The Fur Coats

I have this coat that I wear. It is made of fur, and I’ve had it on all of my life. Since birth I’ve been wearing this coat around my shoulders, the heat of it keeping me warm and comfortable. It is such a part of me that I honestly can’t imagine life without it.

I suppose I must admit the weight and heat can be dreadfully uncomfortable at those times when the summer sun is scorching me. No doubt I would like to rid myself of this coat in the summer—when the sun’s light torments the land longer, hotter, and with a concentrated brutality. But like another layer of skin, I refuse to shed this coat of mine—we’ve been through a lot together, you see... I even have a name for the coat. It’s called Self, since I feel it is such an integral part of me; it and me, one in cause, one in duty, one in mission.

I used to have other coats, worn on top of Self. These were quite heavy at times, even in the winter. Some were given to me by my family at a young age, while others I purchased with my own money as I grew up. Every coat was so dear to me that I would just wear it on top of the others, each layer piling up, keeping me ever warmer and more comfortable as I journeyed through this land.

But one time, during one of those really hot seasons, I came to realize that these coats I had so lovingly adored were beginning to impede. I mean, they were comfortable, natural (they are made of fur, after all), but the weight of them was choking me. Choking me from my interactions with others (have you ever tried to hug another person with even two coats on?) and muffling my voice so much so that even I couldn’t understand myself half the time.

So I began, reluctantly, to rid myself of these. And man, let me tell you, it was not easy. In fact, the layers had become so dear to me, that even at those times that I would take them off, I would still carry them over my shoulder, keeping them at close reach in case I needed them again.

Then one day I met a man who offered to carry my coats. Mind you, I had a few in my arm, some over the shoulder, and many still on. I was admittedly stumbling under the weight of these, and this kind gentleman, wearing no coats at all, came and offered to help. You would think I should have been overjoyed to meet this person, but let me tell you that when you are carrying coats and someone with none comes to ask if you need assistance, you can’t help but be suspicious. I mean—I had worked hard to acquire those coats, I had spent my own time and money getting them, and quite honestly I didn’t trust the man.

Why would I want to get rid of these items so precious to me, even if it’s just handing them over to some stranger of a helper?

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the man said he had helped a lot of people get rid of their coats. Which was funny, because all the people I have ever seen have some coats on. Sure, some wear fewer coats than others, but I always chalked that up to mere insanity, or perhaps just a hyperactive metabolism, or just bad fashion sense. I mean, everyone has coats...

But he explained to me that those people with the fewer coats had been helped out by him, and that he had offered to carry more, but they declined. Where are the coats, then? I asked (for again he was wearing none).

It was then that he explained that he would have to destroy the coats once I handed them over. He made a case (and a fairly convincing one at that) that the coats are a burden to us, that it was plenty warm outside without them (once you got used to it), and that the weight ended up suffocating us anyway.

It was so convincing, in fact, that I handed him one of the thin coats draped over my arm. He stood there, a small, gentle smile on his face, a curious look on mine.

I only gave him one that time. It felt good, actually, to get rid of it. Kind of liberating, a faint breath of exhilaration as I handed it over. But I missed it at times. I even ended up purchasing another one just like it a few months later. It felt a little awkward, like I had let the nice man down, or something.

I actually saw him again much later, him with a brisk step, me with the slow trudging of a man weighed down by a hundred different furs. I don’t think he noticed me (I intentionally was looking the other way as he passed by). Plus, with all of the new coats I had acquired, I’m sure there was no way he could have seen me...

Many summers passed once again, and with even more coats to my possession, the kind man’s words kept echoing in my mind over and over. I even wished that I might run in to him, at least to rid myself of some of the more cumbersome pelts. You see, their weight had become too overwhelming to bear, and yet to drop one would mean to drop them all.

After frustrating weeks of looking after the man, the coats pushing me further and further toward exhaustion, I noticed he was walking beside me. How long have you been there? I asked. Longer than you know, was the reply. He went on to explain that he had been beside me all along, but that the coats I had labored to carry were impeding my vision. Indeed, the only place I could see was the ground beneath my feet, my shoes scuffed and torn, evidence of the many obstacles I had stumbled across. There were so many coats piled high around my shoulders that any attempt at a straight‐ahead glance rendered itself futile.

Again came the familiar question: Would you like me to carry your coats? I knew the caveat—that any surrender of a fur would mean its immediate destruction (for he seemed to have a way about doing this that even I can’t explain).

