I’ve been trapped. In several ways. Not by my young dreams of glory — evaded them long ago. Not by the kids — although… if I’d think twice… but I digress. Nor by my love — although… but most of the time I don’t feel like cornered, rather liberated in my marriage. Can’t tell how it sounds, just how I feel it.
“Trapped in your garden, honey?” — No. My garden is where I feel the freest.
“Trapped by gravity?” — Well, maybe, but I’ve heard they’re working at it.
“Trapped by what, or by who, dear?” — By my characters. That’s it. Chloe has been right all that time. And I didn’t pay attention, enough, at least…
I’ve heard that men are held hostage by their sexual urges. Makes all the chemical sense in the world. Some people get trapped in substance abuse, this includes liquid and solid foods and poisons (posing as foods), regulated or not. It matters less what the social perspective is and more where your second nature calls you. What calls you masters you!
A ballerina was dying to be a swan. Eventually, she made it. Then she died.
Lewis Hamilton, greeted on the podium at the Australian Grand Prix by Arnold Schwarzenegger, exclaimed, “Man, thought you were bigger. You look bigger on teevee.” Sure, Arnie has been trapped too, by his main character. One can’t escape the Terminator, not even himself.
But you don’t have to be Arnold Schwarzenegger to make a character of yourself. You can wear a new dress today and voilà – you’re creating, and parading, a new flavor of your old character. Or you can take that dress off and make a different character. The permutations are quite limitless. Give it a try, see what catches you, anticipate the traps of characters with a cerebral approach.
Authors and actors, models and mothers, famous politicians and fellow peasants, everyone invents a character supposed to be of some use, or to make some sense. You plan less where this creation might drag you. The image of the trap is never as prominent as the benefits that you’d wish to expect.
Extrapolating, you roam the worlds of created-creators of characters. Opening up an avatar to look inside, maybe for the face of the author, only to unlock the thought that its maker (or actor) is hiding yet another sub-character away. If the creation works like a Matryoshka, why not its characters?
The illusion of the infinite seems even worse than that of time. Therefore the best calculations end up within a simple metaphor of containment.
The question about God is not who created Him. This comes to a mind trying to project its littleness over others or across the universe. If I am little, then so am I, little. Why screech and punch about others, bigger than me? Why project my petty problems on the stage of a psycho-drama which cannot vent but my nothingness?, and nothing else…
The question about God is how did He get trapped by the characters, by the story, by the creation. If an author loves her writing, if a mother loves her children, moreso their The-One-Who-Is. “I Am that I Am,” He tells Moses. But what does He do for a living? Is He an author, an inventor? What are His hobbies? Our minds can’t stop thinking, and guesstimating.
Trapped by the minds and quests of us, characters, He has returned an answer. Or was that already awaiting behind the universe?, even before we began to ask…
His announced Answer is a Guy-with-a-beard. God’s character amongst us. Because “I Am that I Am” wished for us to be, along with Him, within Him. A common wish for any author out there, or in here.
This character has to bear our human nature, or else he can’t be a character, like we are.
This Character has to bring God’s Nature, the entirety of it (not sure if the word ‘nature’ is a proper designation), amongst us, or else he can’t be The Author.
Hard for a mere character to compose the synergy of the two natures in his little mind. Not as difficult for a novelist, or author, or even blogger, who feels the tides of characters (external to her little mind). Written down on the screen (what a screen!), they smell life and seek for more of it.
And at the ninth hour, Jesus shouted in a loud voice, “Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani?” which is translated, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Mark 15:34 gets us wondering: how God can forsake Himself? Was God for a moment an atheist? Well, how could He believe that He is not? He knows what we don’t. Perhaps the usage of the term “atheist” in this context is wrong — like in few other contexts. Atheists have a god-complex. He doesn’t, because He Is.
How about this other proposition: The Author wished to, had to, was curious to, toyed with the idea of, and tried to see what’s gonna happen to Himself if The Character would be forsaken by The Author. Sort of a ‘let it go’ moment that anyone in a sane mind does once in a while.
It’s so meaningless to hack the game, to throw the pages away and write a new story, only because you can. Doing what you know you can is not intriguing. So The Author had given some latitude to The Character.
Religious people keep repeating that He did this for us, to save us and all that. Of course, this is the obvious reason. Now put your selfishness aside (you’ve been saved already, it’s cool, yes) and think what else an author would wish to do, apart from the evident.
Authors look for Adventures.
This one has begun at about 3pm, Jerusalem Time, 1984 Earth-years ago.