My Soul is Dark



Lord Byron, English Poet

English poet, Lord Byron, wrote once, "My soul is dark." And indeed, Lord Byron's soul was often dark. It seems that his mind, heart, and indeed his soul, were eternally in turmoil. He was always flickering between profound joy and abject sorrow. Similarly, Vincent Van Gogh, who is now regarded as one of the greatest painters to have ever lived, once wrote that, "I put my heart and soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process."

Is creative expression a result of a turbulent soul, or is a turbulent soul a byproduct of creativity? It is a question I have often contemplated. Some of the most extraordinary and talented people I have ever known have been quite mad. I myself have been mad, and some would say I still am, though I don't really care.

I know what it is to have a dark soul. I possess one. How could my soul be otherwise after all that I have gone through in my life?

I have had my dark night of the heart when my soul was laid bare and I nearly died while wrestling with my own demons. The only hope I had then and the only hope I will ever have is found in the act of writing, for it is through writing that I am able to transform sorrow into beauty.

By giving my written words (which is the equivalent of giving my love) to one and all, I lay out the vain hope that perhaps something I write will help or inspire someone, that it will perhaps make someone feel less lonely, less dark.

When I read the poetry of Byron, when I listen to the symphonies of Beethoven, when I watch Natalie Portman break apart in Black Swan....I feel a deep sense of understanding and of being understood. And without such artistic expression and my ability to come into contact with it, I would surely lose my mind. Where would this world be without those who can make beauty from pain? I surely do not know.

Let's take a moment to appreciate the beauty of a soul that was so often saddened by a malady he had no control over, but whose very same dark soul created this:

She walks in Beauty by Lord Byron

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light	5
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;	10
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,	15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!