Storytelling: Sita Tested

Does she burn?
mirror spectrum

She stood from him at a distance.

"...Rama" Her voice was broken. A volitile cocktail of distress, disbelief, desire. What was this? Surely the trees would melt away, the people would volatile from image, and from her deep sleep she would awake.

Certainly so.
Yet there they stood.

 Facing Rama, grasping for dissolve within his eyes. He moved towards her, slowly. Her right hand shoved in front of her chest. Power surged within, deep from her core. Volumes of adrenaline pumped through her bones as pheromone seeped from her pores. "And do not call me gentle." She stepped forward as her voice broke. "Dare you to call upon me with such language? Such disgrace? Rama," she pleaded, "look at me. Cast away your certainty volatile  doubts and you will see through the things you think you know. " Searching desperately within his eyes, Sita saw nothing. Not a flick of remorse, not a dash of empathy. Rama's gaze laid just above her left shoulder. She turned fiercely, extending her arms towards the woods, radiating a justified desperation. "Did the trees tell you, oh great hero?" Her mock echoed through the distance, it vibrated the lake, the flowers sunk inside of their petals. "This slander carried by the wind? Did the rains moisten your brain now eaten by mealworm? Look at me."  
Nothing.

Sound cut from the scene.

Like a sturdy oak caught in a storm, Sita dropped to her knees. The earth shook beneath as her voice shattered the silence and erupted into heavy sobs. No one dared to breath, no wind dared to gust the surface.

"Do not call me renounced."

Hyperventilating, core crunched, her beautiful face pressed into the grass and dirt and earth. A moment of silence for a woman broken by the cruel course of fate.

Suddenly all went silent with the exception of her labored breath. Sita's internal dialog argued with her erratic emotions, pleading the will to resurrect from darkness and to find an ounce of courage in this gift of love the Gods had awarded her.
Wiping her face before surfacing the harden stares of all that stood presently, Sita slowly rose to her knees. With a heavy breath and a voice that sounded unlike her own,
"Send me to the fire."

She announced calmly, as if her confidence was solid and secure. But the truth remained questioned. If Rama could turn on her unusually and publicly, what confirmed that she would remained unscathed by the flames? The truth she knew within him was dismantled.



"Sita," Rama's eyes were red with empathy. Before he could question her judgement, Sita was standing solid within the confirmation of her statement. "I am well furnished with longanimity. You shall not change my mind." Rama sighed heavily, and she knew his heart was broken, too. "Rama," she promised, "I will not forsake you. You will not be forsworn." Suddenly the wind picked up the end of her words as she circumambulated her husband.

"Inasmuch as my heart has never turned from Rama, do thou, O Fire, all men's witness, guard me; since Rama casts me away as strained, who in sooth am stainless, do thou be my refuge."*

The sound of her spell serenaded the crowd. A small flicker of light and then, as if by magic, a flame split the ground and roared. The onlookers gasped and stepped back, creating greater distance from the two crossed lovers.

For a moment, the fire felt almost inviting. Warmth caressed Sita's back as she faced Rama. They breathed together.  A small bead a sweat began to form on the nape of Sita's neck.

_________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story comes from Sita Tested in the Ramayana. She is reunited with Rama, but he assumes of her to have been unfaithful. I wanted to retell this story because I was shocked when reading Rama and Sita. When Rama destroys her in front of so many onlookers she breaks beneath the pressure. I feel like I've definitely been in situations "similar" to this. I think we all have. When we're telling the truth and are accused of lying, it feels like nothing can make things right.

*denotes taken directly from the text 
^I wanted to use the Ramayana's text directly for her "spell binding" moment. I thought it was especially powerful and I didn't want to change it.



SOURCE-
Ramayana- Sita Tested

Reading Notes D

SITA TESTED

I'm going to write my next story on Sita Tested.

I couldn't BELIEVE when Sita and Rama finally returned to each other that he accused her of being unfaithful.
I'm going write from her perspective (which seems to be a common theme of mine... I might start trying different angles but why fix what isn't broken? I also plan to write my main story project in this way so I like keeping this consistent.) 

Normally I write from a moment before perspective, but this time I'm going to follow the text directly; mainly focusing on the moment when she enters the fire. Rather than personify the fire I'm going to take a direction of the fire being unable to burn her. Which will really raise the stakes for Sita's sake. It's almost a little salem witch trial esq? 

