In 1940 a plane crashed in the Libyan desert. The undercarriage hit a boulder and collapsed instantly into a pile of twisted metal and rubber, burying the nose of the plane into the ground. The pilot was thrown violently forward against the front of the canopy. His nose was driven back into his face, his skull was fractured, and he was knocked unconscious.
The smell of petrol stirred his consciousness. He tried to open his eyes, but he could see nothing. Moments later both the plane’s fuel tanks exploded and the craft itself caught fire. Blinded and numb, the pilot contemplated what seemed to be a certain death. “All I wanted was to go gently off to sleep and to hell with the flames,” he wrote later. But something forced him to act, to extricate his damaged body from its parachute straps, push open the cockpit canopy, and drop out of it onto the sand beneath. His overalls were burning too, but he put out the fire by rolling on the ground.
The pilot spent six months recovering from his injuries in hospital and during that time began to write stories. He went on to become one of the greatest authors of children’s books of all time, delighting children with wonderful tales such as Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and James and the Giant Peach. His name was Roald Dahl. He recounted the story of his plane crash and the origins of his writing career many times and immortalised them in his memoirs. It became integral to the myth he created around himself.
Roald Dahl wrote a book called the BFG – Big Friendly Giant – about an orphaned child called Sophie. Following the loss of both parents Sophie is carried away from an orphanage by the BFG to Dream Country to catch dreams, but is tormented by the giants along the way; notably by their leader, the Fleshlumpeater, the largest and most fearsome.
The book becomes all the more poignant when one sees that it is dedicated to Olivia, Dahl’s daughter, whose tragic death aged seven from measles encephalitis nearly destroyed him. Once you know this then the image of the little girl and a big eared giant who struggles with words lost in some desolate uncharted territory is almost unbearable. But in the BFG Dahl wrote himself a golden ticket out of that wasteland.
If we ask ourselves, should we become like children again and trust our imaginations? I am sure we should. Our defeats and victories tend to be ones of imagination. Our failures of imagination tend to lead to the greatest defeat of all – to lack compassion – to fail to understand and respond to our fellow human’s viewpoint, our common struggle and suffering. Equally our victories can be those of imagination – where we believe in the moments of joy in life that give us signposts to meaning. If we respond to these moments of joy we may experience glimpses of eternity. We may even experience a peace which glows through the whole body and mind, a physical certainty that sends ripples of delight. These glimpses may come in moments of beauty, art, music, kindness, worship or love. We should hold fast to them. They are pointing us to act in a way that finds our way back to something we may have lost or that we never even realised we had. For then we may live an eternal life.
Of course we will suffer setbacks. There may be times in our lives where, thinking we will protect ourselves or others, we temporarily draw the curtains on the window and choose not to glimpse beyond. That does not mean the eternity we have glimpsed is not as real as rock but simply that in the midst of life we may become lost in deep dark woods (apologies to Dante). If we stop looking, we err because without the signposts to guide us we may become fearful or angry and cause great suffering to ourselves and others.
There was another man, 2,500 years ago who endured constant setbacks. He was trying to roll a boulder up to the top of a hill but every time it was nearly there it slipped out of his grasp and rolled back down again. He was destined to repeat this for ever. His name was Sisyphus and this was his punishment from Zeus, king of the Greek gods, for his trickery and betrayal of others and arrogance in believing his cleverness surpassed Zeus himself. He was to suffer because he believed in himself rather than in others.
In Buddhism the cycle of suffering takes place over the course of each lifetime and we repeat cycles of life, reincarnated each time on the road to nirvana by seeking wisdom and enlightenment from suffering.
In Christianity, Jesus suffers and pays the one ultimate sacrifice in dying for others. Making sacrifices is one of the greatest acts of love. It is this that enables resurrection, the triumph of life over death.
Hence we see in ancient wisdom and faith traditions there is a progression from viewing suffering as unbreakable to becoming redemptive. Our tendency to selfishness can be overcome and compassion can take its place.
You may find that the more time you spend with people the harder it is not to have compassion for them. With just the tiniest spark of imagination you can inhabit their thoughts and feelings. Each person you meet may teach you something about yourself in the process. When you meet them, you do not simply encounter them in that moment but you touch them as a collection of their past and present, their experience and memories, their hopes and fears. They may be a complex mix, and while they will certainly be different to you, their ingredients are likely to be familiar. They give you the opportunity to learn, and if you are lucky enough to experience compassion, to love them.
I have spent two years in Anguilla and now the time has come where the words of Peter Gabriel apply: ‘Son, grab your things I’ve come to take you home’. Anguilla continued to keep me a very lucky man. I thank you all for the opportunity you have given me to learn and to serve. I wish each one of you that same luck.
You might like to know that Roald Dahl’s myth built around his plane crash was not the whole story. He left out a vital fact – he was saved from the wreckage by the altruism and quick thinking of another pilot of an aircraft which accompanied him. This pilot’s name was Douglas MacDonald who landed safely, kept Dahl warm in the night and organised his rescue. In a letter Dahl wrote to MacDonald’s widow on his death, Dahl recalled that MacDonald had told him he had done an involuntary dance of joy when he saw that Dahl was alive. Dahl discovered, just in time, that he’d been wrong to leave MacDonald out of the story.
One of the last things Dahl himself said was, “I’m not scared of falling off my perch. If Olivia can do it, so can I.” For the truth is that even in death we are not alone. Even by the light of the blazing wreck, if we see each other breathing then we might, just might, dance for joy.
(Published without editing by The Anguillian newspaper.)
