Today is a beautiful day, sunny but cold. I got my shawl and I am wrapped in it while I write. The fall will be here in a few days. Another season will start. And the cycle of life will continue.
I have been writing a lot lately, but nothing ended up in this blog. The stories that pop into my mind are very emotional, sometimes very dark. Somehow, I have a difficult time writing happy endings. Two days ago I led a 10 year old girl to commit suicide in one of my stories. Before, I had written stories in which people were raped, stabbed with a knife, mugged, wished that their next-door neighbor experienced a very slow death, and so on. For me, the act of creating these dark characters is very therapeutic. While I write, I am letting go of any violent thought that is bothering me. I am in contact with my emotions and I express them. The problem, I think, is with people that keep these emotions hidden inside themselves and can’t express them. Suffocated, they end up committing violent acts in real life.
The other day, I was talking with my friend about craziness. She was pointing out that people who have a physical disease are aware of it while people who have mental disease usually deny that they are crazy. it is always the others who are insane, not ourselves. We can suffer (and it is politically correct to complain about it) of headaches, stomachaches, asthma, pancreatic disease or any other disease. But insanity? That is not something to be discussed.
Last week a bright student from Yale University was killed by someone who, apparently, worked in the same research building that she did. It was a mix of violence and craziness. Or maybe both are one and the same… Anyway, would this have happened if the killer had expressed his hate through some form of art? It is not very common to see painters, sculptors, writers or any other artists being accused of crimes. They have an outlet for their emotions.
The people who commit violent crimes are not the ones labeled “crazy” by the society like the artists who think or act in an original way, but the ones that seem in control of their emotions while hiding a turbulent soul. Art is liberating, the same way that dancing, singing, or going for a walk in the woods are also wonderful medicines for the soul. Humm… Maybe instead of being inside a room in a beautiful day like today, I should be outside, in communion with nature.
EMOÇÕES
Hoje está um dia lindo, ensolarado mas frio. Peguei um xale e estou enrolada nele enquanto escrevo. Os dias de outono estão se aproximando. Outra estação vai começar. E o ciclo de vida continuará.
Tenho escrito muito ultimamente, mas nada do que escrevi veio parar neste blog. As histórias que surgem na minha cabeça são muito emocionais, às vezes muito escuras. De alguma forma, tenho dificuldade de escrever coisas com finais felizes. Há dois dias, levei uma menina de 10 anos ao suicídio em uma das minhas histórias. Antes, tinha escrito histórias em que as pessoas apanhavam, eram esfaqueadas, assaltadas, desejavam que a vizinha tivesse uma morte bem lenta, e assim por diante. Para mim, o ato de criar esses personagens sombrios tem um efeito terapêutico. Enquanto escrevo, me livro de qualquer pensamento ruim que me incomoda. Entro em contato com minhas emoções e as expresso. O problema, acho, é com as pessoas que têm essas emoções escondidas no peito e não podem expressá-las. Sufocadas, acabam cometendo crimes violentos na vida real.
Outro dia, estava conversando com uma amiga sobre a loucura. Ela disse que as pessoas que sofrem de uma doença física têm consciência disso, enquanto as que têm alguma doença mental costumam negar que são loucas. Malucos são sempre os outros, nunca nós mesmos. Podemos sofrer (e é politicamente correto reclamar disso) de dores de cabeça, dores de estômago, asma, doenças do pâncreas ou qualquer outra. Mas loucura? Isso não é um assunto para ser discutido.
Na semana passada, uma aluna muito estudiosa da Universidade de Yale foi morta por um rapaz que, aparentemente, trabalhava com ela no mesmo laboratório de pesquisa. Um caso típico de violência e loucura. Ou talvez ambos sejam a mesma coisa ... De qualquer maneira, será que isso teria acontecido se o assassino tivesse manifestado seu ódio através de alguma forma de arte? Não é muito comum ver pintores, escultores, escritores ou qualquer outro tipo de artista acusados de crimes. Eles têm uma válvula de escape para as emoções.
As pessoas que cometem crimes violentos não são as rotuladas como "loucas" pela sociedade, como os artistas que pensam ou agem de uma forma original; mas aquelas que parecem em controle de suas emoções enquanto escondem uma alma tempestuosa. A arte é liberadora, da mesma forma que dançar, cantar, ou dar um passeio na floresta são remédios maravilhosos para a alma. Humm ... Talvez em vez de estar aqui neste quarto num dia lindo como hoje, eu devesse estar lá fora, em comunhão com a natureza.
I guess we all human beings have somekind of mental illness. And maybe enlighment or awareness means just to bring that part of ourselves to light and not act from them as did this young men in Yale university ceifing a life.
ReplyDeleteI praise you and everybody that have the courage to look at these dark parts within and find an avenue to let them out.
Your blog reminds me of The Poison Tree, a poem by William Blake. I think there is much to ponder in what Blake writes:
ReplyDeleteI was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
I believe we must all give vent to the feelings that make us insane enough to hurt or kill another living thing.