Tag Archives: beauty

Death and Transformation in the Writing Process

Without Lauren, there would be no Setsu. This is something she wrote many years ago offline that I re-read just hours before hearing about Robin Williams’ death. It was strange to feel so overcome by loss for someone I had never met; but in a way, we have. His sincerity in each of his roles is what made them real, and what made me trust him. His portrayals in Baron Munchausen, Hook, The Birdcage, The Fisher King and What Dreams May Come will always stick out in my mind.

What a legacy of outrageous brilliance, laughter, and above all, sincerity. He was an insane hurricane — from the crazed wild winds down to the last cold, lonely droplet.

And now, Lauren’s thoughts on death and writing.

Everyone fears death to some degree. In our culture, we normally view death not just as an ending, but as the ending to all endings. Imprisonment in a black hole from which there is no escape. We usually see change in a similar vein, dying on a smaller scale—a little death to which we’re dragged kicking and screaming. Either way we perceive it as the same thing: A decision we don’t get to make that gives us no way out.

But there are belief systems existing out there that don’t consider death to be negative. One alternative is to look at death the way it’s portrayed in a stack of Tarot cards, not as a cut off point where consciousness ceases to be, but as a crossroads where transformation is born. True transformation is part of the natural cycle of the universe: Every ending leads to another beginning. It’s also about moving from the known into the unknown. But dying hurts, no matter how you do it. Change is painful…whether it’s sudden or slow. When you’re caught in the period of transition it can feel like you’ve been cast adrift. Sometimes there’s nothing more uncomfortable than feeling stuck in that waiting in-between state.

As writers, Death as Transformation is an irreplaceable instrument of our craft. It is an incomparable experience that infuses inspiration into our life, and our work. To bring paper and ink to its knees we must be brave enough to shed our familiar skin. Bold enough to emerge naked into the world again, waiting for our new carapace to crystallize and our wings to unfold. Releasing ourselves newly born into a whole new element, we must leave the well-worn husk behind. Push yourself to the precipice and bust out of that shell! Stop crawling forward in your writing—FLY.

Thank you Lauren. Thank you Robin. Thank you to everyone brave enough to walk around without armor — risking it all to make the world a little more magical.

“Sometimes a breakdown can be the beginning of a kind of breakthrough, a way of living in advance through a trauma that prepares you for a future of radical transformation.”
—Cherrie Moraga

“Every exit is an entry somewhere else.”
—Tom Stoppard

“Genius is not a gift but the way out one invents in desperate cases.”
—Jean-Paul Sartre

 

What-Dreams-May-Come

Robin Williams, “What Dreams May Come”

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Objects, Symbols and Affectations

When you’ve had a habit for many years, it becomes part of your persona. Your image, totem, signature, symbol — however you like.

When folks see someone with your habit, they think of you.

When they’re looking for you, they look for your symbol.

It could be anything from a piece of clothing to the way you walk. There’s something you do that’s yours.

Someone once told me that my combat boots are my signature. I started wearing them in fourth grade to be practical. When my class shuffled through the hallways in two parallel lines, some dickhead always stepped on my sneaker and make my heel pop out. I hated it. Flat tire, we called it. It was probably accidental each time, but it still drove me nuts. I started wearing boots to address an immediate problem. They became familiar. Comfortable. Preferable.

Things are different now. I don’t walk in line with a bunch of other kids. The boots’ intended purpose is gone. It doesn’t rain enough, or get cold enough here to justify heavy boots; but I still wear them every day. As a little kid, I didn’t plan on incorporating a symbol; but now the boots are part of the image I project. I still wear them because they’re familiar. The tricky thing is, I couldn’t tell you if the familiar thing is the boots themselves, or that projected image.

When you see someone walking down the street in big black boots, what does it say about them? What does your perception say about you? These objects are telling in both directions.

What’s your signature?  Your symbol?  How do objects and affectations affect your story?

Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.” ― Oscar Wilde

From one thing, know ten thousand things.” ― Miyamoto Musashi

Untitled by Shadi Ghadirian (Iran) from the "Muslima" exhibition

Untitled by Shadi Ghadirian (Iran) from the “Muslima” exhibition