Pop 89: Brief Flashes of Light
By Madonna Hamel
I’ve been carrying this quote around in my head for months now. It’s from “Black Elk Speaks, The Life of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux,” as told through John G Neihardt. In his introduction, Neihardt describes listening to Black Elk speak of his visions as “like half-seeing and half-sensing a strange and beautiful landscape by brief flashes of sheet lightning.”
No doubt Black Elk was not about to reveal his sacred visions all at once. He would make certain that Neihart understood the value, the urgency and power inherent in the holy man’s stories. And while I don’t believe some of us are more deserving of revelation than others, most of us don’t know how to be with information that shakes us to the root of our being, turns reality inside out, messes with our cherished sense of time and space.
The past two months with my brother after his stroke was a like brief flash of sheet lightning, revealing a strange and at times beautiful and, at other times, frightening landscape. Anyone who has gone through a sudden and dramatic change or a frightening diagnosis knows that feeling - life is suddenly forcing you into a state of inescapable awareness of its fragile and precious nature. There’s very little down-time spent wasting time. There is zero boredom. At least, that’s how I experienced it. And I’m not even the one who had the stroke.
And speaking of lightning - it struck me (pun intended) that maybe Paul, on the road to Damascus, had a stroke. Did anyone know about strokes in his day? “Like a bolt out of the blue, it came,” wrote theology prof Paul Hinklicky about his own stroke. In 2019 he was attending a conference. One second he was descending a staircase, the next he’d collapsed. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, it occurred to him that, “unanticipated and without forewarning,” a force struck him just like it struck the apostle Paul.
And, as the story goes, Paul, whose name was Saul at the time, was so altered, so converted by the experience, he changed his name to express gratitude for being “struck down but not destroyed,” “perplexed but not forsaken” for being permanently altered from being a persecutor to a man of peace.
My father tells the story of his Uncle Alphonse being struck by lightning on his farm outside Fox Valley. I’d never met the uncles, three brothers living on three farms, side by side by side. But some of the stories gave me the impression that they were reckless and often foolish young men who, like my grandfather, never knew when to come in out of the rain - and the lightning. In short, Alph sounded like a bit of an idiot.
But my opinion changed - converted, you could say - after moving to the prairie. It’s not hard to get stuck by lightning. You can even be standing under a clear sky and be struck. I’ve heard of a lightning bolt so powerful it travelled into the bodies of two men repairing a fence a mile away and killed them instantly. And Kal, a local rancher, told me about one of his cows he found scattered around his field. Her feet were standing near the fence where she was struck, the rest of her a hundred yards away.
The word “conversion” has been around since the 14th century and means: “a radical and complete change, a turning in spirit, purpose, and direction.” Most people think of it as a religious word, but the truth is, any profound, life-altering experience can cause a “conversion,” be it getting struck by lightning, or being the recipient of prophetic dreams and visions, as were both St. Paul and Back Elk. Or, as is the case of my brother, experiencing a stroke early one morning while reading Erich Neumann’s “Origin and History of Consciousness.”
My question is not: Were they converted? but, How could they not be? Black Elk was a child when he had his visions. He waited for the right time to share them, he knew of the responsibility he carried. But he was not responsible for their future manifestation. He could only warn against greed, vengeance and violence.
After falling from his horse, Paul stopped persecuting people and started preaching love. His words are still the most oft-recited at weddings: “And though I have the gift of prophecy, and know every hidden mystery; and though I have faith enough to move mountains, And have not love, I am nothing….Where there are prophesies, they will end; Where there are tongues of ecstasy, they will end; Where there is knowledge, it will end …but the reign of love will never end.”
After his stroke Hinklicky found himself grateful for the good care he received, but he was also troubled by the fact that, while he could afford such excellent medical care, so many in America could not. “Is the good of my individual life little more than my privileged capacity to pay for it? Why shouldn’t this excellent care be available to any and all?” he wrote. He made a point of turning back to the original mission of his faith: “to provide healing to all bodies and souls surrounding us.”
After his stroke, my brother spoke in a series of brief flashes, like lightning brightening a landscape. Sometimes he’d burst into tears - often brought on by the profound, unfathomable awareness of the reality of his situation. Emotions would well up, then give over to a kind of state of grace. In those moments, I snatched up the nearest pen and recorded everything he said. I didn’t want to lose the insights and poetic ramblings that came with a strange and wondrous brain that did not abandon him but instead, began hunting down tools, taking detours, opening doors, refusing to give up the search for new ways of expressing an enduring love.