Eileen Maksym's Blog, page 14

Santa Muerte

I have a master’s degree in theology, and one of the things that has always intrigued me is what happens when there is a meeting and melding of cultures, particularly with respect to their religious beliefs.  One of the most interesting I think is the varieties of faith that have grown up around Central and South America as a result of the mixture of Catholicism and the belief of the native peoples.  Santa Muerte is a striking example of the product of this melding.  She is thought to be the combination of the Virgin Mary and the goddess Mictecacihuatl.  She certainly appears to be sinister; however, Latin American cultures typically have a very different relationship with death than we do here in the States.  To us death is an enemy.  To them, it is often an old friend, or a favorite uncle.  The devoted pray to Santa Muerte for healing, for a good death, for a speedy journey to the afterlife.

What fascinates me is how this take on religion, on what the divine is and how it relates to us, illuminates aspects of faith, of God, that we might not have otherwise considered.  Catholics who pray the Hail Mary ask for her to be with them at the hour of their death.  Considering this devotion to Santa Muerte gives a certain depth to that prayer, a deeper understanding of what those words mean, why her presence at the hour of death is something that we desire.

[If you would like to see more photographs an learn more about Santa Muerte, this article is a good place to start.]

Subtly Strange

This painting by Matt R. Martin is unsettling at first glance, but it takes a moment to realize why.  This is the sort of understated horror that I’m particularly fond of, the subtlety that Stanley Kubrick was particularly skilled at.  In The Shining, for instance, the overt horror of the end comes as a culmination of smaller, quieter, yet no less sinister oddities, from a television that’s on even though it isn’t plugged in to an impossible hotel layout.  We are unsettled, made to feel not-safe, because the natural, reasonable order has been upset, perverted, and we feel that, even before we count the fingers.

[If you’d like to see more of Matt R. Martin’s work, this article (Warning: nudity) has some good ones.]

The fading art of death

I love cemeteries, in part because monumental art is often strikingly beautiful.  It’s a shame that so many cemeteries nowadays only allow flat, flush to the ground markers.  It’s part of our larger cultural issues with death.  Time was funerals were held in the home, and families would picnic in cemeteries on Sundays.  Now we push death away, hold it at arm’s length, keep it sterile.  Funeral homes take much of the burden off grieving families.  And a flat marker is simple, easy for the groundskeepers to just mow right over.  But what do we lose in order to gain convenience?

Something happened on the day he died

I first saw this video several weeks before the album was released, before David Bowie died.  From the moment I heard the song and saw the video, I was entranced.  The ghostly repetition, the frantic saxophone, the quakers and the jeweled skull, it’s an intriguing world with intriguing symbolism.

I was shocked when David Bowie died, because I had just seen this video.  What terrible thing could have happened just when his new album came out?  Then I found out that he had cancer, and I was again shocked, but also awed.  The world in this video was David Bowie’s world, and the symbolism was death…but also an immortality that comes when those who love your work carry it forward.  David Bowie turned his death into a work of art, and the world takes up the jeweled skull he has laid at its feet and carries it forward.

We were all little once…

I’ve often wondered what it would be like if everyone wore a picture of themselves as a baby around their neck for everyone to see.  A banker, a teacher, a police officer, a homeless person…all of us were once very small, innocent and helpless.  Would being reminded of that constantly help us remember that we are all human? Does seeing the spider embryo above make you feel differently about spiders?

Full of Flowers

One image that often creeps into my writing is that of a person filled with flowers.  I think it’s a metaphor for the soul, something achingly beautiful, exquisitely delicate, and deeply mysterious. Artist Marcelo Monreal has created a series of celebrities that have been cracked open to reveal the flowers beneath.  You can click the image above for an article about his work at Beautiful/Decay.

Still in the fray!

A passage from today’s NaNo:

He wanted Kathy to look hurt, or guilty, or something that would validate his anger. But instead she just looked goddamn compassionate.

Writing to the rhythm

I’m one of those people who listens to music as they write.  For me, I find that it engages the part of my brain that’s constantly twiddling its thumbs, restless and wanting to drag the rest of me away from whatever I’m concentrating on.  With music, that part of my brain is mollified and the rest of it can get work done.  I find it particularly useful if I listen to the same song on repeat.  That way it is all the easier to detach my conscious mind from the familiar tune and rhythm and words.  So far this month my songs on repeat have included Sufjan Steven’s “The Only Thing,” The National’s “I Need My Girl,” and Nina Simone’s “Sinnerman.”  Right now, the song playing on repeat is Shawn Mendes with “Stitches”:

I love this song.  And I dance around while I’m writing.  It gets me funny looks at Starbucks, but it makes me happy.

Here’s a passage from today’s Nano:

In Tom’s estimation, God had a lot to answer for. So the idea of faith in God was sort of contradictory: either he had no faith in god and everything that had happened to him was totally random, answerable by nobody, or he had faith, and that God he had faith in had either made this happen, or allowed it to happen. Either way, it was a lose-lose proposition.

Word by word

As anybody who’s even considered doing Nanowrimo can tell you, 50,000 is pretty daunting.  Like so many things in life, however, it helps to just concentrate on small chunks.  One word at a time, one sentence at a time, one paragraph at a time, etc.  Right now I’m keeping up by rewarding myself with a Starburst every 100 or so words.  It’s like they say: the way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.  My elephant just happens to be made out of candy.

Here’s a passage from today:

It was hard enough for Tom to admit that he had done these things, committed these terrible wrongs. To ask him to think more deeply…it was like telling someone that was being eaten by a shark to save themselves by diving right into the monster’s gullet.

Expect the unexpected

One of the best things about writing is when the story takes a totally unexpected turn.  One of the most terrifying things about writing is when the story takes a totally unexpected turn.  The story I’m writing right now is not the story I intended to write.  Maybe that will be great!  Maybe that will be horrible!  No way to know without pushing through.

As I push through, have a passage from today’s work:

Again Tom was silent, although this time because he was working his jaw, trying to come up with an answer that was both truthful and put him in a favorable light. He was fast discovering that those two things were, in this instance, mutually exclusive.