SITA TESTED

Storytelling: The Rainy Rainy Rainy Season

An exiled man, stuck in a monsoon. Rama is held in a cave for his own good. To stay dry. To keep health. To avoid exposure to the horrid extremes of weather threatening the landscape.
To not die.
 "It's spacious!" they cry. "It's full of lotus, and lily, and light!" Rama listens as he examines the sky turning, darkness burning through light. "It is the yearly rain," they smile, as if they are proud. As if they know all that is good and right and just. Rama thinks of Sita. He thinks of her beauty, he thinks of her heart, he thinks of her youth and he thinks of her wasting away each and everyday. He watches the clouds, he hears the thunder.
"Come,"
they say,
"Come and see our cave. Your cave. Come and see your home."

And it Rains.
Brien Henderson

And it rains. It rains. It rains. 

The man sat on stone. 

Thoughts of chairs. 

Old wood. New thread. 

One word in his head. 

A name. 

The name. 

Her name. 

Like a beat from a drum. 

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Like a drum. 

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

Si. Ta

No. 

A beat.

Like a heart. 

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Yes. 

Like a heart beats. 

Si.Ta

Si.Ta

Si.TA

He groans. He moves. 

And it rains. And it rains. And it rains. 

He looks to his left. 

Cave.

He looks to his right.

More cave. 

He looks up to the sky,

to curse the pain. 

The name.

Her name.

His name.

But curse most, 

the rain. 

He waits.

He waits.

He waits. 

Hush your talk.
Drink your tea.
Hear the wind.
What does it say?

Siiiiiiii
Taaaaaaaaaa.

He groans.
He moves.
Cave.
More cave.
No thing but a cave.

There is no clock.
There is no time.
There is only
Rain.
Pain.
Rain.
Pain. 

"If"
He thinks.
"If I could"
He thinks.
"If I could leave this cave..."

"My Lord"
He turns.
"My Love"
He turns.
He hears. 

"My Lord, My Love"
My Love, My Lord. 
My Lord, My Love. 

A voice.
Her voice.
No.
No.

No.

The wind.

Si.Ta
Siiiiiii
Taaaaaa
My Siiiii
Lord
My Taaaaa
Love 

Cave.
Cave.
Cave.

Rain.
Rain.
Rain.

It Burns.
If he should touch the rain
could it
would it

burn 'way pain?
Could it burn 'way thoughts?

and names?

She is not here.

She is.
but she is not.

In all her grace,
Si.Ta

Lies on the same earth as he. 

She is not here.
But she is.

And it rains. 

"Let me go,"
he cries.
"Let me go,
or let me die."

To Sleep.

No more.
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Aye, there's the rub.
To lie.
To die. 

To die.

It rains.


"No"
He thought.
"I can not die.
while she rest on the same earth as I.

One day
I swear
One Day,"
he cries

Days go by.
How he longs.
How he tries
to see through clouds
to see dusk
to see dawn
to see hope
of a new day come.

It rains.
It rains.
He listens,
 Si. 
Ta.
Si.
Ta.
Si.Ta
Si.Ta.
Siiiiiiiii.
Taaaaaaaaaa.

Drops fall to the ground
they sing,
oh, how they sing!
Her name.
Her only name.
God gave her a name
a name of nature
a name of grace.

"Soon"
he thought.

His arms ache.
A heart ache.
A name.
Wet drops on stone. 

There is no home,
when home is far 'way.

Si.
ta.

Si.
ta. 

And it rained. It rained. It rained. It rained. 

Author's Note

I decided to try the "One Syllable" exercise. Let me tell you, it's difficult to write a full length story in that manor. I felt like I had hit a wall, so I added some text in the beginning as exposition. My inspiration came from The Rainy Season from the Ramayana. I really loved Rama's lament and I wanted to take his poem and turn it into text, but then I went with the one syllable thing and another poem happened. I attempted to capture the restlessness and absurdity of waiting. To me, every moment feels like a repetition of old thoughts. It feels like nothing is changing, the clock isn't ticking, etc etc. This is definitely the strangest thing I've written before.... one of my favorite playwrights is Samuel Beckett and I found myself channeling him as I wrote the poem. He utilizes repetition as a way of insanity; which I feel is another place one tends to travel when they're waiting, and waiting, and waiting....


((Also shout out to you if you catch the reference to Hamlet's famous speech!))

Reading Notes: Ramayana C

I really like The Rainy Season in the Ramayana. It makes me think of television, and how in an intense series there will always be the relaxed episode. Like in Breaking Bad, for example, there's the episode about the fly inside of the lab. Rama waiting out the rain, full of lament, is much like that episode. It's just waiting.

I'd like to take the Lament and add action to it, and to translate the verse into something more palatable and easier to understand.



Rama's lament:

They say that as the seasons move,
Our sorrow gently fades away;
But I am far from her I love
And sorrow deepens every day.

