Sunday Shares - Week 16

Make-Believing

“When artists give form to revelation, their art can advance, deepen
and potentially transform the consciousness of their community.” ~ Alex Grey

Words that Nudged History

Anton Wildgans was born this week on April 17th in 1881 in Vienna, Austria. A naturalist, symbolist and an expressionist in turns, his poetry and his plays were influenced by August Strindberg, among others¹. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize four times. After his death, Austria’s most prestigious literary award was named after him. The Anton Wildgans Prize is given out annually to the writer whose work clearly demonstrates the influence that literature and society have on one another.²

Part of our collective story is how to meaningfully hold grief and hope, acknowledging what cannot be changed and still envisioning all that can.

CARRIE NEWCOMER

Dear Reader,

I’m sitting in my little library, listening to the house sparrows outside. Every once in a while, there’s the rusty see-saw call of a great tit. My diffuser is gurgling softly, sending the smell of rosemary into the air. It’s supposed to be good for memory. A lot of things are supposed to be good for things.

But this room still has an atmosphere of last summer’s chemotherapy. A hot-metal headache begins in my memory and moves to my sinuses. I open the file to the script that needs cutting. I need to excise a full hour of text.

But as I try to step back into that world, an edge of panic makes itself felt beneath my ribcage.

I get up and pour another cup of tea. But slowing down just puts a focus on the individual fears bubbling up.

I read once that putting a wooden spoon over the top of a pot will keep the contents from boiling over. I really liked the idea: the magic of a wooden spoon. But it has never worked for me.

Still, I’m craving oatmeal now. A ripe banana and a teaspoon of honey. I can feel the resistance of the oatmeal against the wooden spoon. The soft give of the banana under the slim dinner knife. But I’ve had breakfast already.

So, instead, I take a deep breath. I close my eyes and hold my hands up in front of my chest to “feel the qi”. Years ago my son, the prepubescent, burgeoning sceptic, told me it was just muscle memory giving me the illusion of substance.

He convinced me for a while. But, now, I know it doesn’t really matter. I feel substance; and I feel the tension dissipating from my jaw when I focus on it.

We weave templates for understanding from, and over, our physical reality all the time. Little acts of faith. Small bits of creation.

Ritual is too rote a word.

Why do we encourage children to pretend, but then too often fail to understand the sustaining nature of “making believing” as adults? How, through make-believe, we can come to an understanding, and move on.

Qi, in a make-believe chain reaction, fills the room and spills beyond the window. It tickles the sparrows, who begin to sing again—for me.

Literature

Make Believe

by Jacob Shores-Argüello

As children, my cousin and I once
dug into the side of our mountain,

a terrible brown work.
That morning we’d made the cold walk

to the hospital and watched
his mother for a long time.

She was unchained from her machines,
shrinking into ordinary.

It was our first death,
and we looked at our small hands.

But no, my cousin insisted,
these are not our hands,

they are bear hands.
And we walked to our mountain,

shaped our cave:
one meter, two meters, three.

We bears were making a home.
We roared, and shook off our human bones,

until angels howled like dogs
in the valley below.

(Listen.)

Our reluctance to consciously practice make-believe is especially puzzling when, all too often, we hold on to imaginary concepts of what was or would have been, at the cost of accepting the now.

It’s a fine balance. You might say: an art.

Short Film

Run. Lucas Worcester

I think one of the things I loved the most about Alice in Wonderland (and still do) is the absurdities. The adult concept of time and the white rabbit running late. Yes, a child seeing the adult as absurd, but that rabbit is also a projection of our adult fears. Still absurd, yes, but no less oppressive than other fears. Like a nightmare that is both hilarious and terrifying. There is a disconnect between our school bench knowledge and our still-sweating body—both untethered from the narratives we tell ourselves, about ourselves.

Visual Art

[Patty] Carroll’s Anonymous Woman is often swallowed by her surroundings, simultaneously clumsy and completely overwhelmed. “I grew up in a place where one’s drapes matched the sofa or bedspreads, and life was supposed to be ideal with 2.5 perfect children, a beautiful mother, and a rich father,” Carroll says. “Of course, none of this was true, but it was the myth of the perfect life. I have continued to satirize this illusion with humor, color, and beauty in my pictures.”

Colossal Magazine. [Click over to see more photos.]

Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying,’ she said: ‘one can’t believe impossible things.’

‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.‘

Lewis Carroll. Alice Through the Looking Glass. 1871 (1872)

As always, I hope these sparked some ideas, and I welcome your thoughts.

Have a great week!

A word about paid subscriptions. This week, I mentioned to another poet on substack that I’m on a purchasing freeze until I’m out of debt (incurred due to complementary treatments during chemo that weren’t covered by universal health insurance). I’m not claiming poverty, but I do stick to a monthly allowance that covers coffee with friends.

This poet I exchanged emails with was incredibly kind, and offered to comp me a while, so I could take part in the benefits they offer paid subscribers.

But I wondered if it might be a better idea to pledge here that every subscription I get I will use to invest in another literary substack I choose. Up to 100 subscriptions, or until I am out of debt. (I’m hoping neither of those goals are a pipe dream.)

You would essentially be giving three gifts in one. I get confirmation that my writing is valued. I get access to read great, inspiring work. And another writer gets money to support their work.

I hope you’ll think about it.

Spread the love. ❤️

1. https://snl.no/Anton_Wildgans

2. https://snl.no/Anton_Wildgans-prisen