DRESS UP, SHOW UP AND BE PROUD

Twenty years ago, I was at a party, talking to a guy whose name I have long since forgotten, or maybe never even knew. Sometimes I think this man came into my life for the sole purpose of telling me this story, which has delighted and inspired me ever since.

The story this guy told me was about his younger brother, who was trying to be an artist. The guy was deeply admiring of his brother’s efforts, and he told me an illustrative anecdote about how brave and creative and trusting his little brother was. For the purposes of this story, which I shall now recount here, let’s call the little brother “Little Brother.”

Little Brother, an aspiring painter, saved up all his money and went to France, to surround himself with beauty and inspiration. He lived on the cheap, painted every day, visited museums, traveled to picturesque locations, bravely spoke to everyone he met, and showed his work to anyone who would look at it. One afternoon, Little Brother struck up a conversation in a café with a group of charming young people, who turned out to be some species of fancy aristocrats. The charming young aristocrats took a liking to Little Brother and invited him to a party that weekend in a castle in the Loire Valley. They promised Little Brother that this was going to be the most fabulous party of the year. It would be attended by the rich, by the famous, and by several crowned heads of Europe. Best of all, it was to be a masquerade ball, where nobody skimped on the costumes. It was not to be missed. Dress up, they said, and join us!

Excited, Little Brother worked all week on a costume that he was certain would be a showstopper. He scoured Paris for materials and held back neither on the details nor the audacity of his creation. Then he rented a car and drove to the castle, three hours from Paris. He changed into his costume in the car and ascended the castle steps. He gave his name to the butler, who found him on the guest list and politely welcomed him in. Little Brother entered the ballroom, head held high.

Upon which he immediately realized his mistake.

This was indeed a costume party—his new friends had not misled him there—but he had missed one detail in translation: This was a themed costume party. The theme was “a medieval court.”

And Little Brother was dressed as a lobster.

All around him, the wealthiest and most beautiful people of Europe were attired in gilded finery and elaborate period gowns, draped in heirloom jewels, sparkling with elegance as they waltzed to a fine orchestra. Little Brother, on the other hand, was wearing a red leotard, red tights, red ballet slippers, and giant red foam claws. Also, his face was painted red. This is the part of the story where I must tell you that Little Brother was over six feet tall and quite skinny—but with the long waving antennae on his head, he appeared even taller. He was also, of course, the only American in the room.

He stood at the top of the steps for one long, ghastly moment. He almost ran away in shame. Running away in shame seemed like the most dignified response to the situation.

But he didn’t run. Somehow, he found his resolve. He’d come this far, after all. He’d worked tremendously hard to make this costume, and he was proud of it. He took a deep breath and walked onto the dance floor.

He reported later that it was only his experience as an aspiring artist that gave him the courage and the license to be so vulnerable and absurd. Something in life had already taught him to just put it out there, whatever “it” is. That costume was what he had made, after all, so that’s what he was bringing to the party. It was the best he had. It was all he had. So he decided to trust in himself, to trust in his costume, to trust in the circumstances.

As he moved into the crowd of aristocrats, a silence fell. The dancing stopped. The orchestra stuttered to a stop. The other guests gathered around Little Brother. Finally, someone asked him what on earth he was.

Little Brother bowed deeply and announced, “I am the court lobster.”

Then: laughter.

Not ridicule—just joy. They loved him. They loved his sweetness, his weirdness, his giant red claws, his skinny ass in his bright spandex tights. He was the trickster among them, and so he made the party. Little Brother even ended up dancing that night with the Queen of Belgium.

This is how you must do it, people.

I have never created anything in my life that did not make me feel, at some point or another, like I was the guy who just walked into a fancy ball wearing a homemade lobster costume. But you must stubbornly walk into that room, regardless, and you must hold your head high. You made it; you get to put it out there. Never apologize for it, never explain it away, never be ashamed of it. You did your best with what you knew, and you worked with what you had, in the time that you were given. You were invited, and you showed up, and you simply cannot do more than that.

They might throw you out—but then again, they might not

(The story is an extract from the book Big Magic, Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert, River Head Books, New York, 2015)

POWER OF ONE: IN THE NAME OF JUSTICE, STOP!

