Remember John Coffey? No, you didn't hear that name on the nightly news. He didn't score a touchdown, and he didn't win the lottery. He is sentenced to death in the electric chair, and he is killed by electric shock....well, his character is anyway. John Coffey is a fictitious character in Stephen King's The Green Mile. Most of you have seen the movie and while I haven't read it, I'm sure that the book is even better--it always is after all....
Stephen King chose the name John Coffey simply because his character required a particular pair of initials: JC. In his memoir, On Writing, King says (and I'm paraphrasing here), come on people, this isn't rocket science. Coffey is tried and sacrificed despite his kindness, his compassion, his innocence. I don't think King is quiet arrogant enough to suggest that Coffey is Christ--but he's definitely confident enough to infer that these two figures have common characteristics. But I don't want this to be a character analysis. I mean for this to be much more personal. This is between Coffey and Carrie.
John Coffey posesses an exceptional gift--one which costs his life. He absorbs pain. He holds the power of touch. He lays a hand on the wounded and they heal. He is a gifted healer who tries to save two young girls and when he can't, he crumples and weeps--leaving him vulnerable to prejudice and misinterpretation. But when Coffey heals--oh what a miracle occurs! With a touch, the pain is absorbed, consumed, and then with a great heaving, spit out--expelled in a swarm of bees.
Bees. Coffey senses pain and swallows it up. Such work makes one weary. My children weep with fears and anxieties--their souls so new and tender. A friend mourns her beloved mother, and I sit states away--capable of mere words--unable to reach her with the gift of touch, even if I possessed such powers. Others question their self-worth because a spouse could not see past his own selfishness to embrace their innate beauty. I struggle--I fumble--to express to these women that beauty survives death and divorce--and while I speak--my words fall short of touch.
There is too much pain in this world. The world is not so big as the suffering is large, and yet if I had that gift, I would consume the heartache of infidelity, the torment of mental illness, the terror of bullying, the shame of public scrutiny. Oh that I could place my palm on my father's legs and make them strong, my husband's heart and keep it brave, my sister's confidence and make it unbreaking, my children's hearts and keep them pure....My pain comes in loving so much. I weep for those who I cannot help and for those whose light I see yet they cannot. It is not through touch that I absorb the pain of those I love, but through the act of loving. Loving even those who I do not and will not know--those in Africa, those in exile, those unborn.
I envy John Coffey--not his death--but his life and its gift. Because while John Coffey absorbed the suffering of others, he could also spit it out--release it--let it go. I love so much--there are so many bees.
Stephen King chose the name John Coffey simply because his character required a particular pair of initials: JC. In his memoir, On Writing, King says (and I'm paraphrasing here), come on people, this isn't rocket science. Coffey is tried and sacrificed despite his kindness, his compassion, his innocence. I don't think King is quiet arrogant enough to suggest that Coffey is Christ--but he's definitely confident enough to infer that these two figures have common characteristics. But I don't want this to be a character analysis. I mean for this to be much more personal. This is between Coffey and Carrie.
John Coffey posesses an exceptional gift--one which costs his life. He absorbs pain. He holds the power of touch. He lays a hand on the wounded and they heal. He is a gifted healer who tries to save two young girls and when he can't, he crumples and weeps--leaving him vulnerable to prejudice and misinterpretation. But when Coffey heals--oh what a miracle occurs! With a touch, the pain is absorbed, consumed, and then with a great heaving, spit out--expelled in a swarm of bees.
Bees. Coffey senses pain and swallows it up. Such work makes one weary. My children weep with fears and anxieties--their souls so new and tender. A friend mourns her beloved mother, and I sit states away--capable of mere words--unable to reach her with the gift of touch, even if I possessed such powers. Others question their self-worth because a spouse could not see past his own selfishness to embrace their innate beauty. I struggle--I fumble--to express to these women that beauty survives death and divorce--and while I speak--my words fall short of touch.
There is too much pain in this world. The world is not so big as the suffering is large, and yet if I had that gift, I would consume the heartache of infidelity, the torment of mental illness, the terror of bullying, the shame of public scrutiny. Oh that I could place my palm on my father's legs and make them strong, my husband's heart and keep it brave, my sister's confidence and make it unbreaking, my children's hearts and keep them pure....My pain comes in loving so much. I weep for those who I cannot help and for those whose light I see yet they cannot. It is not through touch that I absorb the pain of those I love, but through the act of loving. Loving even those who I do not and will not know--those in Africa, those in exile, those unborn.
I envy John Coffey--not his death--but his life and its gift. Because while John Coffey absorbed the suffering of others, he could also spit it out--release it--let it go. I love so much--there are so many bees.
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Thank you carrie this is wonderful. I believe most of the problem with the world today is so many people refuse to have bees, so let the bees fly. Even though I know it must hurt sometimes, I think the pain of closing one self off from love must be much much worst.
ReplyDeleteCharlie.