I'm sure you remember the early days of Facebook, yes? Those halycon days, some two years past, before "unfriending" became common and before our parents were familiar with social media? Do you remember all those quizzes? I loved the "Which ______ Character Are You?" quizzes. Thanks to Facebook, I learned that I shared much in common with Darth Vader, Dylan Thomas, and Dr. Frank-n-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
I remember one for Harry Potter characters, and I've found that this makes interesting conversation with others. I was working in Morgantown this summer and having lunch with a group of friends. The last movie had just been released and conversation drifted to that all-important question: which Harry Potter character are you?
There was unanimous agreement about me and interestingly, it was the same character Facebook told me I was: Sirius Black. Sirius, for those of you who have been living under a rock since the mid-nineties, was Harry Potter's godfather. He was wrongfully accused of murder and sentenced to Azkaban prison, where he escaped after 12 years to join Harry in the fight against Voldemort. He was killed in a battle with the Death Eaters by his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.
So how, you may ask, do I resemble this wizarding hero?
I would like to be able to tell you that it has something to do with the dark good looks of Gary Oldman in the movie portrayals. Alas, that is not the case.
The thing about Sirius is that he's not easy to understand. None of the HP characters are, really. He has two sides. Actually, this is almost literally true. You see, Sirius is an animagus, a shape-shifter who takes the form of an animal. In this instance, Sirius can change into a large, black dog. What are the chances?! "Sirius Black" means "black dog" and he is a black dog. He became an animagus so that he could accompany his friend, Remus Lupin, when the latter became a werewolf during the full moon. (And again - how fortuitous: "Remus" being one of the co-founders of Rome, who was suckled by a she-wolf, and "Lupin" being Latin for "wolf.")
Many of the primary characters in the story have this sort of dualism: Harry, Remus, James, Severus Snape. Even Voldemort. In Sirius' case, he is unstable at times, having been driven to the brink of madness by his years in prison with the dementors. He is sometimes immature and irresponsible, and often demonstrates poor judgment.
I was thinking about this recently because my friend Rachel H. was telling me about Churchill's "black dog."
I mentioned to her that my head gets weird sometimes. I've been reading a lot about issues surrounding mental illness and creativity. For those of us in the arts, it comes as no surprise that large numbers of "creatives" might be identified (formally or otherwise), as manic-depressives. There is a fantastic book about the topic by Kay Jamison called Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. I think it also explains, to a degree, why those in the arts seem more susceptible to substance abuse than others.
Rachel told me it reminded her of Winston Churchill's black dog. I'd never heard about this, but a little research (i.e., I Googled it) revealed a familiar pattern: long periods of dark depression, alternating with manic episodes characterized by great productivity. He slept little during those times, wrote prolifically, lost normal inhibitions, was belligerent, and was singularly opinionated. And he "self medicated," which is doctor code for drinking scotch and water.
When those periods of depression would come, Churchill called them his "black dog." I learned that there is a long mythology around black dogs in the U.K. There are a few dozen stories about various dusky canines on the island, but they have some common characteristics: menacing growls, glowing eyes, portents of death, servants of the Devil, hanging around church graveyards or crossroads.
My mind naturally went to Robert Johnson.
I got to keep movin' . . . blues fallin' down like hail,
Ummmm . . . blues fallin' down like hail,
And the days keeps on worryin' me, there's a hellhound on my trail . . .
Johnson had his own black dog. Story goes that he sold his soul to the Devil to learn to play the guitar, at the crossroads of highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, MS. He was haunted by something for the next several years, until he was poisoned to death at age 27.
The story is told about other blues men, too, including Tommy Johnson. And not just blues men. Everyone from Niccolò Paganini to Nikki Sixx is supposed to have made that Faustian deal. West African griots and West Virginia fiddlers all have stories about trading their souls with Mr. Scratch in exchange for talent, fame, riches, etc.
Let me get one thing out of the way. I do not suppose to compare myself to Winston Churchill or Robert Johnson in terms of talents or accomplishments. You don't need to point out that I haven't changed the course of music history or won any world wars lately. But in some sense I do relate to the connection between this personal disposition and feeling creative.
I'm certain there are those who are very creative who lead balanced, normal lives. In fact, because this is often the case, it is hard to explain sometimes why one isn't willing to give up the "abnormal" life. I mean all of it. It's easy for others to see the up side to mania. You feel energetic, ideas come quickly, sleep is unnecessary, nothing gets you down. It's more difficult to explain why you wouldn't trade the depression for "normalcy."
The thing is, when I feel most creative, I'm usually tapping into an emotional well that goes pretty deep. I don't mean to suggest that I am particularly profound, but something of my understanding of art comes from knowing my shadow side well. Jung opined that our shadow is the seat of both the things we wish were not true about ourselves and our creative impulses, and that we explored these most often in dreams.
I realize this view may fly in the face of contemporary opinions regarding psychiatry, psychology, and pharmacology. I've also been told by people who've gone to school more years than I have that my opinion is a dangerous one. I get that, too.
To me the choice is between living an aesthetic life or an anesthetized existence. The choice is not always an enjoyable one. It's not always easy for those around me, and I'm sorry for that. And it's not easy to understand why, like the "creature" in Crane's poem:
In the desert,
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
Like that other archetypal canine, the werewolf, changes may seize one in ways that seem outside of one's control. (Little wonder the werewolf changes with the lunar cycle, tied as it is to mental illness, e.g., loony, lunatic, lunacy, and even Luna Lovegood.)
On the whole, I know I have little external reason for these cycles. I've had my share of disappointments, but no more than the next person, and I have much to be thankful for. It's when one turns inward and reflects on what is there, there where others do not see, that the black dog comes trotting down the road.
He may not be much of a pet, but he is my dog.
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