Karen House/37

I am pleased to share the following reflection on Karen House by Toria Rendell, who took Social Justice in the fall of 2007.

I had the privilege of spending over 35 hours this semester at Karen House, a Catholic Worker House for homeless women and children. I set off the fire alarm, gave gum to a little boy when I wasn’t supposed to, made about 10 pounds of unnecessary banana bread, and watched concerned but mostly helpless as certain children decided to pinch and hit each other. Most would laugh if I tried to describe that as “service.” But “insertion” is just right. I most certainly inserted myself into an environment I have never experienced. I was in a foreign place to me, so naturally I learned and grew.

At the beginning, I was apprehensive. I didn’t know what to expect from the house, from the residents, or from the children. I really didn’t even know what would be expected of me. Knowing Dr. Chmiel went to Karen House weekly made me even more nervous because in the end I would be writing about a location he’s familiar with. He could judge what I say more critically—what if I say something about Karen House that’s not correct? He would know everything about the experiences at Karen House. Of course I didn’t know then what I know now. There’s no possible way Dr. Chmiel can already know everything about my experience at Karen House because it has been such a personal experience. Karen House has same physical location for both of us, but gives different experiences. What we take from our time there is unique to us. Even when I go with Kelly and we talk about it afterwards, I realize this. We saw the same things, talked to almost all the same people, did the same things, but the things that stuck out to her are different from what stuck with me.

I went to Karen House first with SLU CAP. I was glad Kelly went because, although we weren’t really close, at least I knew her. We gathered at the small crooked picnic table in the backyard to have Karen House explained to us. Suddenly, the cutest kids came running up. I think one was in a diaper only. One girl climbed into Kelly’s lap. The others asked to be picked up; smiling, they talked as though they were oblivious to the serious lecture about their house that was going on. I knew Kelly had only come once, and already the kids were comfortable with her. I love children. I don’t show it outwardly, but I do have two fears when it comes to children: (1) they won’t like me, and (2) I won’t be able to control them. The children at Karen House were adorable, but I was worried they wouldn’t like me the way they seemed to love Kelly. I’m used to kids being shy when they first meet new people, so although I was scared, I was pleasantly surprised by their openness. About an hour later, when I had a little boy named Isaiah sitting on my shoulders pulling at my glasses and another little kid at my knees asking to be picked up, I discovered how open the children really are. I liked going with the group from SLU CAP because I always had a task assigned and people to talk to.

I also went with Kelly one Thursday afternoon to tutor. I did not have my car yet, so I tried to get hours in when she was going. I met a seventh grader named Mia. She was so sweet and welcoming. I helped her with her math homework. She’s intelligent and has a wonderful sense of humor. I didn’t know beforehand the level of education of the children. I tutored in a St. Louis high school last year, and from my experience there, I expected the worst. I was relieved Mia was getting a good education and she had goals for her life. Like the experience with SLU CAP, tutoring Kelly was a good time.

Since the insertion is about stepping outside one’s comfort zone, I want to say a little bit about some things that make me extremely uncomfortable generally before I continue. Throughout my experiences of volunteering in high school, the worst were the ones when a leader was not there to give me a task at all times. I hated standing around looking awkward with nothing to do. It always felt like everyone else was able to move about easily; and if they had nothing assigned, they’d just find something to do while glancing out of the corner of their eyes at me standing around looking like an idiot. The second thing I hated was when I went people I didn’t know, or, worse, people I knew a little bit, but they were with friends they knew much better. As a child, and in my early years of high school, I was reserved and quiet. I did not like meeting people initially and I despised those initial conversations, which nearly always turned out to be awkward. I did not like trying to tackle a tough social situation. So, while I loved working, getting things done, and helping people, I didn’t like the times of waiting around.

Jumping ahead then to my first times at Karen House, I was reminded of my apprehensions from high school. I signed up to go Monday afternoons to tutor. It was my first time going by myself. I drove up and parked in front of Karen House. My car was parked on the silent street, the only car on the entire block, hopelessly conspicuous due to its white color and the fact that it was completely alone. I felt like my car. I pressed the doorbell. Panic rang inside me. What if no one comes? What if they don’t need a tutor today? What if I’m the only tutor with 5 kids? I have at least 2 hours here. Why couldn’t I just come on Saturdays or with Kelly? Thoughts came back from my high school days. I think it was Teka who answered the door, although I’m not sure. She knew I was there to tutor and made me feel better instantly. I was ushered to the dining room. Mia did not have homework she needed help with. There were also two other SLU students who came later. Great. People I don’t know. And on top of that, there weren’t many children, so I was close to being in that dastardly position of standing around with nothing to do. I decided the best thing to do was pretend I did not feel out of place. Maybe I could pretend well enough to fool even myself. Even so, I really loved the children there. I was not comfortable, but I wanted to be there.

