When I was fifteen, I went to see a movie that, had my parents known what it truly was, I would never have been allowed to go to. It was the original rock opera, "Tommy" - featuring Elton John. Basically, it was the story of a young man (Tommy) who was deaf, mute, and blind, and who finds his niche playing pinball, to the point where thousands of young people wanted to emulate everything about him - even putting plugs in their ears and covers over their eyes and mouths.
I was completely weirded out by that movie - it seemed so chaotic and surreal to me (which I guess was the idea). I was most freaked out by the scene of Elton John wearing a rhinestone white suit and three-foot-high elevator shoes and falling off the stage into the crowd... but we won't go there today.
Of course, what made it an opera was the music. The songs were somewhat memorable; everyone who went to this thing remembers "Pinball Wizard" of course, but the thing that stuck with me most was just a line in the middle of all that chaos, the internal voice of Tommy, singing "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me."
Tommy didn't care about the fame and acclaim. He didn't want anyone to like him or hate him. He didn't want to be "fixed" or to "fix" anyone else. He just wanted to be seen, heard, touched, related to. He didn't want to be what everyone else thought of him as being. The one who was known only as the Pinball Wizard soon became a one-trick pony, trotted out for everyone's amusement. Nobody thought of him as anything more. Deep within, though, he longed for some semblance of humanity, of connection. He, like everyone, wanted above all to know and to be known, to matter for who he was, not for what he could or couldn't do.
I've sung that song inside of my spirit for many years since. There have been times that I felt that some people hung out with me only for what they could get out of me, that either they stayed away from me because they thought they couldn't do what I did (especially in the singing area, even though that gifting was not of my own doing) or they flocked to me and wanted me to trot out my one trick for their enjoyment.
Even in the area of regular interpersonal relationships, I've often felt like poor Tommy, seen as two-dimensional - nothing but appearance - with people playing out their own agendas on me rather than actually taking the time to know what I'm about. I've frequently caught my inner self singing that melancholy plea, "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me."
Thankfully, a few precious people have done just that. I've been blessed with friends who, even if they don't understand fully, at least try, and by them trying, I know that they care about me, not just the surface - and that they respect me too much to give me trite answers that follow whatever party line they (or I) adhere to.
When I share a problem or open my heart ... I'm not asking for someone to mount their white charger and ride in to rescue this damsel in distress. I already have a White Knight; I find the One sufficient.
All I'm seeking is to be seen and heard, to have a touch-point, to know that there is someone who can relate to me or to my situation, to have someone acknowledge my feelings and to tell me I'm normal for feeling them.
That's all I can ask for.
I was completely weirded out by that movie - it seemed so chaotic and surreal to me (which I guess was the idea). I was most freaked out by the scene of Elton John wearing a rhinestone white suit and three-foot-high elevator shoes and falling off the stage into the crowd... but we won't go there today.
Of course, what made it an opera was the music. The songs were somewhat memorable; everyone who went to this thing remembers "Pinball Wizard" of course, but the thing that stuck with me most was just a line in the middle of all that chaos, the internal voice of Tommy, singing "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me."
Tommy didn't care about the fame and acclaim. He didn't want anyone to like him or hate him. He didn't want to be "fixed" or to "fix" anyone else. He just wanted to be seen, heard, touched, related to. He didn't want to be what everyone else thought of him as being. The one who was known only as the Pinball Wizard soon became a one-trick pony, trotted out for everyone's amusement. Nobody thought of him as anything more. Deep within, though, he longed for some semblance of humanity, of connection. He, like everyone, wanted above all to know and to be known, to matter for who he was, not for what he could or couldn't do.
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| "Woman Hand With Microphone" photo courtesy of thawats at www.freedigitalphotos.net |
I've sung that song inside of my spirit for many years since. There have been times that I felt that some people hung out with me only for what they could get out of me, that either they stayed away from me because they thought they couldn't do what I did (especially in the singing area, even though that gifting was not of my own doing) or they flocked to me and wanted me to trot out my one trick for their enjoyment.
Even in the area of regular interpersonal relationships, I've often felt like poor Tommy, seen as two-dimensional - nothing but appearance - with people playing out their own agendas on me rather than actually taking the time to know what I'm about. I've frequently caught my inner self singing that melancholy plea, "See me. Hear me. Touch me. Feel me."
Thankfully, a few precious people have done just that. I've been blessed with friends who, even if they don't understand fully, at least try, and by them trying, I know that they care about me, not just the surface - and that they respect me too much to give me trite answers that follow whatever party line they (or I) adhere to.
When I share a problem or open my heart ... I'm not asking for someone to mount their white charger and ride in to rescue this damsel in distress. I already have a White Knight; I find the One sufficient.
All I'm seeking is to be seen and heard, to have a touch-point, to know that there is someone who can relate to me or to my situation, to have someone acknowledge my feelings and to tell me I'm normal for feeling them.
That's all I can ask for.
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