Can a story teller, no matter how skilled or experienced, by imagination alone create the suffering needed to give birth to works of art strong enough to bleed the aching hearts of people - and to heal them in an act of visual contrition?
Or, if he can, isn't he but living out the comedy and tragedy in his head? Must not the feelings be real in order to convince? For, without real emotion, would it not seem like a news cast, rather than a story?
Living the tales in one's head is a beautiful gift. But is it not a mere second generation creation process? Would stories not be stronger if lived truthfully?
So does a teller of tragedies need to live in misery to create adaequate tales of catharsis? Is the emotion he pours into each word, each letter, a mere compression of his real life tragedies into a mold? A way to deal with it? An opening, a crack, through which the ghosts of the past can escape the convenient black boxes we all carry in our minds?
And if so, does that mean one needs to create real life misery to be a good story teller?
The tree that none may ever know, what root beneath it runs?The nether world lies before me. I have passed the Gates that none can cross and stay the same. I come for the very boon of life. I strive for self-achieved submission. And with that boon, should I return, I hope to heal my heart - and the hearts of the world around me.