Trial by fire
The alchemy of disaster
My heart and soul go out to all affected by the LA firestorm.
Which is all of us.
I hope that none here have lost loved ones, pets, homes, or neighborhoods. The chances of that being true are next to zero, given the number of film artists who subscribe to this site and After the Gold Rush. And most of us lucky ones have beloved friends, relatives, colleagues, and regulars in our lives who have suffered imaginable loss and trauma.
The emotional and physical toll on anyone who lives in LA is an ongoing nightmare. The psychic toll on anyone who lives in or loves California and feels this wound to our beloved state is profound. And anyone with a functioning brain should be reeling in horror at this graphic demonstration of what climate change and our continued inaction to save our planet has in store for ALL of us.
Three of my oldest and dearest friends have lost their homes and everything they own. These are some of the most uniquely creative people I know: Phil Abrams, an actor and acting coach who, if you watch any television or film at all, you have seen many times on your screen. Michelle Bitting, a multiple award-winning poet of fierce talent. Bridget Fonger, an author and life coach who also owned and ran the magical Angel Store in Pasadena.
Other friends of mine have been evacuated, some allowed to return home, and are still on ongoing, nerve-jangling evacuation watch.
In the midst of crisis, it's really far too early to talk about healing. Keeping safe, finding temporary shelter, reducing the impact of toxic smoke, navigating the chaos, doing the work of contacting insurance companies and replacing enough essentials, and all kinds of self-care have to take priority.
But what I do know is that these are people who can make magic out of nothing but their imagination, with their minds and bodies the only instruments they need. When I think of them, I never think of their houses, or their stuff — I remember their performances, the characters they bring to life and the worlds they make with their images and their words.
They are already writing their experiences, turning tragedy into creative gold.
Beyond donating and participating in an author fundraiser for wildfire relief (which I’ll post details about this week), personally, I am more committed than ever to writing about California – her fascinating history, her staggering natural landscapes, the politics and broadmindedness that make the state the most progressive in this fractured Union. All of my series are California-set and deeply about California. I will channel my grief about this tragedy into more books — fiction and historical.
We artists create galaxies with our souls. There is so very, very little we need that is material. That is who we are. The rest is just things.
Please check in, take care, stay safe — and stay hopeful.
—Alex
My Die Hard breakdown from last week continues here:
You can read more about Phil, Michelle, and Bridget here:
Michelle’s website, with poems and book links
Phil’s updates on his Facebook page
Contribute to the GoFundMe for Phil & Michelle and their family.
From Phil’s story:
I can’t sleep. I’m exhausted. Tears without sound roll down to the tip of my nose. Lying in a strange bed alone. My wife and dog asleep at my youngest son’s apartment. My eldest who is on the autistic spectrum in another house having wondered all day how he will continue without an anchor of a job (the market he worked at burnt to the ground), without a home filled with his precious items, without a way to cope with this new reality. I’m feeling bereft of hope, feeling incompetent and at sea as to how to proceed with giving my wife and adult children the joy and wonder I embraced as an artist and storyteller. Our home and everything in it gone. Our little town gone. My anchor gone as well. There are a million things to be done to build our lives again. I’m overwhelmed and scared. I’m ashamed to admit that but I don’t know what else to do. The tears now streaming down cheeks, still without sound. The only grace I can hold onto is the love of my friends and family who hold us up as best they can amidst this tragedy. And I’m not alone. There are thousands who have lost everything and are in the same boat. I can’t find the paddles to begin. Is the boat sinking? Can I swim? I experience the same abyss I’m sure my eldest feels. How do I go on? One step at a time with the love and support of others who are so dear to me and my family. How do I impart that same small glimmer of hope to my sons and my wife? What do I do next? Breathe. In and out. Take a bite of food. Close my eyes and dream of a new life. Wake up and do my best to manifest that reality. Create. Tell a story. Pretend I’m stronger than I am and hope that becomes real enough that even I believe it. Love myself and my dear hearts that are in my life. This is so strange, like the bed I’m in… alone… speaking from my heart… hoping the words will be heard. My story. Our story. The human spirit.
I give you this… Odd Bless You! (because it is inexplicable)
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Horrible truths. So far our LA relatives are OK, but the winds are returning.