(They say that as time passes, pain decreases. But I grow sadder and sadder every passing day.)

That she is gone, is not my woe;
That she was reft, is not my pain;
The thought that agonizes so
Is this: her youth is spent in vain.
(Her life is being wasted; this is not about me)

Blow, breezes, blow to her dear face;
Blow back to me her kisses sweet:
Through you we taste a glad embrace,
And in the moon our glances meet.

(I remember, I remember when we met. The moment, the time, the place.
The moon lit our embrace)

When she was torn away from me,
"My lord! My love!" was all her cry,
Which tortures me incessantly;
My heart is poisoned, and I die.
(And then she was taken from me, so hastily. I hear her cries in my head, in my sleep.)

I burn upon an awful pyre;
My body wastes by day and night;
Her loss is fuel to feed the fire
That burns so pitilessly white.

(It hurts, I'm dying inside. But I know that I have to continue, I have to keep going, finding her is my only option.)

If I could leave each loving friend,
Could sink beneath the sea, and sleep,
Perhaps the fire of love would end,
If I could slumber in the deep.

(If I died, if I died, maybe I could move on.)

One thought consoles my worst distress;
Through this I live: I cannot die
While she lies down in loveliness
Upon the self-same earth as I.

(but I cannot die, I have to rescue her.)

The sun-parched rice, no longer wet,
Lives on, while earth her moisture gives;
The root of love supports me yet,
For they have told me that she lives.

(I know that she still lives)

Though giants hem her round, yet soon
She shall be freed, and shall arise
As radiantly as the moon
From clouds that darken autumn skies.

(and I will rescue her, and she will rise again.)

When shall I pierce the giant's breast
With shafts that suck his life away,
That give my tortured darling rest
And all her absent griefs allay?

When shall I feel the close embrace
Of my good goddess, as in dreams?
When kiss her smile, while on her face
The water born of gladness gleams?

(But when, oh when, will I have her back? Back in my arms? In my embrace?)

When shall I pluck from out my heart —
A heart by woes of absence torn —
The pain of life from love apart,
Forget it, like a garment worn?

(When will we leave this life behind and create ours together?)

Rama in his cave
Ramayana

_________________________________

PDE RAMAYANA The Rainy Season

Reading Notes: Ramayana B

The Killing of Kaba
wiki

I really enjoy the monster stories, and I think I'd like to write another POV from the antagonist. After conducting some light research on Kabandha I was very intrigued to learn about how he was a gandharva (celtic musician) who was cursed to become this headless monster, until his arms are detached by Rama. In this version of the Ramayana he is cremated which releases him from the curse. I like that aspect of the story, I think it's more poetic. I plan to write about when the Kabandha is turned into the beast and his beginning life as this shape and form.

notes:
-created into a demon by Indra, king of the gods/sages
-named Vishvavsu/ Danu
-was given a boon of immortality, which lead to a huge ego
-attacked Indra



_____________

Public Domain Edition of the Ramayana  Kabandha

Wikipedia- Kabandha

FEEDBACK

I have a pretty good relationship with criticism/feedback/rejection. My whole career is centered around rejection! It's awesome. But these articles were very nice to read, and helped me balance my perspective!

Overcoming the Fear of Feedback

I liked how this article talked about how fearing giving feedback is connected to ourselves, rather than hurting the other person. I find that to be highly relatable. When I'm giving someone feedback on the way they directed a scene, for example, I tend to hold back. I never strive to bring someone down with my feedback because I've learned that art isn't a competition, it's about community and (I like to joke) it takes a village to raise a child (the child being whatever someone is creating). I'm worried that my feedback will respond poorly on myself. Did I word what I'm trying to sell with elegance? Am I sounding like an idiot? Is this wrong? Do you feel like I've attacked you? I'm not trying to attack you please don't take this like I'm attacking you. I JUST WANT YOU TO LIKE ME!
What do I like? This formula...

Cue - Receiving a feedback notification from a colleague

Routine - 1. Analyze the feedback,

                 2. Ask questions to better understand

                 3. Thank them

                 4. Strategize ways to improve based on your feedback

                 5. Set goals for yourself based on these strategies

Reward - Using feedback to reach the professional goals you’ve set for yourself

This formula will be very helpful to keep in my mind when I receive feedback, but it's also great when giving. It's a good frame of mind to think, "how can I help this person reach a realistic and tangible goal?"

This article really inspired me to be more goal oriented; it helps create real outcome! 