As I kept going back to Karen House, I loved it more and more. Reading Learning True Love by Chan Không helped me become more aware during my time at Karen House. One thing I’ve noticed as I go to Karen House and come back to SLU is a feeling of dismay when I see how much we at SLU have. And yet, many students who have lived in this urban St. Louis setting for a couple years could not even articulate certain difficulties the homeless in St. Louis face. Chan Không expressed the same feeling after a trip to Europe. “My tour of Switzerland took place just three weeks before Christmas, and the peace, wealth, and luxury of this country at such a beautiful time of year made me feel overwhelmingly sad. How could the world be so unfair?” (Không 148). I see how the people at Karen House and the people at SLU are the same because they are all human beings. But I find it so overwhelming to think about the inequalities that exist. Vandana Shiva expressed a striking opinion about this in her book, India Divided. “As our ancient teachings show us, taking more than one needs is the theft of someone else’s needs” (Shiva 163). As a member of an extremely privileged class of people in the world, I can say that it makes me feel very uncomfortable to consider the way I live my life as an act of theft. I certainly have more than I need, but I’m not sure how to correct the wrong. I also see how almost insurmountable it seems to be able to even partially correct the injustices. And I see how much it will take. “When you want something ordinary, you can just go out and buy it, but when you want something extraordinary, like love, understanding, and peace for a whole nation, you have to pay for it with something much more precious than money” (Không 103). Chan Không’s loving spirit inspired me though as I went to Karen House. I had to remember that she did not take sides; she did not love the oppressed and hate the oppressors. I focused then on trying to develop that spirit of love for everyone.

Reading Writing Down the Bones helped me then find a way to translate my experiences musings onto paper and be able to go back and read them later. I followed as well as I could remember Goldberg’s guidance. “Basically, if you want to become a good writer, you need to do three things. Read a lot, listen well and deeply, and write a lot. And don’t think too much. Just enter the heat of words and sounds and colored sensations and keep your pen moving across the page,” (Goldberg 59). Now that it is the end of the semester, I have a much different impression than I had when I started going. It is hard to remember exactly how I felt because my experience now influences how I see my memories. But, when I have something I wrote at that previous time in the semester, I can see what I felt then and how I’ve developed into how I feel now. Also, I can remember little details of my time at Karen House that I may have forgotten as time passed.

I need to tell a few of the stories of the times that stood out most for me at Karen House before I can explore a deep analysis of the experience.

Forever more, whenever I see images of the Cookie Monster, I will think of little Geriana. When you ask her, “Geriana, what does the Cookie Monster say?” she pauses momentarily, looks at you, and in a deepened voice highly uncharacteristic of a 2-year-old, she rumbles, “cookies.” If you say, “dance, Geriana, dance!” she starts to bounce up and down as she attempts to sing “A Bay Bay.” There’s something so special about her fun-loving, mischievous nature that makes everyone just love her, even when she’s bad. One day she bit Kelly’s arm so hard Kelly had a purple imprint of Geriana’s teeth for 3 days. But even then, Kelly couldn’t be mad at her for much longer than telling her not to bite. I volunteered the day of Geriana’s birthday. Her mom had been planning the party for a while. When I walked into the room where she was preparing for the party, she was in the process of cutting out a giant Cookie Monster face. I helped make signs with the names of all the Sesame Street characters, blow up an insane number of balloons, and set a bag of candy and Sesame Street tableware at each place setting. The pre-party atmosphere of the house was excited. Everyone except Geriana seemed more animated than usual; she was her same troublesome, irresistible self. Geriana had her bath, Geriana’s mom changed into a nice outfit, and people gathered in the decorated dining room. The kids played games. After the happy birthday song, everyone ate, talked, laughed, and served cake. The food had to be moved from its normal location on the central table because of the overflow of presents piled on top. It’s the spirit of that party has stayed with me so vividly. Such a large group of people with vastly different backgrounds gathered together to celebrate the birthday of an endearing 2-year-old girl, who could have been living in poverty on the streets of St. Louis if it were not for Karen House.

