The purpose of a myth is not that it’s true. The human mind thinks in terms of stories, and the purpose of a myth is to help us orient our lives around whatever we believe is truly important. One of the core myths in my life is the idea that every human being is a worker in a factory that produces the complex beauty of life. We all stand along a conveyor belt and receive transmissions from past generations. As a worker in this factory, we each have two jobs: to appreciate everything beautiful that has been passed on to us, and to transform the suffering of past generations. If we can transform even a little bit of this ancestral suffering, we’ll leave the world better than we found it, which (for me) is the highest measure of a human life.
Desmond, Tim. How to Stay Human in a F*cked-Up World (p. 112). HarperOne. Kindle Edition.
All stories are also the stories of hands — picking up, balancing, pointing, joining, kneading, threading, caressing, abandoned in sleep, cutting, eating, wiping, playing music, scratching, grasping, peeling, clenching, pulling a trigger, folding.
∆ John Berger, From A to X: A Story in Letters
My main suggestion is to start small and to not prescribe anything. Don’t make long speeches. Instead, just start designing spaces for people to participate.
That, I think, is the power of ceremony: it marries the mundane to the sacred.
In a movie, he added, “you feel empathy for a character, but you very rarely feel guilt. The great thing about computer games is that you’re feeling involved—you’re feeling guilty yourself.” This is not so much true with Japanese players, he’s learned: they have no problem playing the bad guy, because they’re used to the idea that fantasy can be divorced from reality. (Hence such otaku fixations as lolicon and tentacle porn.) Others, Americans in particular, take a more moralistic approach.
Rose, Frank. The Art of Immersion: How the Digital Generation Is Remaking Hollywood, Madison Avenue, and the Way We Tell Stories (p. 269). W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.