Saturday, July 30, 2011

Here. Now.

What happens when a moment loses its potency? How do we transcend expectation and be free enough to feel our way through it as empty as it may seem? Do I have the courage to face this kind of work?

The theatre is a sacred space: a chapel where collective imagination is the god to which we pray together. We rejoice in the resonance of truth, we recognize our humanness in transcendental archetypes and come together to forgive the parts of us that are the villain and applaud the meat of us that is triumphant hero.

As actors we enter into a contract with ourselves, our colleagues, the audience and the muses of the moment. We are humans that promise to be vessels for shamanic interventions. Getting out of our own way to allow for this kind of transformation is difficult to learn and unfortunately rarely practiced with diligence and self honesty. A rare few aspire to be invisible save but the physical body that carries these messages. Most relish in the lights and the curtain call; this kind of ego-based environment does not leave much room for those that yearn to disappear in the collective landscape.

We wrestle with the impulse to win, to get it right, to be approved of. Most give in completely and a creative experience quickly turns into an energetic tantrum competition with the winner gaining the attention he/she sought but losing a part of what called them to this path in the first place. When I catch myself in this cycle of suffering I feel like a spoiled child. The artist within me retreats and cowers in the corner afraid to come out for fear of being squeezed to produce the sweet milk that powers her.

The artist within me rejects the reward based system entirely, but the human woman longs to succeed not really knowing what that would even look like. Fear of lack is the greatest destroyer of love, art and inner vibrancy. I am I enough? Is this moment enough?

How could a moment ever lose potency? It is new and full and ripe every time. Present moment-ness is the single greatest skill required to live well, on and off stage. The courage to live this way, completely open to what may be, is found where? The courage to forgive ourselves for forgetting is found where? The irony is, it is found in the present moment. Empty, full, alive or dulled down, however we feel is real and valid. It’s coming from somewhere. That is the place we must begin from at all times: wherever we are NOW.

I pray for release. I pray for the grace required to let go and be where I am. Here. Now.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Your Love

The night following your death
a fast dark storm
blew across the lake

Sending me
and a bottle of your favourite
cinnamon whisky
into the basement
awaiting Oz-like

But it was over
As fast as it rolled in

And outside,
the rain soaked trees,
with their lightening scorched branches,
basked in the golden light
of calm and almost dusk.

I found myself alone
In the eerie still-
Amazed by the earths response
To your passing:

A cacophony,
An operatic ode to you,
A violent transformation
of energy,
turned in on itself
to become this
yellow light of peace.

And just as I started
to get the joke
You chimed in
with a zinger of your own-

A double rainbow
Shining above my tear-stained face

You were smiling,
Upside down,
but smiling.

You were smug and sweet
up there-
It suited You.

And as I watched You
Fade into the dusty sky
I wondered aloud
“Granddad, can you hear me?”

Crack! Crack! Crack!
Hot white lightening
Shook the pink whispers
Of clouds
Your melting, double grin.

Okay, I get it-
You will never leave me-

You are father, husband, friend
And most certainly: Granddad
Of Epic
Fairytale proportions

Happily ever after
With your love as your legacy-

Your love:
It has the power
To rip the sky open
And then sing it softly to sleep.

Welcome to Oz, Granddad.