Every visit to Karen House has certainly not been a party. Once, on my tutoring day, I found myself in the playroom in charge of 5 highly energized children with no homework to do. Apparently fighting is an acceptable form of play for 4 to 7-year-olds. I tried to interest them in reading a book or just playing. They had to be kept occupied or fighting would ensue. It seemed that I just barely had time to come up with a new activity before they became bored with my previous idea and turned to their own schemes. When I picked up one of the little boys around his stomach and legs, and swung around as he spread his arms out to be airplane wings, I committed myself to 10 minutes of picking up children and spinning around. I would never call it pleasant to deal with the rapid pace of child emotion. Crying leads to screaming, which leads to fighting, which somehow magically leads to being calm, quiet and okay for a brief period of time. But it was the times when the children laughed, or when they sat quietly in my lap that I knew I was so happy to be there.

Later in the semester, I came one afternoon, and the new children who moved into the house were all there. None of them had homework, so we decided to find a game. Immediately, a little boy grabbed my hand and asked me to go with him to find a board game. We went to the computer room, and searched every box for a game with all the pieces that little kids can enjoy. He got very excited to play Monopoly. He, all the other children, and I sorted out the money—a lengthy process because the sole goal of the baby was to grab and eat or throw away the paper bills. Another girl wanted to hold on to all the twenties as tightly as she could. We finally got to play for a while. The little boy, Diante, was such a nice kid. He’s a happy and smiley 5-year-old kindergartener. He talked about school, and his “girlfriend.” I could tell he had a big heart. Later, when we were playing with toys, Diante started to try to hit some of the other children with a hard plastic toy. I really don’t remember if that was the time or if it was when he was doing something else that was wrong, but I told him “We won’t be friends if you’re going to act this way.” And, I though no more about it. He sulked a little, but he stopped and returned to his smiling happy self. We played until dinner, and he insisted I sit with him. As we sat down, he seemed preoccupied with something. Finally, he blurted out, “You said you weren’t gonna be my friend.” I saw true concern and hurt in his eyes, and it made me feel so awful. I said, “No, I’m your friend.” He was unconvinced, “But you said.” I tried to explain that I wanted him not to hurt other people because that’s not something my friends would do. Then I said that we would always be friends; he wanted a pinkie shake to ensure this was true. When I came back Saturday, he remembered me, and we were definitely still friends. That experience moved me. I realized how sensitive some children are and how I may not think about twice about something I say, but it can stay with them and gnaw at them. I felt bad for saying something like that without thinking, and I determined to focus on being more mindful of what I say in the future.

Children were a huge part of my experiences at Karen House, but they were not everything. I’ve spent time sanitizing door handles, putting in loads of laundry, sorting through donated food, organized the clothes room that perpetually returns to a state of disorder, and mopping the floor. One afternoon, all the children where gone to an activity with their parents. A group of students and their teacher from SLU High had come to cook dinner that evening, so there was nothing for me to do in the kitchen. Allison Hotze and a couple of her friends who are also in Social Justice came that day. We did a few random chores, but in the end there was little to do and a group of people committed to being there for 2 hours. In the dining room, there was a large pile of bananas in the stages of browning to dark brown. Allison had the idea that to prevent all the bananas from going to waste, we could make banana bread. At least the residents of the house could eat it for breakfast. Allison called her family to get a good recipe. We gathered all the ingredients after some discussion about by how many times we were going to multiply the recipe. Evidently we arrived at different conclusions about that discussion, because after putting enough bananas to multiply the recipe by 3 times, but adding enough flour to multiply the recipe by 4 times, we both realized what happened. In the end, the amount of batter could barely fit in the bowl. In addition to a tray of muffins, we made a giant baking sheet of banana bread. When we left that evening, Karen House had a generous supply of unneeded banana bread.

