The Psychological Beam

Inside Bluff Dweller Cave, Missouri

My daughter and I have been making a point to go on adventures around this new territory of Oklahoma. No longer is it a short drive to Portland, a stone’s throw away from any ferry gliding across the Puget Sound, or a northern jaunt to another country in Canada for a quick getaway. It’s been three years since we moved from Seattle, a place I had spent nearly 30 years of my life in. I had taken her last year to a little lake near our new house in Tulsa, when to my shock she had said, “This is the most nature I’ve seen!” She had grown up right near the ocean to visit her grandparents, vacationed to a winery on the Columbia River, and daily could look towards Mt. Rainier as a typical backdrop to any scene of her life. Here we were amongst a few trees and small body of water when I realized we must then explore. Since then, we’ve created incredible memories between the two of us around Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Missouri.

Last month we decided to head towards Bluff Dweller’s Cave in Missouri. I had no expectations as it is hard to judge anything from websites or photographs. One could advertise their restaurant in intimate settings, lights low, beautiful ambience- but when pulling up to the building itself, it is within a strip mall surrounded by a war zone of potholes and faded white parking lines. The staff is disappointed you have disrupted their scrolling time and puts you in a corner, where up close, you can easily conclude that this was not what you had imagined when filling all the lines outside the frame of a few pictures. I suppose that’s a part of the adventure; the very real possibility of disappointment.

The caves were separated from outside in by two giant heavy wooden doors padlocked from the public. I hadn’t realized that we needed a tour guide to escort us through the hike, (one could see my amount of preparation) so we waited outside looking at posters of what animals and bugs we might find within the dark corners behind the doors. Our guide came and we entered the pitch darkness and cold. She gave a little speech, and then with a bit of dramatic pause, she flipped a switch that illuminated a path forward and the wonders of this cave in the middle of nowhere. We walked through this living cave for about 90 minutes before arriving to the final area just before the exit. Out of all the gorgeous walls and shapes witnessed on the hike, this was the least impressive room. It was, just that, a giant room within the cave with one cylindrical pillar of bricks in the center. The guide stopped to talk about the beam with the exit temptingly close.

In the 1960’s, she said, this room was designated as a fall out shelter for the town. This was the time when many feared Russian missiles falling from the sky and so the town came together for a safety plan. They would do drills in this room to make sure that if the worst happened, they would know what to do. But as they gathered in this giant room within the cave, many did not feel safe. This giant room had no structural beam that would ensure that it would not collapse and so they raised their concerns, and finally, a beam was constructed. She pointed to the ceiling of the cave where there were little divots and growths. These, she said, were indicators that the cave was a living cave and would not collapse so the giant (rather ugly) beam in the center of the cave room was a placebo. They wanted to feel safe but the beam itself was entirely hollow. The staff called it “the psychological beam.” We then squinted as the back doors were opened and this concluded our tour. Outside was a giant line of about 20 lined up for the next tour our same guide was to lead once again. Iris and I had gotten a private tour and we felt quite blessed to not have to share it with anyone else.

That night, I went to sleep and in the early dawn when God does His most talking, the least interesting room before the exit came to mind. I thought of the psychological beam and how I, throughout my life, have resurrected a similar support system in my own life. It is only recently, through this move towards the middle of the country that the weight of what is above tests what I’ve always relied upon. I can no longer rely on the things that would paint of picture of who I am. “I’m from Japan,” but Japan is ancient history and who can relate to such a set of experiences? “I’m a musician,” but I have long since played shows or even really cared of touching music as a means to reach the world. “I’m from Seattle,” but I’m in an area where Seattle might as well be another country. “I’m of this philosophical persuasion. I’m a founder to a company that never has fully launched. I’m a product designer to a product that hasn’t been released after several years.” All the things that I put the weight of the world upon, I see as they’ve been stripped, that my psychological beam was always just that. It couldn’t hold weight. It was just there to make me feel as though, in case of emergency, I could rely on the backbone of who I was. And here, in the middle of the country, stripped of all else that once was, I realize that in the fallout, the beam did nothing. The cave is still living and it holds itself.

What happens when we no longer rely so heavily on the beam that does not hold weight? Perhaps through a little demolition, we may find that we have more space and a clearer view.