Burn

My sister and I were talking about artists the other day, about how all artists have a little crazy in them. I said I would like to write a book someday and asked if I were crazy enough to be a real artist and my sister, without hesitation, said, “yes, Marie. You are crazy.”

I was a little taken aback by this. On the one hand I was pleased at this response, proud of my lunacy, but on the other hand I felt a little self-conscious. I do not really consider myself a crazy. How am I a crazy? What did she mean by that? I began to question her. She said, “Marie, you are always unsettled. You are always stirring the pot, even if it does not need to be stirred. You are never satisfied. You think too much. You are crazy.”

I am always stirring the pot, but in my mind, I am not stirring it unnecessarily. To me, the pot needs to be stirred, constantly.  I love this quote by Jack Kerouac:

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time. The ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles.”

Golly, Jack was a crazy, and I don’t agree with everything he did and wrote, but I couldn’t agree with him more about this. I want to be one of those people! I have always wanted to be one of the people who burn!

I think that is why I am fascinated with the 60’s and the hippie movement. I’ve always loved the music, the clothes, the hair, the beards, the free love, the craziness. To me, those people had ideals they were living for, things they were passionate enough to give their lives for, to throw themselves into completely. I was also really fascinated by the drug use and sometimes feel I could use a good hallucinogen. Even as a young girl they inspired and captivated me, though I realize my view of them is a sensationalized one. 

Walt Whitman wrote:

“To thee old cause!

Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,

Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea,

Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,

After a strange sad war, great war for thee,

(I think all war through times was really fought, and ever

   will be really fought, for thee,)

These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.”

Maybe it is just the crazy in me, but I think we all long to fight for something, to be part of some cause. We fight for the cause! The war is the cause! What will our cause be?

Yesterday I was talking to my friend about identity. As a little girl I was always in my own world, singing and dancing to myself, saying really outlandish things. My mom used to tell me I was so weird and I’d always reply, “Thanks! I take that as a compliment!” In high school, I wore my hair in zulu knots, wore tie-dyed pants, stood on top of tables, made weird voices, shopped at thrift stores (before it was cool), did everything I could to make myself stand out. I did not necessarily want people to give me a lot of attention, but I did want to be different. I didn’t want to be like everyone else.

When I went to BYU, this desire became acute. I remember finishing my first year, and that summer reading Catcher in the Rye for the first time. I felt Holden Caulfield was my kindred spirit. Yeah, he is pretty whinny, but I remember thinking I didn’t want to be like all the other phonies. I wanted to be genuine, unique, totally me. At the time, there was a huge “hipster” (this word as no meaning anymore, but that discussion is for another time) movement going on at BYU; people started wearing skinny jeans and going to local shows, becoming more liberal politically, listening to underground music, watching indie films. There was a group of students who I imagine felt a lot like me; they didn’t want to be a bunch of phonies either, so they started getting into things no one else knew about as a way to stand out. And now I look at everyone and they all wear skinny jeans and everyone is listening to the next big underground band and everyone says they are into indie films. No one is original. I am currently reading a book called Immortality by Milan Kundera, and in it he says this:

“In our world, where there are more and more faces, more and more alike, it is difficult for an individual to reinforce the originality of the self and to become convinced of its inimitable uniqueness. There are two methods for cultivating the uniqueness of the self: the method of addition and the method of subtraction…Here is the strange paradox to which all people cultivating the self by way of the addition method are subject: they use addition in order to create a unique, inimitable self, yet because they automatically become propagandists for the added attributes, they are actually doing everything in their power to make as many others as possible as similar to themselves; as a result, their uniqueness (so painfully gained) quickly begins to disappear.”

I am guilty of this, and I now wonder what makes me stand apart from all the other phonies? Did I ever stand out? Maybe those “original hipsters” were all a bunch of phonies too! They probably were! So doesn’t that make me a phony?

To myself I say: No! Because I still sing and dance to myself! I still say weird things! Last time I was home for Thanksgiving, I went to the grocery store with my mom and was dancing down the aisles and she said, “You’re so weird, Marie. I forgot that you did this. I forgot I can’t take you out in public with me. You haven’t grown out of this?” And I replied, “Nope! Never! Thanks, Mom! I take that as a compliment!” I will be an old woman and still dancing down the grocery store aisles! This innate characteristic, this dancing and singing without qualm, keeps me from being a phony because I do it unconsciously. I don’t think about it. I just do it. It is me. Maybe we all have these quirks about us that we do unknowingly which keep us original. Maybe we aren’t all phonies afterall!

Though I value individualism, I also love when people become one. (What a contradiction!) A couple months ago I was in a coffee shop writing and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” came on. The coffee shop was filled with people and from every corner of the place I could hear people singing along. I looked up and noticed people dancing. It was like being in a musical, and it was beautiful! How magical that this song connected us all! We all knew it, we all loved it, and everyone was happy in that moment, together! I love this contradiction: we all want to stand out from the others, all want to be unique, no one wants to be a robot, and yet we long for acceptance and familiarity. We are refreshed when we find people like us, and we love these miraculous moments when everyone connects. We are the world! We are the children!

