A Bright Ray of Darkness

by Ethan Hawke

He gave me a big bear hug. I know he meant it to be nice, but it felt embarrassing, like pity. I was so hungover and dizzy I could’ve cried in his arms or punched him in the face.

I learned quickly of the power, the absolute nuclear power, of the deceit attached to any kind of storytelling.

I go to war for art. The world can think what it wants. They can pronounce you a failure. They can sew a scarlet letter on your chest and call you a cad and a charlatan. Meek voices may murmur derisive whispers behind your back at every turn. They can hate you and blab about it on talk radio with the entire nation listening. And yet, they can all be dead fucking wrong.

The darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light.

“And, remember, when I say ‘faith’—it is not faith that God exists … Faith is simply a way of being completely open to the possible presence of love.”

“Dad, I’m really worried about something.” He was seated in my lap, still with his Star Wars pajamas under his overcoat and boots. “Yeah, bud, what is it?” “I think I have a drinking problem,” he said. “Really?” I asked. “Yeah, I’ve been trying and trying but I just can’t stop. I drink in the mornings, in the afternoons. I have way more than two drinks a day.” “What are you drinking?” I asked. “You know, everything.” “Everything?” “Orange juice, mostly.” “There’s nothing wrong with that,” I said. “There isn’t?” “No.” “On TV, they said if you have more than two drinks a day, you have a problem. And I have way more than that, Dad, I really do.” “They’re talking about alcohol.” I laughed. “Oh,” he said, pausing for a moment. “What’s that?” “Like beer and wine, stuff like that. Champagne. You can have as much juice and water as you want.” He hugged me. I hugged him back. His sister leaned over next to us wondering what was wrong. We just smiled and hugged her, too. I wished all my problems could be like that, some giant misunderstanding.