Philip Seymour Hoffman's death was not only a shock to his world-wide fans, but to those closest to him, too. Or so the press would tell us. However, there are some who, in that middle realm, rubbing elbows at Sundance, or recently bumping into him around various theatres and parties, claim that he was giving off "the vibe". (Which vibe?)
I guess I have to wonder, if there was any sort of "vibe", why didn't someone intervene?
Clearly, the actor had a private "space" where he was caching drugs--lots of drugs--heroin among them. Clearly that "space" wasn't a shooting gallery in a seedy neighborhood, shared with other needle users and pushers. It was a well-lit den where he was supposedly "working". Away from his three kids and life-partner. Evidently, even away from his closest friends. A space where he could hole up and lose himself, chasing a dragon that bit him back. Why?
The man had money; he had family; he had the prestige of world-recognized awards; he had clout in both the film industry and the theatre communities and he had the body of work to back-up that clout. He was surrounded by good friends--friends he worked with--famous friends. He was surrounded by accolades and fans. He did good works beyond his immediate connections--works that helped other struggling actors and their communities. The man was Recognized.
And yet, there was something hidden. Something buried in the core of his being that wouldn't allow him to "feel" those accomplishments. (It isn't Real unless you can Feel, right?)
Something he did, or thought he did, (or didn't do), or should have been or was--something out of kilter around his heart...Are we born addicts? Is it past karma that leads us ever toward the dragon's lair? Is it weakness or illness or an unhealing wound?
Philip Seymour Hoffman did what another acquaintance of mine did, two days earlier. Both people caved in to their reality. Both people seem to have given up hope that anything would really change--that that "dreadful spot" in their insides would ever heal--or be filled--or go away. Neither was celebrating. Neither was engaging in anything they hadn't done a hundred times before...the difference was, this time, the Beast got them. (The Beast always wins...sooner or later...always.)
In both cases, the one a rich, famous, popular man; the other, an unknown, messed up, single woman, the deaths were sudden, shocking, unplanned, though families in both situations "knew it was coming". There are always "the vibes". (However we ignore them away; pray for their dissolve; refuse to believe what we are seeing/feeling. There are always "the vibes".)
In the news this week, the rise of heroin use in the state of Vermont.
(Why is this shocking?)
Vermont is a state long known around here for its interminable winters; dark days and high rates of depression. People become isolated quickly, especially in winter. People are praised for not talking about what is bothering them. For "sucking up" any personal problems. For not burdening anyone else with their pain. Like all New Englanders, shameful secrets lie buried just below a smiling face. A can-do attitude that doesn't depend on anyone else. A life trying to avoid criticism or softness.
There are similarities here--both in the grief and in the questions that arise. We are a society that is abandoning itself--leaving our critical thinking to machines and software developed by strangers. We are a society kidding itself that we are super-heroes and battle-masters and creators of universes that can be reconstructed in a minute's notice. Human contact is what we are waiting for--but, the unmessy kind--the kind that comes without issues and tough confrontations--contact that may only come with the development of synthetic companions that won't cost as much to befriend. This is who we seem to be turning into...
Till that time, if you can't handle the pain, confronting the shame, dealing with what is at the core, the Beast is in the shadows, lurking. Waiting.
Everywhere.
The Beast always wins.
I guess I have to wonder, if there was any sort of "vibe", why didn't someone intervene?
Clearly, the actor had a private "space" where he was caching drugs--lots of drugs--heroin among them. Clearly that "space" wasn't a shooting gallery in a seedy neighborhood, shared with other needle users and pushers. It was a well-lit den where he was supposedly "working". Away from his three kids and life-partner. Evidently, even away from his closest friends. A space where he could hole up and lose himself, chasing a dragon that bit him back. Why?
The man had money; he had family; he had the prestige of world-recognized awards; he had clout in both the film industry and the theatre communities and he had the body of work to back-up that clout. He was surrounded by good friends--friends he worked with--famous friends. He was surrounded by accolades and fans. He did good works beyond his immediate connections--works that helped other struggling actors and their communities. The man was Recognized.
And yet, there was something hidden. Something buried in the core of his being that wouldn't allow him to "feel" those accomplishments. (It isn't Real unless you can Feel, right?)
Something he did, or thought he did, (or didn't do), or should have been or was--something out of kilter around his heart...Are we born addicts? Is it past karma that leads us ever toward the dragon's lair? Is it weakness or illness or an unhealing wound?
Philip Seymour Hoffman did what another acquaintance of mine did, two days earlier. Both people caved in to their reality. Both people seem to have given up hope that anything would really change--that that "dreadful spot" in their insides would ever heal--or be filled--or go away. Neither was celebrating. Neither was engaging in anything they hadn't done a hundred times before...the difference was, this time, the Beast got them. (The Beast always wins...sooner or later...always.)
In both cases, the one a rich, famous, popular man; the other, an unknown, messed up, single woman, the deaths were sudden, shocking, unplanned, though families in both situations "knew it was coming". There are always "the vibes". (However we ignore them away; pray for their dissolve; refuse to believe what we are seeing/feeling. There are always "the vibes".)
In the news this week, the rise of heroin use in the state of Vermont.
(Why is this shocking?)
Vermont is a state long known around here for its interminable winters; dark days and high rates of depression. People become isolated quickly, especially in winter. People are praised for not talking about what is bothering them. For "sucking up" any personal problems. For not burdening anyone else with their pain. Like all New Englanders, shameful secrets lie buried just below a smiling face. A can-do attitude that doesn't depend on anyone else. A life trying to avoid criticism or softness.
There are similarities here--both in the grief and in the questions that arise. We are a society that is abandoning itself--leaving our critical thinking to machines and software developed by strangers. We are a society kidding itself that we are super-heroes and battle-masters and creators of universes that can be reconstructed in a minute's notice. Human contact is what we are waiting for--but, the unmessy kind--the kind that comes without issues and tough confrontations--contact that may only come with the development of synthetic companions that won't cost as much to befriend. This is who we seem to be turning into...
Till that time, if you can't handle the pain, confronting the shame, dealing with what is at the core, the Beast is in the shadows, lurking. Waiting.
Everywhere.
The Beast always wins.
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