Why rejection hurts so much and what to do about it

I liked this article because, like I mentioned, I face rejection literally all of the time in my career. I assumed that would be my biggest takeaway from the reading, but it made me think even more about social media. There's a lot of pressure in my field to be very active and present in the social media world; sometimes getting a gig depends on how many followers one has. I know I'll get a pang of "oh.... okay" when someone close to me is thriving on twitter and I'm not doing so hot. Why didn't Suzy like my tweet but she liked Jessica's?! I always like Suzy's tweets! Why isn't my content funnier? Why isn't my content more like Jessica's? And then I delete the tweet and go like Jessica's.

I connected this article with something I try to practice. When I go to an audition, I go in and I do the thing. Then, if it's the morning, I go get coffee and for 30 minutes I'm allowed to reflect on what I didn't do and praise myself for what I did. After that 30 minutes, I move on. Let it go. So much of "getting the job" comes down to things waaaay beyond my control. You can't obsess over it or you're gonna go crazy. I'm going to steal the idea of writing out what I'm proud of post audition. 

Presence, Not Praise

I was really excited for this one. Presence is one of the biggest words of my senior year. I've spent a lot of time harping on the past or angsting about the future, so I wanted to really live every moment of my senior year by staying Present and, in turn, create a habit of practicing presence.

"there persists a toxic cultural mythology that creative and intellectual excellence comes from a passive gift bestowed upon the fortunate few by the gods of genius, rather than being the product of the active application and consistent cultivation of skill." 

This hooked me from the start. I definitely fall in the trap of thinking, "Oh so-and-so what just born that way. It's a gift." But rarely do I consider myself in that boat!
But the article is much more about how praise can hurt, and I totally get that. I was always a skate on by kind of student because I was able to. People affirmed that I was making it by just fine, even great! So I didn't really apply myself the way that I arguably should have. I had one teacher, in AP Lang, who wrote to me,
"You'll never achieve your greatest potential if you only focus on theatre." At the time I felt very defensive by his statement, but now I totally get it, and I'm totally paying the price. But his comment made a difference in my life. I've forgotten all of the "ooooh, that was such a sweet story!"'s, but I'll always remember his honest feedback.

 "Being present, whether with children, with friends, or even with oneself, is always hard work. But isn’t this attentiveness — the feeling that someone is trying to think about us — something we want more than praise?"

I like thinking of presence as a tool. I value spending constructive time with people, because that's when we grow to become even better! I think that it's definitely important to validate someone's hard work, but when it's earned. I don't know about you, but I can feel the weight of a compliment. When it's rich with honesty and genuine, analyzed observation, that is when I can take that and grow. When I'm being told I did well because someone feels obligated? That almost discourages me!

I also really want to read The Examined Life now!

Be a Mirror

I've had a fixed mindset for a long time. Struggling with depression and anxiety made me believe that I would never grow to be smarter, funnier, or more able. But finding mirror's in my life helped me in so many ways.
I like how being a mirror comes with steps. I really, really like steps.
Be Specific- very important to me, and something I'm working on all of the time.
Focus on what the reader is doing- A mirror cannot reflect something that is not there.
Focus on the process- work with what is there. It is enough.
Make sure it can transfer- this is also something I'm working on. I thought the example was very good, because it shows how wording is so crucial.
Take yourself out of the feedback- this one is much more difficult, but it also reflects something I talk about within the first article. It's not about me! It's about the other. A mirror reflects what is in front of them. I am not inside of your mirror, I am your mirror!

You can do anything good!
Dear Self

Growth Mindset #2 Playwriting

I'm currently taking playwriting, and I've been waiting to take this course since the beginning of my education! My dad used to always say that I was a good story teller, and that I should write stories (specifically like Stephen King... not sure why? I wouldn't be mad if I wrote like him). I'm not sure how or why he thought this of me. We didn't have a very good relationship, but we were very close when I was much, much younger. I think it's interesting, because we're told that so much of our personality basis stems from before the age of five. Maybe he saw that in me then?
I'm told quite often that I'm a good writer. Every now and then I'll make a long, passionate, facebook post and that's where I find myself receiving messages and comments of friends, family, sometimes strangers, encouraging me to write. I never took an honest crack at it because what if I fail? What if I'm actually not very good and that's the ugly truth? But now I'm learning that life is about failure. It's tried. It's failed. It's get up again. It's fail again. Fail better. SO here I am, finally free falling into fictional fantasy. It's definitely a huge challenge! I have to write a lot of scripts and it's like... what am I doing?! Who am I trying to be?! How do I give this person (who only exists in my head) a real voice? But I can do it. I know I can. It's just a matter of trying. And failing. And trying again.