TMI

For some reason, I’ve been watching a lot of older movies this month, and very recently, I watched Dances with Wolves again.

What a great movie! I hadn’t seen that film since it came out back when I was in college, but the story is so valuable and so well done that it makes the quality of the film feel timeless to me. I know for sure that I saw it for the first time with a group of my sorority sisters because I remember how it inspired us to give each girl in our house a Sioux Indian name. My Sioux name was Stone Calves — because my calves are so big. (Not my fav name, of course, but it was accurate!)

Anyway, as I was watching the movie all these years later, I couldn’t believe how well I remembered the flow of the story, and I even had a vivid recollection of certain scenes as if they’d been burned into my memory somehow. But to my surprise, there were also a few scenes that I didn’t recall at all, and so seeing the film again gave the story new life — and, the viewing experience also left me with some sticky thoughts I want to un-stick in this post! But before I jump in, I need to offer up two things:

1) I’m going to write this post with the assumption that you’ve seen Dances with Wolves.

2) And, if by chance you haven’t seen this movie, then I want to highly recommend it!

OK. So now for my thoughts!

About midway through the movie, there’s this scene where John Dunbar (Kevin Costner’s character) gives the Native American’s their first taste of processed white sugar. I really didn’t remember this scene— probably because it’s not a very intense one — but for some reason, it was a total standout moment for me this time around!

In this scene, a small group of Indians have come to John’s outpost, and John has used his coffee grinder to make them some coffee. John is narrating in the background, and his impressions of the exchange really adds some nice layers and emotional tension to this scene. Eventually, the scene shows all of these beautifully stone-faced men seated in front of John with coffee poured into tin cups, but it’s difficult to tell if they like it or not. 

So John offers them some sugar to add to their coffee. The first Indian puts his hand in the sugar sack and gets the sticky white powder on his fingers. So John pantomimes for him to taste the sugar on his tongue. The Indian does it, and when the transition on his face goes from fierce to subtle delight, it caused me to pause… 

It reminded me that the first taste of something that seems so good and harmless can be profound.
Yet with hindsight, sometimes, that first taste that seems so good isn’t always as harmless as you thought…
And… In some cases, that first taste makes it impossible to ever find what seems good and harmless again without it.

The other “new” scene that’s been rattling around in my thoughts is when John Dunbar and a group of Indians are crawling on their bellies to get their first look at a massive herd of buffalos grazing in a shallow valley. John takes out a spyglass to get a closer look, and then he offers it to Kicking Bird — the Holy Man of this Sioux tribe — to have a look for himself. When Kicking Bird holds the glass up to his eye, he’s visibly startled by what he sees! So he takes a second look, and then carefully hands the spyglass back to John. Kicking Bird has a lingering look on his face that made me wonder if he was thinking:

“That was amazing!”

OR

“Oh no! That was too much…”

Of course, I’ll never really know what that Indian was thinking… Mostly because it’s a movie.

But what I think is this: Seeing something up close might reveal more about the thing I’m looking at, but it might also show me less about what I actually need to see. For me, at least, I’ve discovered that wisdom and understanding about life and the world around me seem to need all of the nuances and the larger view to help me see my way forward — not usually a narrow focus or magnified reality. I must confess, I fight against myself on this one because I want to know things very specifically in my life, but usually, that’s not the kind of knowing I seem to get…

So when I combine the takeaways from these two scenes, I realize that it’s often less about what I can add to my understanding that makes it temporarily sweeter, and it’s more about what I surrender into in my big and blurry life that gives me a greater sense of balance and awareness to truly help me move forward in my journey.

Gosh! It makes me feel so thankful that I could finally put all of these thoughts together for myself! I’m constantly wrestling with my need to know what’s next, and I’m often on the hunt for answers and things to help me glimpse my future with my very impatient heart. I get very restless in my life, and yet, if I stop and take a beat, all the answers I have and all of the peace I can find in my faith are enough to sustain me right now. And when I can get quiet in myself like this, I realize that I may want more information about my life, but I don’t really need it.

One last thought…

My dad had this little saying that I know he didn’t coin, but he sure did use it a lot with me, and it goes like this: Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. That saying came to mind as I was thinking about this film, and the two scenes I describe above in particular. They each depict seemingly insignificant moments where John Dunbar offers the Native American Indians access to things they shouldn’t really need! But once they taste it and see it for themselves, suddenly, they have a newfound desire for things they never knew they’d want, and things that they didn’t expect they’d need. 

I can totally relate to that!

Please don’t misunderstand what I mean here. I absolutely believe in adding knowledge and experiences to my life! I think that’s so important, and I never want to stick my head (or heart) in the sand where I don’t pay attention to new things or ponder difficult ideas that show up in my midst. However… There seems to be a tipping point inside of me where adding more details, facts, and ideas to my thoughts turns into an avalanche filled with too much information.

And with TMI, I can often lose a certain kind of bliss that I can only find for myself in the surrender of the not tasting…and the not seeing.

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