It was not difficult to convince me this time. I quickly gave up the coats in my arms, the ones wrapped around my shoulders, and those stuffed into the pockets of my garments. In an instant they were gone, and I was able to see the gentle man’s smile once again.

In a quiet voice he asked me if I was willing to give him the thin coat (the one I had given him before only to purchase its equal later), and though slightly embarrassed, I handed that one over too.

And the freedom was tangible. It felt a little cold at first, like the fresh breeze of an autumn day, but like the man said, I got used to it over time. I found that for the first time in years I could swing my arms as I walked. My legs, strong from all of the weight they had carried, could walk seemingly endless miles.

I was unburdened and could move freely.

After days of walking around with what seemed to be new legs, my voice no longer muffled behind the pelts, I was loudly drawing attention to myself by my proclamations of freedom. As I was offering to take the coats of the others I came across in order that they may experience the same liberation I had, the man spoke again. Waiting to hear his commendations for my bravado and my embrace of this new life without coats, he surprised me when he asked if I wanted to get rid of the others. What others? I asked. He just responded with his gentle smile.

In all honesty, this rather frustrated me. Why wasn’t he noticing the newfound freedom I was experiencing? Shouldn’t he be proud of my offering to rid others of their coats? Why was he asking me about ridding myself of my coats? I had already given him these!

I turned and walked away (and rather briskly, I might add).

Months passed, and I hadn’t seen the man in a while. Perhaps he was avoiding me because he felt bad that he so wrongly accused me; maybe he would apologize next time he ran in to me.

And, as luck would have it, I noticed him nearby shortly thereafter. And rather than offering contrition, he, with his (now slightly annoying) gentle smile, asked me if I wanted to get rid of my coats. You must be getting me confused with someone else, Sir, I said, for I gave you mine long ago. What about the ones you are wearing? was his reply. His voice had something soothing behind it even though his words seemed based on misinformation. As if reading my thoughts, he asked the piercing question: Is it possible that I can see your coats better than you yourself can?

Just then a cold wind blew across the valley in which we were standing.

It was hard to accept this question. It honestly made me feel somewhat exposed, like I wanted to run and find a warm fur to wrap myself in.

With a measure of annoyance in his voice, he asked the question again (although it seemed he was agitated by the cold breeze rather than by me).

I told him I needed time and that I would get back to him with an answer to his question.

What is there to contemplate? he asked. Again, there was such a gentleness about him that although I was somewhat offended by his questioning, I could hardly find room for offense toward him.

We agreed, after some deliberation, that I would at least consider his question, and he mentioned that when I was ready to talk about it again he would be ready to engage. How will I get in touch with you? I asked.

But he was gone before I could hear his reply.

It was then that the wind grew colder, the desire for warm furs ever stronger. Some questioning, I thought to myself. Can’t he see how cold it’s getting? If he knew what he was talking about, he would offer me at least a blanket to keep warm, but instead of this, he wants me to shed coats I don’t even possess...

As the chill grew increasingly stronger, I huddled by a tree, my puddle of frustrated tears begining to congeal near my feet. Soon, a thin layer of ice had formed—the frozen tears actually reflecting the grey clouds overhead. As I gazed into the icy puddle, something astonishing happened:

My reflection revealed something like fur surrounding my shoulders and torso. And the question of the gentle man seemed almost audible beneath the sound of the winter wind.

How could this be? I had given him all of the coats I was carrying, and yet he said there were others. And it seems he was right.

Just then, as if by some force of magic, he appeared. I felt strangely secure in his presence, as if the cold of the season had somehow subsided. And rather than words of condemnation, he again just smiled, repeating his offer to take the coats. But what about the cold? I asked. Again he repeated his assertion that the cold goes unnoticed after a while.

I gave him all I could. The fur of this coat was matted, the years of familiarity exhibiting themselves tangibly. Removing this coat revealed another one (according to the man), even more worn and weathered. I gave him this one as well.

There are more, he said. Some given to you by others that you have worn since your childhood. I can take those too, but it will be a bit more painful—you might feel a loss for a while, but in the end it will prove itself to be more beneficial and freeing than ever.

And that is where I stand. I have given the man some of those coats over time. Others I have held on to. Most I was unaware of their existence until he gently pointed them out. Not one has been removed that has been without pain. There have been weeks filled with tears, days where I felt like I couldn’t walk.

But he was right—the freedom I have felt has been noticeable to me, and for the first time, I am starting to realize that there are more coats. Always. And I call on the gentle man to expose these, to take them from me. And I hold fast to the hope that someday I will walk free of all of these, in the warmth of the spring, and in the gentleness of his company...