I’ve joined a group of creatives through Instagram that have been reading The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. In this book, she says that two things are vital – the morning pages and the artist’s date. The morning pages are a stream of consciousness that you dump out onto three pages every morning to clear your head. This morning, I had an idea.
I was busy thinking “I hope I have enough old lady friends for when I turn 90 or 100 for my birthday,” thinking “Death and I are going to have to have a talk if I don’t make it that far,” and that’s when I thought “what if Death is the creator of the world?” I’m not entirely sure how new of a thought that is, and I’m almost certain it’s not a original thought, but the thought continued uninterrupted for the next couple of pages which I’m going to try to follow here.
Death is the Creator
Death is a formless creative being entirely composed of free Willpower on a journey of fulfillment and the next big idea. As a creator, Death took their time to learn and perfect their craft, hence the evolution of things. Death puts each of us together, sometimes recycling souls they want to see run through life again, and gives us a personality to see what happens. When they are tired of watching our life play out, we are collected, maybe recycled, and we move on to wherever we go next. I wondered here if Death played first with the dinosaurs. I wondered if that’s why we are so fond of the dinosaurs, too.
The dinosaurs were one of the first ideas, a baby step. Everything was large and composed of scales, spikes, hard surfaces, and softened by feathers where it was pleasing. Death played with the world for trillions of years, evolving new species and exploring possibilities.
When they had a new idea, they took the world they played in for so long and began anew, keeping their favorites around to evolve further. This time it was softer, more fur and hair and nurturing. Everything slowly changed. Death took on more responsibility this time. Creatures became smaller and more plentiful. More to keep track of and manage. Maybe it was for a challenge, maybe it was for fun, and maybe it was time to level up in a way and move on to the next step in Death’s journey as a creative.
Here I had to pause to ask myself a question, potentially a plot hole in this whole idea. What does Death do with the souls they don’t recycle? Where do they end up? And then I thought, what do we do with clothing or toys that we are ready to give up? We give them to someone else.
Death’s cousins, in my head an infinite number of them because free Willpower has no boundaries or blockades to its expansion and capabilities. Death gives our souls to a cousin to play with in a different world. And here, the multiverse takes shape. The infinite number of possibilities and stopping points that our souls can end up in. We reincarnate here when Death has taken a favor to our soul. We travel to new worlds when it’s time for a change.
This is where I tumbled into the idea of beliefs, of a new kind of religion. Let’s say people begin to believe this idea, this faith that we all have a purpose by way of creativity. This aligns closely, I think, with the ideas in The Artist’s Way. There is a Creator, and they have made us to be creative in our own lives.
Beliefs, Practices, and Guidance
So now, I think, what are the cultural practices of this “religion?” What do we preach? How does this simple idea become something that can fuel people to live better lives and feel more content and fulfilled in them? I think it comes down to creativity at it’s core.
Core beliefs:
- Encourage your fellow people, as we are all creative and have the willpower to use that energy to enhance our lives and the lives of others through our work
- Have the courage to begin, to take chances, to enjoy life
- Individuality is what we strive for
Death does nothing but put us together and give us the ability to have ideas and the willpower to execute them. Death wants nothing from us, simply to watch what we do with the power they give. We are in charge of our own lives. There is no punishment, no reward at the end. There is simply curiosity. Everything we do is in our own hands. What kind of a story will you have by the end? What will you have done? Did you enjoy it? Were you happy? Were you fulfilled? Do you regret? Your life is for you, Death gave that to us. You need to make it what you love.
I suppose that means that the practices are affirmations, time given to yourself to be creative and adventurous, and good spirit in the community to raise everyone up alongside you.
Lore
I had another thought while all of this was swirling around in my head. I thought, how funny would it be if Death sought out a soul who had lived their life without much creativity and gave them a project.
An old farmer lived at the edge of town, minding his work and his own business. He was set in routine and never strayed from it his whole life. His wife, a beautiful soul, found a love in clothes. She made garment after garment, many she bestowed to her husband. One in particular that she made for the colder months, was a draping black cloak that would brush across the ground as he walked. It was beautiful and so loved by the farmer. He loved to watch her as she worked on her garments, admiring the skill and even the audacity she had in some of her ideas. He wished, sometimes, on particularly quiet nights, that he could do as she did. He wished to make something, he wished for ideas.
Never the chance to express himself through art of any kind, Death came to the old farmer when his time was near.
Death asked the man, “why have you lived with only two loves in your life?”
He replied, “I have loved my wife, and I have loved my work. I do admit, I wish for more.”
Death said, “You have no stories to tell. Do something in these last few days you have that you can tell your wife about. Give Death an image.”
The farmer thought. He paced his bedroom before dinner, he rocked in his chair in front of the fire afterwards, and his mind seemed to swirl like muddied water never showing what’s beneath the surface. His wife sat in her chair across from him, and the flames illuminated the tiny needle she used for her work. The light caught it and it glinted gently every now and then. The farmer gazed around the room at all of the things his wife had created. His eyes came to rest on the black cloak hanging by the door. He thought. The waters began to clear. The mud was settling and he could begin to see an idea in his head. Inspired, he told his wife about The Reaper. A cloaked figure carrying a scythe that wanders the graveyard after a burial to take the soul away. His wife loved the story, scared as she was to meet this Reaper one day.
Two days later, a man died in the village. He was buried shortly, and the people of the village soon began to gossip about the cloaked figure with the scythe that appeared in the graveyard that night. A fear spread, but an understanding also began.
The farmer lay in his bed not long after, and told his wife a new story. A story about Death and the task her had been given. He told her about his admiration of her work, how she had inspired him in creating this idea, and his joy in being The Reaper in his last day. He told her that Death is coming to take him. She held on to him until he was collected, and she and Death shared the same pride that day.
Final Thoughts
Of course, this is just an idea. One that I had a lot of fun imagining. I would love to hear from readers to see what you think or feedback you have to the idea.
I know it was cheating to look back at my morning pages but I think I had a worthy excuse today.