Another day, I and other SLU CAPers walked a couple blocks over to another, smaller, house. Jessica, a woman who lived with her three daughters in Karen House, was preparing to move into one side of that little house. The house was old, and just stepping up the steep staircase revealed the house has a past—a long history of families and individuals who lived there. We went up to the very top floor. The walls were painted an unpleasant shade of burnt sienna. Our task was to paint—first a primer, then a coat of white paint. I wrote in my journal later: It was such a great experience bonding with the other volunteers. We were all hot and sweaty, but we were all working with fervor. I saw a glimpse of what Chan Kong meant when she talked about doing so much but not feeling worn out. I loved every second, even though it was tough work. All the volunteers talked about their experiences so far with Karen House and with SLU in general. John, who is living in Karen House, talked a little bit from his perspective. He could tell us a little more about the family for whom we were painting the room. Painting is one thing, but painting for someone brings a whole new dimension. The mom had a wonderful opportunity to bring up her children in her own home. She was involved in the whole process, John told us. Her daughter had asthma, so she was being careful that the painting was done sufficiently ahead of the move-in time so that the fumes would dissipate a little and so there was time to do a thorough cleaning. Jessica actually stopped by while we were painted. Seeing her expression of mixed pride, joy, and gratitude, when she saw the stuffy orange-ish color being covered with the pure white was rewarding.

Lastly, my report of my insertion experience would not be complete without this story about a homeless man I met at Karen House because I’ve spent a good deal of time thinking about it. Winter settled in on St. Louis, so I was in the clothing room sorting the clothing donations with Kelly and bagging the items that were too summery to make room for the heavier winter clothes. People peeked in, eyes peeled for some desired article of clothing. A little girl came in wanting the little pair of white dressy shoes with a small heel. She was too nervous to ask her mom, so I had to go ask while the girl peered from her concealed position behind a curtain. To celebrate her mother allowing her to keep the shoes, the girl raced down the hall in excitement. Back in the room, I was busy creating shelf space for baby clothes when a man came in. Meghan told us he was looking for shoes and socks. We started to try to help him find something from the chaos of the shoe pile. My heart sunk a little when he said he was a size 12. It’s hard to find men’s shoes, and even harder to find such a big size. He told us how his feet had felt like they were going to fall off in the cold the previous night. He pointed to the worn tennis shoes on his feet to demonstrate how little warmth they provided. When it became quite apparent we were not going to find size 12 men’s shoes, he went on to look for socks—another unsuccessful endeavor. As he dug through the clothes and shoes, sipping his hot coffee periodically, he talked to Kelly and me about his life. He had been in prison for about 20 years. When he got out he met his girlfriend, and he was in love with her. But she left him for another man, and she already had a problem with drugs. We started looking for an extra pair of pants for him to put on. I asked him if he had always lived in St. Louis. No, he said, he was born in Mississippi. He was in prison in Georgia for 17 years, and now he was in St. Louis. And his girlfriend was gone, and he thought about her all the time. He asked me if I went to school here and what I studied. When I said, “English, Biology, and I’m Pre-Med,” he asked with a confused look on his face, “What’s that?” “Pre-Med?” I asked. “No, that’s going into medicine and stuff, but what’s the other one—ba…bolgy…or…” I was completely taken aback. How is it possible to now know what Biology is—the study of life, science, the human body…I thought surely even if people have not taken biology, everyone should know what it is. I tried to explain, but that ended with him thinking my plan for my life was to become Steve Irwin and wrestle crocodiles. After he left, agreeing to come back later for lunch, Kelly found size 34 men’s pants—the size he had been looking for. I left them in the office for him, hoping he really would come back. When I asked Meghan what to do with them, she said to write his name on a piece of paper and put it with the pants. “What’s his name?” “Frost.” Appropriate, I thought sadly.

From those experience and others, I understood how the insertion isn’t just about the work you do. From day one, I’ve often felt that I really have done little in the hours I’ve spent there. In return, I’ve undergone a life-altering experience. I have the same feeling about Karen House that I got after finishing Riverbend’s blog in the book Baghdad Burning. I was upset and frustrated with the wrong, and I knew I could never go back to my blissful state of innocence. The insertion is so much more than going to a physical place. It’s about expanding your mental horizons, connecting with your emotions, and recognizing humanity is universal. At times, it’s difficult and serious: talking with Frost was enlightening, but it was a difficult truth to face. And at times it’s lighthearted: I spent time just connecting with people and laughing about banana bread.