(At this point I feel I must apologize to all of my good friends who endure my rants and philosophical stream-of-consciousness way of thinking. I am no good at small talk, and always end up having intense, long conversations [in person and through text] about religion, identity, society, culture, etc etc. My sister is right: I think too much.)

This identity crisis, this chronic identity crisis, is something I think myself crazy about. Here are some other things I think myself crazy about:

-Are we fully able to appreciate art when under the influence of religion, or does religion enhance our artistic experiences? Or both? If we look at a painted Nude, are we focused on the beauty of the painting and artistry of the human body, or are we focused on the fact that the person is naked, (which obviously equates sex), so we feel like we are committing a sin looking at it and finding pleasure in the beauty of it? If all we can think about is how nakedness is bad (which we learn from Adam and Eve), then can we really appreciate the beauty of the art and the human form (which is God’s art)?

-Do you think that because we have so much music/film/art/literature to consume, and we spend so much time consuming it, we miss out on the opportunity to create? We spend more time consuming than creating, when it should be the other way around?

-Is it better for you to go through life ignorant yet totally “pure,” or is it better to learn about and experience things, perhaps not staying as “pure,” but learning and gaining power from knowledge? Are we afraid of and unwilling to try new things or meet people different from us because they are unfamiliar and we have always been told they are bad? Why are people so uptight? I remember watching a rated R movie for the first time, not knowing what it was going to be like, a little afraid of what I was going to see, but then that film ended up being one of the most beautiful, profound, and uplifting films I had ever seen and I thought: “what else am I missing out on because I have been told it is bad?” I marched in the gay pride parade and I felt a spirit of love I hadn’t felt in a very long time. As the Mormon group making our love for the LGBT community known, people cheered, gave hugs and high fives. They were celebrating love! Khalil Gibran said, “When you love you should not say ‘God is in my heart,’ but rather, ‘I am in the heart of God.’” As I marched, I felt I was in the heart of God and the people who cheered and hugged me were in the heart of God as well. So what of that? Why are people leery of that?

-There are people who leave who I know I will see again, and so it’s not so hard when they move away, but then there are people who leave who I know I will never see again and it is really hard and sad when they move away. There are people I meet who I know, if given the opportunity, I could be the best of friends with, but the opportunity is not there, and it is frustrating. Missed opportunities of love and friendship are the worst missed opportunities, the ones that bring the most regret.

- I have never been baby hungry, but I do realize how I am missing out on the opportunity to love someone so unconditionally I would sacrifice myself totally for them. I want to experience that kind of love and selflessness. I am not so much baby hungry as I am experience hungry. I feel I am missing out on a great capacity to love and lose myself.

-What is truth? How many different forms of truth are there? Who is right? Are we all right? Is all truth?

-What does it mean to have an old soul? I've always longed to be told I have one because in my mind it equates wisdom and maturity. The older I get, however, the more I would rather be considered young at heart, and I feel being young at heart indicates wisdom as well. Think about children. They play and laugh and love. They are trusting and non-judgmental. They say exactly what is on their minds. I think there is something to be said for acting like a kid, and I have the most fun when I am acting like a kid! Here’s what I think: old people and young people have it figured out. When you are a child, you are too young to realize social do’s and don’ts and when you’re old you don’t care anymore. It’s us middle-aged folks that have it all wrong. We look at those age groups almost condescendingly when really we should probably be like them. They’ve got it figured out! They don’t let any expectations or cultural norms keep them from being themselves! So maybe to have an old soul means that one is young at heart?

-There are so many wars I could fight for, so many causes. Which one do I choose? What do I focus on?  How do I save this world? How do I spread my love to everyone?

-Why am I such a narcissist? Why am I always so indecisive? WHY CAN’T I JUST LET MYSELF BE?

-But what about this? And what about that? And what about this? And isn’t that interesting? And look at that person there! Did you hear what they said? Isn’t that so interesting? How do I feel about that? And what about that? But what about this?

This, my friends, is why I have a hard time sleeping at night; this is why when I get in social situations I sit by myself quietly a lot of the time; this is why I am always stirring the pot; this is why I should probably seek counseling; this is why I say really weird things sometimes because I don’t know how to make small talk; this is why I prefer dance parties to any other kind of party because I can unabashedly let my body do the talking without making anyone feel uncomfortable with my intense conversations; this is why I get worried when people do come up and talk to me; this is why I am a crazy:

 I want to know and understand things! I want to feel and experience and love and sacrifice! I don’t want to waste my life! I am mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved! I burn, burn, burn, burn!