Talk to me, bean-to-bean.
Recently I came across photos of little toddler Haley. From what I can see, little toddler Haley was an inquisitive, adventurous little squirt with a 90’s bowl cut and wide brown eyes that always seemed (in the photos) to be actively perceiving and computing the world around her. My pride swells seeing that I’ve been an observer since birth.
I imagine those eyes were quite alive during this next memory, peering from understand my father’s pool table as he stood, cue in his hand like a wise man’s walking stick. He was proud, thoughtful, and deeply philosophical. At three my passion in life was to watch Pocahontas, and when my father would stand and preach his word I imagined him to be the tribal chief speaking boldly to his people, his children. In my mind I put him on a giant throne made of tree stumps and drew in tall sycamore trees in the background, but those weren’t the actual circumstances. The earthy smell of his garage was pungent that day and he was losing his calm and he tried to define humanity. We are all Human Beans and we are equal, for no matter what we construct in our lives at the core of us is that fact. Of course, my father wasn’t really talking about little beans. He was speaking of us as Beings, as people who be, and to fulfill our lives we must be as we are and nothing else. The word “being” was lost in translation, and the very words “Human Bean” inspired young mind began to create a doctrine that would fuel how I lived and related with others forevermore.
You see, when I heard “Human Bean” I imagined that he was referring to a small sort or kidney bean that existed within all of us. That bean existed in my center just behind my solar plexus and it contained the true essence of me—my soul, if you will. Whatever grew around it–the body, the mind, the career, the fashion, the words, the experiences—were merely constructed. Whether or not one acknowledges the true inner workings of the bean was reflective of one’s character. I believed that it was “good” to search for an understanding with your bean, and “bad” to hide it away for no one to see, or to ignore it all together. When I loved properly I knew it was my bean loving another’s bean, not my mind loving their smile or my heart loving their attention.
This is a sacred connection that I’ll always strive for, this bean-on-bean love fest where two beans find each other and just can’t help but shine on together. We cannot manufacture or manipulate our beans, for their job is to comprise our essence and connect us with the earth and all her bounty and they will not be deterred. We all have beans and we are all equals, and to deny the bean in another (through violence, hatred, or murder) is to deny your own and bury it deeper in the abyss.
When someone allows their bean to flourish, they become a magnetic and inspiring force. They are able to shine and live with light because they have journeyed and have reached a state of pure, awesome vulnerability. When someone buries their bean, it becomes evident to those that surround them. They are suddenly capable of the most horrific actions, or else they fade away before your eyes.
I don’t know if this is what my father meant by his speech in the garage that day, but I bet he would be proud if he knew his three-year-old daughter was sitting under the pool table pondering the little kidney bean that made her unique and beautiful. Later I would have a reoccurring nightmare that was an extension of this memory, in which my father would cut off his feet and toss them to me with a grin on his face, his feet in my hands. I try not to let the odd dream ruin this memory for me. It was a small moment, a passing moment, but it was the first moment of questioning and the first moment in which I saw my father shining so bright in his dark, musty garage. Perhaps it was the last time he exhibited such light, as everything seemed spiral downward for him after that. In the end, he too buried his bean and the rest of us were left watching him slowly but surely disappear into desperation. Even still, this is how I choose to remember him: head held high, bean-a-shining, shooting some pool in his garage on a lazy, idyllic afternoon.
whathaleymade 