Reflection time for SLU CAP and the drives to Karen house have been nearly as profound as my experiences at Karen House. I mentioned before how Kelly and other volunteers come out of the house with perspectives on what happened different from me and from each other. Being able to spend time talking with them enhanced my reflections about what I saw and experienced. I’m not Catholic, so I appreciated getting the sheets about the Catholic Social Teachings. We spent time in a circle at Campus Ministry, reading and then listening as students offered their ideas and reactions to the reading. Doing that every Saturday before going to Karen House helped me enter a spirit of mindfulness, making an effort as I did my tasks at Karen House to consider the information I had heard. One day we talked about Common Good and Community. The paper we were all handed said, “Everyone has a responsibility to contribute to the good of the whole society, to the common good.” That came from a perspective I’m not used to hearing, but I was intrigued by it. Doing good is not just something we should do sometimes if we feel like it; rather, we have a responsibility as humans to use our talents and abilities to better society. Attached to the sheet was a list of things to do to build community and a list of ways to build global community. These little reflections gave me something to ponder as I completed my little tasks at Karen House.

In terms of how my insertion experience at Karen House has changed me personally, there are several aspects I consider essential. First, I have stories I will never forget. These stories each revealed something new and made me aware of a new aspect of the world. It’s one thing to discuss homelessness in the academic setting to which I am so accustomed; it’s a completely different thing to meet Frost. Just thinking about Karen House brings images to my mind: smiling children, crying and screaming children, Geriana biting Kelly’s arm, the dining room full of people with loaded plates, the lady in the wheelchair slowly making her way to the dining room for dinner, the dark basement overflowing with furniture, and faces. I’ve seen everything from the worn and tired faces of the homeless men who stand at the side door waiting for sandwiches to the innocent excited expressions of the children coming home to play after school. And those faces stay with me. Secondly, Kelly was a big part of my experience at Karen House. We have different perspectives and different goals in life; but we are together in the fact that we are in Social Justice class every Tuesday and Thursday morning, and we both completed our insertion at Karen House. We both fell in love with going to Karen House. On our way to and from there whenever we drove together, we spent time sharing our thoughts and experiences. Kelly has a lot of compassion, and I’ve seen her awareness of injustice in society growing throughout the semester. Talking with her and sharing perspectives has helped me grow too. When I had a hilarious story about something Geriana did at Karen House when I was there Monday, and I was bursting to tell someone who would understand, I always knew Kelly would love to hear the story. She knew the same people, and she was familiar with how it is to be a student volunteering there. We can always laugh about the time when she, Andrew, and I were in charge of lunch, and we promptly set off the fire alarm from the smoke of our cooking which could not escape the sealed windows. I’m extremely excited about continuing volunteering at Karen House with Kelly next semester. We’re planning on going with SLUCAP on Saturdays. Without the support of Social Justice class twice a week, a thought-stimulating and discussion-oriented time to become more mindful, I can still continue through with the learning experience by being able to discuss with Kelly. I don’t remember what day, but in class one day, Dr. Chmiel said that working for social justice is a group-effort. One person cannot do everything. I’m grateful that I don’t have to face what I do—as small and focused as it is—alone. Thirdly, I think I have finally been able to rid myself of the fears from high school regarding having nothing to do, facing new people, and being alone. I’ve experienced wonderful times with Kelly and other people I know, but I’ve also had times volunteering alone that have been equally wonderful. Instead of going to Karen House with a little nagging fear of what might happen, I try to focus on making myself more aware of what’s going on around me. Worry can blind a person to reality. I learn the most when I open myself to the truth, so it was essential to minimize the worry.

I’ve mentioned my intention to continue going to Karen House next semester, but I also have exciting plans to continue my quest of questioning and learning about the world in which I live over the course of my last two years in college and beyond. Ever since I went to an informational meeting about El Salvador to hear a group of SLU students share about their experiences there, I’ve felt drawn there. For years, I’ve known I want to be a doctor. But I’ve also known I would never be satisfied with my mother’s physician office job at an insurance company. Likewise, I’ve known I would become burnt out from just conducting medical research and telling diabetic patient after diabetic patient that he/she needs to lose weight (like my dad). They enjoy what they do, but it’s not me. I have realized that my dream is to tackle medical injustice in the world and make a difference with what I do. Dr. Chmiel sent me a link to a site about an area called “liberation medicine,” which I plan to look into over winter break. To me all the hard work and stress of going through the process of becoming a doctor would not be worth it if it gave me a million dollar salary earned by increasing the size of women’s chests all across America. I want to address healthcare issues globally and use my talent in language and in science to relieve needless suffering. Going to El Salvador would give me a glimpse of the possibilities for my future. I can see that I will change as a result. And I know it will not be an easy experience. I’m recalling a conversation I had with Becca early in the semester. She mentioned her mom organizes medical trips to Haiti, and offered me the chance to potentially go on one of those trips. I said, “That would be so cool.” Becca seemed a little shocked, and she kind of smiled as she said slowly, “Well, if cool is witnessing eye-opening, painful suffering…” I don’t want to misquote her, but anyone who knows Becca understands the serious fervor behind her words. Class started so I couldn’t explain myself, that to me that would be “cool.” Not cool in the sense of “wow, it’s great people are suffering and dying,” but “cool” in the sense of I have a chance to make this better. God has allowed me to be in this place at this time and to be made aware of a need.

