264: "Tommy" and "The Giving Tree"

See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me.

The naturalness in the progression of this refrain appeals to me a lot.

There's the physical aspect: The light that bounces off of the object, the me, stimulates the photoreceptor cells, thus activating the vision center of the brain of the you to see the me. Then perhaps taking the visual cues, the you activates the other senses, maybe with a gentle kiss or with soft caresses; the me feels all this. It gets hot and heavy at this point. The hands rub and knead, the body wraps and embraces; the me is simply... tactilely stimulated. Touched. Does it not sound therapeutic for the me? The me is healed; "Thank you," the me whispers...

(Okay people, stop snickering. It's very unbecoming.)

But I think, it's the other meanings behind the refrain that capture my imagination. For instance, I posit, within the refrain lies the nature of man:

"See me," the speaker implores—it's an imperative that demands everyone around his vicinity to "see" him; it's an expression of his need for acknowledgment and recognition. Here he makes a stand. Present is he in time and in space; he eats and sh*ts—he lives... He is. This man, this insignificant speck among many specks, on this tiny Earth, hurling around this vast, enormous Universe, demands the whole of creation and its Creator to "see" him.

Revealed in the second imperative a deeper longing of humankind rings out. It's not enough to be seen, the humankind needs to be felt. "Feel me." Being acknowledged is just a start; the next step is for them to be understood. They cry out, "Understand me." They demand their inner world to be given shape and form, and perhaps be measured deep and precious. That's why art is created and that's why wars are waged.

Probing and inquisitive was she, the loquacious and gregarious one, who interrogated the perfect stranger for any juicy details of his life. Reticent and guarded was he, the introspective stranger, who later saw within her a desire to be touched, a desire to empathize with him. "Touch me," her heart calls out. And without fail, her eyes turn misty when she hears stories of struggles, of conquered adversities, or of happily-ever-afters.

We seek to be seen, to be felt, and to be touched, because perhaps we suffer from loneliness. And so we cry out, "Heal me." It's some sort of connection that we seek. With others or with our own selves. Let's face it, maybe it's not only me who defines who I am. It is you, too, who gives me form.

Listening to you I get the music.
Gazing at you I get the heat.
Following you I climb the mountain.
I get excitement at your feet!
Right behind you I see the millions.
On you I see the glory.
From you I get opinions.
From you I get the story.
Listening to you I get the music.
Gazing at you I get the heat.
Following you I climb the mountain.
I get excitement at your feet!

Now I have sufficiently bored you with my obtuse musing of something a bit abstract. Nah! I'm sure, because of my pedestrian and trifle rumination, you were beyond agonized. Therefore, either way, I offer my heartfelt apology. I mean it. Accept it!

Thank you.

Now, if you may, please see me, feel me, touch me, and heal me.

The true intent of why I began my post with a few lines from "Tommy" is because lately I've been thinking a lot about a book I've read as a child. It's called "The Giving Tree." And ever since February 14th has come and gone, I've been thinking about the book more so.

If you don't know anything about the story, it's about a Boy and a Tree. The Tree loves the Boy so much that she gives the Boy anything he wants, like a branch to swing from and some fruit to eat. But as the Boy grows older, the things he requests of the Tree become sinister. He wants the branches to build a house and he wants to cut the Tree down to make a boat. The story comes to an end with the Tree now reduced to a stump and the Boy ravaged by old age and arthritis: They meet again. The Tree apologizes saying that she doesn't have anything to offer him anymore. But the Boy says that's all right, all he needs is to sit down and wait for death. And to the Tree's delight, she has something more to give to the Boy and lets him sit.

Strange as it may seem, but I remember identifying myself more with the Tree than with the Boy. Don't get me wrong, it's not because I found myself to be very loving or very giving. It was more aspirational; I wanted to be more like the Tree. Maybe, I still want to be more like the Tree. What's more noble than unconditional love? I'll gladly sacrifice myself, if that means they'll see and feel me... Then they can touch me... And, and, and eventually they can heal me; Yes, they'll find me so invaluable that they can't afford to part with me. They'll make me whole. But in the meantime, I'll wait and wail until they'll realize it. And in the meantime, I'll do anything for them, even though it may cause me bodily harm. Hey, if the Tree can allow the Boy to cut her down, I can, I can, I can die for them.

I know... It's truly f*cked up.

Look, I've made mistakes. Maybe I'll pay. I don't know. But I know I can't be the Tree. I don't need to be the Tree to find love. I don't need to die to prove my love. But I expect the Boy to value me. He can ask for my fruits and my branches. He can even ask for my trunk. But he won't necessarily get them all. Hell, he might not get anything. Nothing. But he'd better be fine with it. And he'd better not judge my love based on what he gets or doesn't get from me.

See me, feel me, touch me, and heal me.

"Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit, I like me."