie will ask you "Would you prefer English Breakfast Tea, or Ceylon Tea, or Earl Grey, or Irish Breakfast, or ....." and so on, and whatever you want, Leslie will provide.

Then he'll ask "Weak or strong?", and whatever you want, he'll qualify it, like this: "Very weak?", or "Very strong?"

Then "Black or white?", and if white "How much milk?", and "Do you prefer it added before or after?"

Leslie seems to live in a world of endless, overwhelming data, as if some internal filter doesn't work properly, a filter that makes the world manageable for the rest of us. So he can't seem to make a decision, because there are just too many factors to consider before he can do anything, and so you have to provide every detail for Leslie, and then he will do it. And you'll get a wonderful cup of tea.

Outside Erleichda, people like Leslie can get into a lot of trouble. People think they're lazy, or stupid, or even sexually dangerous, because sometimes they get so lonely, or so involved in admiration, that they might touch you, or some other object of their affection. So they tend to be hidden away by relatives or friends, and they live inside, where they can cope, and life doesn't hold much hope for people like Leslie.

But in Erleichda, everyone knows him, everyone chooses him to be there, everyone is responsible. Leslie is part of the family, and he is loved. Just like idiots have been loved throughout history, before we decided that they were unacceptable, and had to be looked after either by their blood relatives or by the state, both of which proved incapable of the task, for one reason or another.

But in Erleichda, everyone is responsible, and everyone helps. They don't do it for charity, like the state, and there are enough people involved that no-one gets overwhelmed.

In Erleichda, every one shares, and it is not a burden. Leslie performs a useful function, and he feels good about that, and so do we.

As time goes by, Leslie is joining in more and more, and he is very intelligent, and, increasingly, very good company. Occasionally, he'll even take a risk and tell you what kind of tea you want, partly because he always remembers, and partly because, knowing you, and knowing you trust him, and love him, he feels confident to speak.

So if you come to Erleichda, and Leslie asks if you would like a cup of tea, be patient, and answer his questions with the respect which they deserve, and say thank you. You'll get a great cup of tea.

When people ask us how people like Leslie, who seem to see different realities than most of us, and are therefore of questionable competence when it comes to making important decisions for themselves, can take the oath of allegiance, we say that they have chosen to, and that their day to day living in Erleichda is consistent with their choice. That's all it takes. They are just as sane, just as competent, as any of the rest of us. We can only judge them by their actions, because you can't always rely on what they tell you, or fail to tell you.

In our chosen reality, people like Leslie are valuable, they give us insight into things we may not have seen, they are an extra dimension, and worthy of our support. They have taken the oath, they are willing to play the game. Just like the rest of us, they have their little eccentricities, they yearn to be loved and understood, they are willing to look at the past and the present and say "So what, now what?"

They choose not to be victims.

So what, now what... (1)

Elizabeth was the girl with everything: good looks, high and active intelligence, and a wealthy family. Beyond these advantages, she bubbled with life, she loved people and people loved her.

She was confident after the final school exams, relieved they were over. All those years of school finished now, the excitement of university, a career, a family, travel; these things were hers to choose. But tonight was a night for letting her hair down, so Elizabeth was happy to join her friends as they drove off to celebrate.

No-one accused them of drinking to excess, or speeding, although they did have too many passengers in the car. Put it down to youthful exuberance and lack of skill. Elizabeth, sitting on her girl friend's lap, unrestrained, was thrown forward by the impact, and snapped her neck at the fourth vertebrae. She would be lucky to live. Or perhaps unlucky in the eyes of some, because she would certainly never walk again, would spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, would have minimal control over her body functions, would require constant attention and nursing.

She was a road victim.

“I didn’t need you to tell me that everything in my life, even this, was there because I chose it. Not that I believe that, of course, it just seemed to be the only productive belief to choose. It got me off my grief and anger and denial, and from that moment life got better, not worse.

“I prayed a lot, and everything changed when I changed my prayer from ‘Why me?’ to ‘Show me!’

“I mean, it doesn’t seem much of a life, does it, in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, my body has spasms that exhaust me, I am totally dependent on other people. So I could sit here and be bitter, and gather people around me who sympathise with my plight, and blame my friends for what happened; and I did that for a while. But that’s a pretty dark, narrow dead end, it leads nowhere. What happened, happened. And I really got pissed off with people treating me like this poor victim, and they were pissed off with it too, and embarrassed. They thought I was helpless.

“The only way forward is to take responsibility for it and for the future. So choosing to believe that I chose it gave me the power to choose the future. Choosing to believe that it was the best thing that could ever happen to me, because I chose it out of love and wisdom for myself, gave me the power to look at the future positively, to look for the value in my situation.

“So I concentrated on what I could do, not what I couldn’t, and now look at what I can do! I live in a world of can do, not can’t do. People talk to me about what I can do, not what I can’t do, and we all get excited about it. I live an exciting life.

“I’m insane, aren’t I, to think like that! But it works for me. And the more I choose to believe it, the more I believe it.”

Elizabeth has very little control, even movement of her body below the neck. She has learned to work her wheelchair by knocking the controls, by moving her hands a few centimetres, which is all the movement available to her. With the same movement she paints.

Her paintings are full of wonderful movement. She illustrates books and win exhibitions, and nowhere is it mentioned that she is a quadriplegic. Her paintings stand on their own merit, Elizabeth pours life into them.

Elizabeth chooses a life of beautiful expression that most of us believe to be beyond us. She is an artist.

Old habits...

Molly arrived back at Erleichda shaken and upset. She had run over a wombat.“I wasn’t driving fast,” she said, “and all of a sudden there it was. Just ran out and I couldn’t stop.”

 

It’s like that out here, driving, especially at dusk. Kangaroos, rabbits, wombats.Kangaroos and rabbits seem hypnotised by car lights; they freeze, then suddenly run, and their direction is never predictable, and is most often in front of you. Wombats just decide where they’re going and go, in as straight a line as possible, and if there’s a fence in the way, hard luck for the fence, because the wombat will try to go straight through it. They are not popular around here for what they do to fences.

“Don’t fret, Molly,” said George. “We know you didn’t do it deliberately, it happens to everyone sometime. It’s their instinct to run, so they run.”

“Well it’s not a very good instinct,” sobbed Molly. “They should change it. Why don’t they just stand still! I don’t want to hurt them.”

“They can’t change it,” said George. “Not so long ago their instinct served them well - if they stood still one of my ancestors would have speared them, they’d end up tucker. So running was right then, wrong now, but they just keep doing it.”

“Just like humans,” said Molly. “All the things we do that were appropriate then but aren’t any more. At least we can change.”

“Mind you,” said George, “it’s not quite that easy. I mean now they might get shot if they stand still. Dead if they do, dead if they don’t. Sometimes the old way of doing things isn’t all that bad. I guess cars have made all the difference. Now they have to make a choice - right ain’t right, and wrong ain’t wrong.”