Such an experience of being rapidly jerked into awareness is hardly painless. I understand that even now. Chan Không’s book made me aware of how much I will have to give up to pursue what I want to do. Sometimes I question whether I’m actually willing to do it. I wonder if I’m up to the task. Am I really smart enough, passionate enough, driven enough, tireless enough, self-confident enough? I really can’t tell because the only thing I know for sure is that at this moment I’m not. But reading the story of Shirin Ebadi inspired me. She described her attitude when she was young and naïve like me. She did not walk into the first day of school and when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up announce that she would grow up to be a Nobel Peace Prize winning leader in politics and champion of women’s rights in Iran. At one point she discusses a road trip with some of her friends. “You might think that because we had just come from a protest, our conversation would at least border on the serious. Not really. We gossiped about classmates, films, the destination of our next road trip, the sort of thing young female college students talk about” (Ebadi 17). That gave me hope that just because I am a young college student who is far from being aware of so many of the issues plaguing our world, I may become something later on. I can’t know now what I should and will do. But, I am open to anything and genuinely excited for what’s ahead in my life.

I was so encouraged reading about Ida B. Wells. She, like the other authors whose works we read in class, against so many odds, never gave up. From the beginning of her campaign she saw her most central task to be placing the facts before the American people and later before the world. Her primary effort was not really to change the law […]. Her chief purpose was instead to intervene boldly in public discourse and to change public opinion so that the application of justice for all could prevail. (Royster 40).

I was drawn to the beauty of her faith in people. And I’m encouraged because I see some parallels to my outlook on life. My friends often laugh at my complete oblivion of safety issues. I’ve sat in my car looking for things in a dark, empty parking lot with my door wide open. I’ve run back from Forest Park alone on Forest Park Parkway. Although it has entered my mind to buy mace, the thought has never remained long enough to bring me to the store. I often put the “just like me” meditation into practice because I love how it connects me with other people and all the other people to each other. When it comes down to it, I believe people are good. I believe, like Wells, that if people just knew about injustice, they would stop it. I hate reconciling with the idea that evil ill-intentioned people live in the world. Recognizing the good and the potential in everyone, I could think of nothing greater in my life than giving more people a chance to keep living and to live a better life with less suffering.

One day when I was driving to Karen House, the last day I went, I saw something happen. A woman driving a large silver SUV and talking on the phone was in the left turn lane and started turning west onto Laclede from Grand. Suddenly she pulled to a screeching stop as she hit a woman crossing the street. The woman, a black woman in an oversized plaid coat appeared ragged and worn. She carried a couple plastic bags. After being hit, the woman continued to walk on because she had jumped in a way to avoid serious injury, and the other lady turned. That image represented more to me than just the literal facts. It represented how easy it is to go through our lives without paying attention to the needs of the people around us. People everywhere are like the SUV driver, often not even acknowledging people like the homeless lady crossing the street exist. A brief encounter may occur, but overall, it is only a minor inconvenience, a petty distraction from the bustle of busy lives. To sum up briefly how my insertion experience at Karen House changed me, I will say that having seen what I have seen and talked to the people I have, I am now unable to live contentedly live my life like that SUV driver. Plato developed a famous allegory about life: the allegory of the cave. When people live in a cave and experience only shadows, they are content because that is all they know. If a person leaves the cave, it is difficult because facing the sun after spending so much time in the dark is incredibly painful. But once that happens, the person never wants to go back to the cave because he/she has experienced truth. Plato’s allegory strongly illustrates the function of the insertion: to get us out of our comfortable realities and show us truth. Certainly I am not in any way completely enlightened about truth, but the insertion experience has ensured that I am no longer living day to day in my comfortable reality.