Watching humans engaging in violent, cruel and bloody acts and even butchering each other was a sight of entertainments a few centuries ago. Violent actions were normal in human life. Arenas and amphitheaters such as the Coliseum in the Roman Empire were built to make such violence available to the large blood thirsty crowds that always showed up. Actually it was considered a type of a sport –Yes, humans killing each other was a sport!

This continued until about the year 390 A.D when a Monk named Telemachus visited the Roman Empire. As Telemachus was walking in the streets of Rome he followed a crowd that led him to one of the Arenas where there was a gladiatorial contest.

The Arena was full to capacity the spectators were eager to quench their thirst for violence. Some had placed their bets on which gladiator would win and ready to go home with a jackpot home. The gladiators at the center of the Arena were welding crude weapons ready to slaughter each other to death. The bell to start the slaughter went off. No sooner had the gladiators launched violence against each other than Telemachus squeezed himself through the crowd, into the arena and stood between the two gladiators and shouted,

“In the name of God, stop! In the name of God Stop! In the name of God, Stop!”

A few seconds of silence passed as people came to terms to what the old man was trying to do. Finally, the interruption on the awaited violence was unbearable, the crowd wanted to see violence! The crowed became angry and begun throwing stones to the monk. Stones came from all sides of the arena like heat seeking missiles, Telemachus could not escape and he finally fell down with a thud as he breathed his last breath. He died.

Years later, Emperor Honorius was informed of this act and was moved by the action of Telemachus. The Emperor banned this impious spectacle and it ceased to exist and humanity was saved from the love of violence and life obtained an added premium on its value. Up to date, maybe due to what happened on that day, in that Arena, almost all constitutions all over the world, International Conventions and treaties, statutes and almost all legal documents have safeguarded the right to life and depriving someone life is considered a grievous offence with hefty penalty.

In our lives today we have many things that are considered normal and maybe entertaining. Things like poverty manifesting itself in form of  beggars and street families on the streets, Sick people lying on the streets trying to appeal to the mercy of the public to help them pay their medical bills, corruption, injustice,people dying of hunger and many others are maybe normal in our daily life. We may join the public on the comfort of the benches around the arena and complain about their nuisance, maybe cheer the authority for punishing them. Or maybe we may squeeze ourselves out of the crowd and stand in the middle of the arena and shout. Maybe, in the midst of;

 Poverty we shout; In the name of Justice, stop!

Corruption: In the name of truth and integrity, stop!

Selfishness and individualism: in the name of service, stop!

Cowardice and fear: in the name of courage, stop!

War: in the name of peace, stop!

When you have shouted these words, maybe people will agree with you and cheer you up or they may join in to make your voice even loudest. Your action may inspire a paradigm shift in the mental set up of society and society will never be the same again due to your actions. Maybe history will remember you like Telemachus who became saint, St. Telemachus. Or maybe your actions will go unrecognized but for sure you will have made a curve on the human progress linage; A curve that will set humans free from the chains of violence, greed, war, injustice.

Also, when you have shouted these words, your actions may cause an interruption, it may be considered against the grain and people may see you as a nuisance and you maybe stoned to death. When your dead life will move on as usual and your action will be forgotten for ever and ever. Or maybe someone may whisper it to someone and it will inspire a change at some point many years after you have gone.

As Abraham Lincoln said that we should “do our duty as we understand it.”  Everyone should take a stand on what his conscience says is right. And when everyone has done his share of duty the right duty will always prevail. And since the great doors of history turn on small hinges we may be the small hinges that will open the doors of humanity to a brighter future.

You see, the day St. Telemachus stood on the arena he not only stood to preserve the lives of the two gladiators, but he stood to save the whole of humanity from love of savagery, terror and violence. The day you will stand, you may be alone but you will save humanity.

I will end with the quote of Robert F. Kennedy, when he said “… the danger of futility: the belief there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world's ills-against misery and ignorance, injustice and violence. Yet many of the world's greatest movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man. A young monk began the Protestant Reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and the thirty-two-year-old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal”

So, today what will you shout: In the name of [insert it], Stop!!