More from Morford


(Yet) another great piece by Mark Morford on the aftermath of Robin Williams death titled: A little spark of madness:

Was this really necessary?…

No answer comes. This is the beautiful, brutal secret of the universe. No answer ever comes. It just keeps dancing.

…Really now, do we not invent many of our own demons, feed and coddle them, manufacture and amplify and make them into unstoppable armies? Given the size of the population, our rapacious rates of consumption, the dazzling reach of the Internet and the speed at which suffering can now gain traction and travel, we have more potential threats to the stability of our psyche – both personal and collective – than we’ve ever had before…

But then, what of the popular Jungian notion that the dark side, the shadow is ever-present and ever lurking? What do we make of the idea that we are ever at the mercy of our own treacherous temptations and inherent flaws? What of the fear that whatever took down Williams is ever breathing at all our doors?…

What do you think?…

Read his wonderful perspective and inspirational conclusion @ A little spark of madness:

Credits: Image form Living in Maine


  1. I think we all mourn this loss so profoundly because in some way, we each felt he was our talented friend. That he ‘got’ us – and spun the story with such speed and ease, that one could only marvel. And want to spend time with him. But truly, we know nothing. We know that most comedians have a far lonelier, darker side that can draw an even more compelling audience. And is it tempting? Perhaps as alluring as a siren’s song..

    Liked by 3 people

    • Beautifully stated Mimi. I pondered why his death hit most of us so hard. Another celebrity. Struggling with his addictions and darkness. And yet, he feels so much closer to us then the others. Perhaps his authenticity made him feel more real and close to home. “Alluring as a siren’s song.” Wonderful…


      • Yes – his authenticity. He didn’t mislead anyone – candid about his demons and the constant effort it took just to keep them at bay. They were never a past tense, they mercilessly toyed with him without surcease. And that adds to our sorrow I think..

        Liked by 1 person

  2. WMS, WMS (and beautifully, I might add). There was something inherently fallible about Robin Williams, a feeling that underneath it all, he was “dancing as fast as he could.” I think people responded that tacit vulnerability.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Yes. Again, terrific insight…


  4. i think there were many times this giving, and kind, and creative man was barely treading water, and if he stopped flapping his hands, he would sink under for good.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Reblogged this on It Is What It Is and commented:
    Yet another one ….. and I still could go on and on and on! TY for sharing!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. It could be that so many people are so profoundly affected by Robin Williams’ death because he always seemed so kind…through all the silliness and the madness, he just seemed like such a kind man. And I agree completely with what Mark Morford has written. I know I’ve felt all of that at my own door in my own life. It’s a struggle to stay strong…for many of us.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well stated Carol. I thought Morford captured it beautifully


      • Yes…did you see the Peter Coyote post from yesterday? His words also captured so much…in such a beautiful manner.

        Liked by 1 person

        • This one?

          Thursday, August 14, 2014
          Peter Coyote on Robin Williams

          Robin William’s Last Gift

          Robin and I were friends. Not intimate, because he was very shy when he was not performing. Still, I spent many birthdays and holidays at his home with Marsha and the children, and he showed up at my 70th birthday to say “Hello” and wound up mesmerizing my relatives with a fifteen minute set that pulverized the audience.
          When I heard that he had died, I put my own sorrow aside for a later time. I’m a Zen Buddhist priest and my vows instruct me to try to help others. So this little letter is meant in that spirit.
          Normally when you are gifted with a huge talent of some kind, it’s like having a magnificent bicep. People will say, “Wow, that’s fantastic” and they tell you, truthfully, that it can change your life, take you to unimaginable realms. It can and often does. The Zen perspective is a little different. We might say, “Well, that’s a great bicep, you don’t have to do anything to it. Let’s work at bringing the rest of your body up to that level.”
          Robin’s gift could be likened to fastest thoroughbred race-horse on earth. It had unbeatable endurance, nimbleness, and a huge heart. However, it had never been fully trained. Sometimes Robin would ride it like a kayaker tearing down white-water, skimming on the edge of control. We would marvel at his courage, his daring, and his brilliance. But at other times, the horse went where he wanted, and Robin could only hang on for dear life.
          In the final analysis, what failed Robin was his greatest gift—his imagination. Clutching the horse he could no longer think of a single thing to do to change his life or make himself feel better, and he stepped off the edge of the saddle. Had the horse been trained, it might have reminded him that there is always something we can do. We can take a walk until the feeling passes. We can find someone else suffering and help them, taking the attention off our own. Or, finally, we can learn to muster our courage and simply sit still with what we are thinking are insoluble problems, becoming as intimate with them as we can, facing them until we get over our fear. They may even be insoluble, but that does not mean that there is nothing we can do.
          Our great-hearted friend will be back as the rain, as the cry of a Raven as the wind. He, you and I have never for one moment not been a part of all it. But we would be doing his life and memory a dis-service if we did not extract some wisdom from his choice, which, if we ponder deeply enough, will turn out to be his last gift. He would beg us to pay attention if he could.


  7. I have been thinking about death recently because of the book “The fault in our stars” because it inspired me to such an extent that I thought of planning my funeral (just the way people plan their wedding) but I wish it could go the way I plan. Anyway, the point is do we fear oblivion just like Augustus Waters? Do we wish to be remembered? And did Mr Williams work all his life to achieve this? Like to be in the heart and memory of the people when he’s gone? Sometimes, we are better off without answers.

    Liked by 1 person

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