Someone I loved died yesterday, and you probably loved him too.
Robin Williams by Nicolas Guerin
He was just another tortured, beautiful soul, someone who tried to communicate. Just another shimmering genius, a man tapped into the human vein, a person who could see the stage set.
I feel for him. I mean, what would YOU think, how would you handle it if you really felt that every single thing around you was made up? Even time? Even walls and apples? It’s all… a silly fantasy. A pretend world. And we all pretend it together, even those of us who aren’t even close to fooled.
I’m not frightened of what we don’t know, because I think our big made-up reality is somehow the way we are pulling this off, that it’s actually a clever mechanism that is allowing us to have this experience, this kissing and this sun on our shoulders and fluffy kittens and loss and trees and oceans and fear and love and hope and sex and food and death and this learning to be kind, and cherish what is elemental. This goes beyond humans; it has to. This is consciousness. Every living thing (and every thing is living) is participating, there isn’t another sensible answer.
We are all making this together.
Those who can feel joy must dance; it is a holy obligation.
Photograph: Ken Hively/LA Times
Godspeed, Robin, thank you so much for everything.
You were… amazing.