Ben McManus:
If I’d had this experience before taking this class, I’d have called it an epiphany.
Now that I know exactly what it means: “The manifestation of a divine being.” I really have no use for the word... at least, I don’t yet. I don’t expect to meet with the manifestation of any divine being. Frankly, I don’t know if I’m meek enough. I don’t stutter, and I’d be happy to accept the responsibilities. So I guess I don’t fit God’s requirements there. In addition, unlike Job, I haven’t suffered to the fullest degree. And I don’t want to. I’m not sure an epiphany is worth that much to me.
As such, I must be grateful to Andrei Tarkovsky for showing me a glimpse of the piercing white light that must be an epiphany. It occurred somewhere in the middle of Tarkovsky’s 1962 film Ivan’s Childhood. The image above is, more or less, the exact frame. However, seeing it out of context doesn’t have the same effect.
Though I believe it’s futile to describe the experience, I think it will be fun to try:
It all took place in one instant.... No, less than that. One frame. I saw it coming. Or maybe I heard it? In any case, I felt it. Like when the ground starts to tremble, and you know a freight train’s coming. I don’t know how far in advance I knew. It wasn’t enough time to brace myself. I knew it wouldn’t be. It was only enough time to make me aware. I recognized it on the horizon. It was moving towards me, and then, before I could understand how, I was brought to it, and left kneeling at its base. I was looking up at something I recognized, but was afraid to name. I would say it communicated something, but I’m worried you’ll assume it used words, so I will say it spoke to me, and assure you that it was nothing of the sort. Then it showed me something. Held it right in front of my face. Even as I looked directly at it, I couldn’t conjure a description. It was beyond my comprehension. All I can say is that time moves both ways while you look at it. I couldn’t breath... I didn’t need to. Just a glimpse, and I was filled with an infantine number of words and images, nearly all of which, I can no longer remember. It's almost tragic, but I did managed to grab hold of something. It slipped through my fingers like a silk sheet, but I dug my nails in and tour a part off. I brought it back.
“Literature starts from an intellectual point. From there, we master it as best we can in an effort to fill it with emotion. Cinema is the opposite. It starts with emotion. It grows from something abstract. From there, we try to intellectualize it, in order to better explain the art. In both cases, the transformation is necessary.”
Like waking up from a euphoric dream, I struggled to stay in that place; I even pretended I was still there for a few minutes after I’d been returned. It was futile and shameful to do so. All the same, I couldn’t help my self. I don’t know if the experience was actually of any real intellectual value. Despite everything, I may come to change my mind about what I think I’ve learned. I may discard it along with my countless other bad understanding. I don’t know. It’s too early to tell. That being said, the experience itself, detached from concerns of value, was a lot of fun. For that reason alone, it was worth it to me.
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