My heart’s at half mast along with the flags of Newark. The Buddhist tenet of nonattachment is not working. I want Whitney Houston to be alive. I long to hear her voice again–alive–lingering confidently acappella.
The family shared her lyrical genius with fans for 30 years. At what price? What is it about the American frenzy for stardom that sucks the sparkle out of brilliance at a young age? Recently I saw My Week with Marilyn and marvelled at her luminous ways of turning sane, rational men into Jello. Her life sputtered early.
Are we a society so dearly dedicated to mediocrity that we delegate the deep desire for expression to others? What to do—
Let’s take our anger and sorrow to the page, the canvas, the mike, the keyboard, the office, the meeting hall, and the boardroom. Belt out something original, something of the caliber of “I have a dream”; “Ask not what your country can do for you”; or “I Will Always Love You.”
And fall to our collective knees, asking for each collective addiction to be removed–greed, passivity, gluttony, consumerism, national debt. I’ll do that right after I tap Publish. I promise.
Bohemian Bookshelf 
Janet
February 20, 2012 at 11:19 am
Randy and I were talking about this very thing the other day. How so many people who are so talented have so many demons. Sort of a chicken/egg question. Are they so creative because of the demons? Or does the fame bring out the demons?
Ellen Bowers
February 21, 2012 at 5:04 am
I remember hearing years ago about a long term study that showed a correlation between alcoholism and high creativity and also another study that showed that quite often a highly creative person became so in reaction to the presence of a mentally ill person in the family. Thought-provoking stuff. I just always feel really sad when someone who is so obviously gifted doesn’t get to live a long life. Yet there are exceptions–George O’Keefe, Pablo Casals.