Posted by: scintillatingspeck | November 19, 2012

Mad people.

Mad people = People who stand alone and burn.
I’m attracted to them because they give me permission to do the same.

– Susan Sontag

Lone, burning, mad people.  I am in love with them.  I recognize them instantly, the sparking gaze, the fierce words and art, the undercurrent of weariness, the inner impetus to thrust forward like a torch against the night.  How beautiful they are, how lonely, how tormented.  Their clarion proclamations reach my ears like an invitation to drop whatever I’m doing, cast off the flotsam of everyday life, assemble the pyre, strike a match.

All pride, all pretensions are consumed by that fire.  There’s no room for doing things ‘right.’  There’s no opportunity to hide.

I realized that I said something a few days ago that sounded kind of nuts, out of context.  I saw a friend at an event and she said, “Oh!  You dyed your hair.”  I replied, “Yes.  I had to do it.  My head is on fire.”  She looked at me strangely.  I muttered something about how I wrote about it on my blog, so maybe she could read more to know what I meant.  It only occurred to me a while later that I must appear to be a lunatic.  I am one of the mad people, standing alone and burning.

Standing in my column of flame, I look across the hills and witness the most heartening sight: across miles and years, forward and backward, above and below, there are others, burning the truth into the sky, shouting and singing, punctuating the darkness with their scintillations.  Each is alone, and yet connected by a line of sight to every other distant blaze.  My eyes discern the pattern.  We are specks of radiance arrayed in Indra’s net.

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Responses

  1. […] out in all directions, reaching blindly for hands that were not guaranteed to be there.  I had to allow myself to be a madwoman.  I had to disassemble my concept of Self, of Identity, and start realizing that there is no […]


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