Tag: stream of consciousness

What Does It Mean to Make a Difference in the World?

November 6th, 2021

I agonize over this as anyone with existential anxiety does, but especially so as a creator. What does it mean to make a difference in the world? Why are so many of us determined to leave our marks? Who are the people who have reconciled with the marks they will make versus won’t/once wished to?

For me, I always wanted to be a part of something greater. I had dreams of becoming a full-time writer and theatre artist while at the same time dreaming I could use those disciplines to “make a difference.” Now, I question what that thought of “make a difference” actually means.

Art is world-changing, if we sit still long enough and listen to it. Art–in all its forms–can bring people together, encourage communication and healing, and bring light to dire situations and causes. Those of us who do art maybe do not realize how much of an impact it can have, even if we don’t see our art as being “peace-building” or “world-changing” or “activism.” Sometimes, the art speaks for itself, and it speaks to every consumer differently than it may even speak to the artist. Whether you mean it to or not, your art says something; it is as inherent as what appears in your subconscious as you dream.

Some strive to make the biggest differences they can, and I commend them for that. In some ways, as they strive for it–as I once wanted to strive for it–I also wondered if maybe it was too cutthroat. Yes, even in an environment where everyone wants to do as much good as possible, you still must fight tooth and nail for recognition, for status, for what will define you as the go-to person for that specific cause or specific art medium or whatever. In reality, creation should never be cutthroat.

Growing up, I felt as though I must always be doing more, for nothing is ever enough, and nothing I do is ever enough. While this can be true, however, this is also some toxic thinking. What if, instead, I had sat with my thoughts and feelings and artistic process more? What if I had acknowledged that my process was ever-evolving, never perfect, always reaching new heights and sights? What if my desire to help change the world could be rooted in something as simple as writing stories that are seemingly fantasy worlds, creating theatre to bring myself closer to others, to pursue endlessly even if I end up failing? What if I acknowledged that while I may never do enough, I must still keep going and trying and learning and unlearning and being? What if everything did indeed have a purpose and–even if it didn’t–why does it matter if it doesn’t?

There is intention and then there is force. By forcing myself to do things that I’m not meant to do, was I hindering myself from my artistic process? Forcing myself to “leave a mark” and “be worthy” rather than sitting with myself, worthy as I already am, for I was born into this world?

We all bring something into this world. Some of us cultivate that something, and others don’t. Some of us are content to consume that something and share it and love it rather than create it. Some of us use that something to bring about more change. I think all can be valid. What do you think?
A Reflection on a Sentence from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

October 19th, 2016

*This was originally a small assignment for my Writers’ Seminar in Fiction, and I couldn’t help but share it because I am so in love with this sentence.

**

“Loveliness and stillness clasped hands in the bedroom, and among the shrouded jugs and sheeted chairs even the prying of the wind, and the soft nose of the clammy sea airs, rubbing, snuffling, iterating, and reiterating their questions—“Will you fade? Will you perish?”—scarcely disturbed the peace, the indifference, the air of pure integrity, as if the question they asked scarcely needed that they should answer: we remain” (Woolf 129).

Of the many beautiful sentences throughout Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, this one struck me particularly. In my future attempts at stream-of-consciousness—or, hell, in just writing in general—I hope to sound this poetic, this poignant, this urgent, and this strong with my writing. What makes this sentence great is its use of personification of both abstract ideas and real things: “Loveliness and stillness clasped hands in the bedroom” and “the soft nose of the clammy sea airs” give me the ability to both imagine and even relive these pictures, even though these are not human. By personifying these concepts—love and stillness—and the sea air, Woolf makes this accessible to us as human beings. They appear as characters to us in the novel rather than mere description (though they do describe so much as well). I think another thing that draws me in is the rhythm of it. The rhythm is established through the repetition of similar structures: “rubbing, snuffling, iterating, and reiterating” as participles; followed by two questions; followed by ideals such as “the peace, the indifference, the air of pure integrity.” This gives the sentence a beat. It begins slow and ends slow, but in the middle it picks up and that drives it to its finish. As a writer, I want to work harder on constructing more rhythmic sentences that help drive both the idea and the physical sentence to its end. Lastly, Woolf consistently brings up philosophical questions in her work, and this sentences is no exception. She asks, “Will you fade? Will you perish?” as if she speaks to us directly. What makes the conclusion of this sentence so satisfying is that we get an answer: “we remain.” This sentence is one of my favorites in the entirety of the novel because we, as readers, get a pay-off at the end of the sentence that is built to by the sentence’s rhythmic structure and the use of personification. It is absolutely beautiful because though the sentence ends, it does not die. It keeps going.
Deterioration of the Mind to the Animal in You (Me)

August 1st, 2015

It’s climbing over mountains, passing through them, weaving, rooted structures very much a part of the solid ground you walk on, you live on, you breathe on. You are running, pumping your legs, it doesn’t have to be in a rhythm, it just matters that you run. Run, continuously, over and over again, as fast as you can, as long as you can, no limit is better than another. Make sure to breathe as you run, explore. It’s not a leisurely job: this is the run and journey of your life, of you, of all you’re made up of. Whatever created you, and whatever you created in yourself, are equally and deliberately of significance.

—

This is a jam, but unlike the ones you experience in nightclubs. This is a dark jam, and you’re not sure where it’s heading, where you’re going, what is happening as it intermixes with your pure being, as it integrates with your soul. There cannot just be good and there cannot just be evil: both must thrive, playing off of the other, a constant yet not always violent battle inside of you. They know you better than you know yourself or can even guess. They wake you up to the coldness of life and the warmth of being.

—

Crazed, juggling, motions. Excites me and makes me sick to my stomach all at once. Reminds me of who I am inside, my primal animal, where I can release and let go and bring all of the different voices and identities around me into one. We are one, wretched, beautiful, hungry. Always reaching. Always wanting more. The bad and the good. The primitive and the elegant, which are actually one and the same. I scream as the beat thrums in my heart and accelerates. Too much, too much and yet not enough. Chaos, order, I need it all. Sex, drugs, sobriety, I need it all. All, all, ALL.

Copyright © Alyssa Cokinis 2015. All rights reserved.

This resulted from a prompt about Arthur Rimbaud and his idea of a derangement of the senses, resulting from his synesthesia. We had to see music and write in a stream-of-consciousness style. What I saw wasn’t exactly colors but more flashing images in my head. These flashing images were more like ideas or themes in my mind.

Tag: stream of consciousness

What Does It Mean to Make a Difference in the World?

A Reflection on a Sentence from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Deterioration of the Mind to the Animal in You (Me)