Carle Gets Flogged. Literally Flogged.

In case you missed Carle Steel’s essay on CBC Radio’s The Sunday Edition yesterday, here’s the link. Carle’s bit starts just past the 34:45 minute mark — you’ll either have to listen to the first non-Carle bits (perfectly acceptable) or fiddle around with the little bar at the top to skip ahead. Either way, give it a listen. It’s quite good and rather sad.

(The full Sunday Edition is online here, if you want more.)

UPDATE: Carle asked me to add this sad video.

Author: Stephen Whitworth

Prairie Dog editor Stephen Whitworth was carried to Regina in a swarm of bees. He's been with Prairie Dog since May 1999 and will die at his keyboard before admitting his career a terrible, terrible mistake.

3 thoughts on “Carle Gets Flogged. Literally Flogged.”

  1. I heard Carle yesterday on the radio and found the article poignant. Hearing about grief that overwhelming is very moving. Carle, thank you for being willing to share something that intimate and private.

    I have known some people who pursued a similar path for highs, and to cleanse out emotional pain, and in too many cases it began to negatively affect their psyche.

    I’ve heard of another strategy that is more reaffirming and (according to this person) was effective. I am willing to share it if Carle is interested. But she may not want strangers making suggestions, so if she is not interested, that’s okay.

    If you are, Carle, we’ll connect (somehow).

  2. It’s funny, but it went away not long after I wrote and recorded the piece. I was in a counselling session a couple of months after, gently weeping, communing with the dead as usual, and suddenly realized that the grieving was probably no more real or important than flying into a rage or being thrilled or jealous or any other emotional or ego state that comes and goes. And it went away, just like that. I still feel more ‘open’ than before all this happened (I doubt that will ever change) but I’m not experiencing the world through the lens of death and the big picture quite as much. I think I’ll always have a toe hold on the other side — you can’t unknow how wrong things can go, and that if it happened once it can all happen again. But I’m far more ‘here’ than I used to be. And happier. I didn’t realize that all the grieving and wailing was making me unhappy. Duh.

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