This an ancient trailer sequence of Soul Biographies as they used to be, and in many respects still are.
The ability to see through the eyes of another holds the key to empathy, and I mean ‘see’ in its most expansive of definitions. And such empathy exists as a quality that might transform the complexion of everything. This film reveals the experience of a world through the eyes of paranoid schizophrenia.
Imagine your life, or your child’s life following its course and then an abrupt and brutal turn. The sudden onset of Schizophrenia. A violent shock to what was. A loss. At a loss. And a soul rendered desolate and alone.
The 1940s Holocaust might have been one of the lowest points of human existence. These few minutes wonder if we ‘might all hold the capacity to see light in the darkness’. This is a glimpse of the stoic experience of a holocaust survivor.
A dramatic story, pointing to a human resilience which I believe is more common than we suppose. It’s told through an uncommon depth of observation. And wonders if there is more to us than the series of events we’ve been through.
In those life experiences of our greatest pain and suffering also comes the greatest love and beauty, and transformation. This is a film about sudden loss, and the experience of telling a young child that her Father had died.
‘… she knew she was going to die anyway, and then she decided that day would be the day. I think it was the loneliest thing I’ve ever seen. She walked past me and laid on the bed and she nodded yes to the Doctor. I can’t find words for what it felt like to be there.’ A film about the last hour of a life.
“What I thought was breaking me wasn’t breaking me at all. It was preparing me for this. For this gratitude.” Unchecked humanity and a raw truth for so many of us held in the words and the spaces of these few minutes.
‘It is like a miracle. I’ve got a son back that I thought I’d lost. We’re probably closer now than we’ve ever been but it did start in a difficult place.’ A film of hope and light from a seemingly dark and endless place.
Michael lost his daughter to leukemia. Kelsey had been just 18 years old. These few minutes wonder if we might be a little more courageous, and connected. Whether we might be a little kinder, more gracious and present in the absence of tragedy.