Paradoxically, the preservation of self is connected to the destruction of self. One builds the gallows of execution by placing a premium on living as a static, godlike icon. Living as an icon traps one in the tower of self-preservation because there is no room to breathe; no space to be a human being who sweats, tears, bruises, and bleeds. We construct such a high pedestal that the broken bones from the fall from such a steep height is inevitable. The conservation of inward energy fuels a self-absorption that does not sustain life, but intensifies feelings of isolation. The feelings of isolation grow as one builds one’s own fortress, and sends the message to those with whom one could have intimate relationships that one is self-sufficient, therefore shutting off meaningful connection that could occur. Self-preservation serves a purpose psychologically: We believe the myth that if we do not taste our own madness, perhaps we can remain aloof from death. Considerable energy is spent to keep the self intact through preservation; a holding of one’s own breath as a subconscious way to stave off death. Ironically, however, asphyxiation sets in because a lack of creative and self-giving engagement creates a void of relationship.
How does one escape this mess, especially in faith circles where it is so easy to remain isolated because of the core value of self-protection, rather than outgoing love? What allows one to step down from the double-edged tower that provides a stalwart from worldly danger? How does one get down from this tower when what is lurking below is perceived as being deadly? For any movement away from self-preservation, death must be confronted. This is terrifying for the one whose god is self-preservation because it the coming out of the “safe” tower is in and of itself an experience of death: lowering oneself to the earth, exposing one’s needs, and putting faith in someone who will be waiting to help. Yet this can feel like psychic death when one has resided in the tower for so long. How does one die to self, without killing oneself?
I believe it requires an experience of our own personal brokenness, which makes one more ready to face the reality of death. Death (physical, spiritual, and emotional) needs to be named for what it is: one side of the coin, but a side that is so easily defended against psychically through self-preservation. Beauty is not all there is, and we will not be able to appreciate what a grace it is unless we are able to fully confront death. It is true that beauty can be idolized as we see in our celebrity pop culture. Beauty needs to beckon us to discover the Author of both beauty and pain, so that neither one gets venerated over the other.
Confronting the reality that death will not be outwitted allows one to stop anxiously clinging to the beauty at the expense of honestly facing death. No matter how thin, beautiful, creatively prolific, profound, well-connected, and articulate one is, death will come. It seems this acceptance must be internalized before there can meaningful movement toward authentic goals here-and-now. Personal brokenness is a starting place: the acceptance that every moment in time is moving us towards physical death. Regardless of what we believe about sin and how much is at work in our being, no one can argue against the fact that we are all on a trajectory of physical death that much is known, even if spiritual death is denied. This fact must be reckoned with, and the questions that arise from this vulnerable place. The acceptance of death gives birth to life, and thus creativity because of the gratefulness that I am actually breathing right now and it’s happening quite all right on its own without me needing to regulate it.
Perhaps our grandiose strivings would lessen (of course they would never cease altogether) if the inevitability of death were reckoned with. We all want to be loved, admired, and seen as unique, if we are honest with ourselves. Yet the competition is fierce if personal worth is only built on the need for a cutthroat culture to validate our beauty. How many women short-circuit their own voices because they are lulled by the sirens of celebrity-status women who project an iconic way of being? The celebrity culture says that the only way that is worth being seen is if you are in a movie, a fashion model, attain standards of slimness that are 15 % below average weight, become famous by writing a book, or another notable professional achievement. The discrepancy between what is purported as the only way to be seen only sets one up for silence: “If I can’t be the most beautiful in order to appear on the cover of Vogue, or the most intelligent, or the most creative and witty, or the thinnest, I am nothing.”
When one walks within such narrow confines of success, the survival mode is activated: fight or flight, in order to save face because “I don’t quite measure up yet, so I won’t take that risk to play in that coffee shop-- I’ll just hole myself away in my basement and keep crooning out lonesome melodies, or hide away my thoughts in a tattered journal, because it does not yet measure up to perfection.” Self-preservation trumps creativity. The longer this creative impulse is thwarted, more and more effort will go into preserving one as the ideal icon—one who constructs the appearance of success through fashion or the accessories one associates with a creative field, and less energy will be available to move out in the dynamic world of creative acts which inevitably will include failure, embarrassment, forgetting of lines, tripping over oneself, getting stage fright.
It is the person who is not afraid to slip-up and laugh who will connect with an audience, and humanity at large: one who is willing to risk “death” (public mistakes/ losing face) in order to bring forth something creative. This is seen in the performer who blanks on the words of her song, but can continue strumming, share her predicament with the audience, and eventually find herself in the rhythm of the song again. In sharing the predicament, the audience usually sympathetically communicates an acceptance of the performer’s vulnerability. The key is that there is dynamic energy present, rather than a stagnant preservation of oneself as an icon who only looks the part of musician, writer, artist, actor.
The dynamic energy brings forth something that is authentic. The audience who receives the creative gifts marvels more at the creator’s ability to stay in the moment, rather than an impeccable performance. The acceptance of one’s frailty opens the way for brokenness, and the gateway for creativity because the energy is used to connect rather than preserve oneself against death. Death can be accepted, reckoned with, and life can be lived with a joyous earnestness. We need not usher it in hastily through the vanity of self-destructive preservation.
