into the deeps

Right now is a time when the depths of me is asking for attention.
For quiet and consideration.
The foundations need to reconfigure. And re-adjust to the new ways of being that have been laid in, in their infancy. A new openness needs to be practiced in the privacy of my own home. Where, in fact, it's feeling remarkably peaceful and roomy.

I've rearranged this place so many times in the last 10 years and now, this configuration is the most spacious ever.
It's always a reflection of my inside.
As above, so below.

This play has really de-calcified something in me. And the gall stones are being swashed out, mostly out of my scar(r)ed and battered heart. I think it may be a time to sit still and be quiet. To let the new settle. Like in a bugs bunny cartoon, when the house is blown up and falls from the sky and reassembles itself as a toaster. or something.

Like that.

That's me. A new toaster; shiny on the outside and warm and toasty inside. Useful and aesthetiquely pleasing. You don't really notice it but your morning is lost without it.

Toast - the default food.
What Oprah craves.
A support structure for Nutella.

Yup that's what's being born.
A foundation for all that's sweet in life.

Love is a multi-splendored thing

Sometimes Love doesn't quite take the shape one (me) wants it to.
Sometimes it doesn't even near the colour, shade, fragrance nor function I have in mind. Sometimes it isn't even made up of those components.

And so sometimes one (me) just has to accept, hopefully without resentment, or too much resentment - I'm not perfect (yet) - the configuration that it does come in.

Live like Water.

Especially when it comes to Love.

So there's this guy...
Fuck if only I had a nickle for every time I said that verbal mal mot!

Love and Fear.
Chicken and Egg.
Two sides of that proverbial coin.
Like white on rice.

So there's this guy...
And it seems so good on paper...
And if only...
And maybe he will...
But when?

And "accept", as it says on the Japanese watch I bought in the Chinese-run dollar store of a small Czech town.
Accept the shape it is 'cause being fully with what is is the only way to ride the magic train to what will be. Otherwise you have to walk. And it can be a long circuitous route in a bad pair of shoes.

(FYI: my watch also says "Water Resistant" and "Quartz"; omens to be deciphered at a future date, on a need-to-know basis)

And I know that if I'm fully here in the beauty of What Is (even if it's crappy and weird), I won't even care in that moment about What Will Be.

What Is will reveal itself to be so glorious that The Future, or in truth, my suggestions to the Powers That Be for possible Futures, will not seduce my mind away from What Is in the least. Not to mention the added benefit; I'll be right there to luxuriate in every delicious particle of What Is.

I suppose the difficulty I'm having is this peripheral Feeling of Inevitability. Which, and I'm quite open to this possibility, might just be lingering neurosis on my behalf. Or vivid imagination, with which I'm epically blessed. The feeling that "This is The One" or at least "This is The Next One". Which could still be entirely true and all this What Is I'm struggling to graciously accept are just developmental processes at work.

Or not.

And it's "Just Friends" for ever and ever and ever, as far as the eye can see.
Like Yertle the Turtle.
Except with frogs.
Frogs all the way up.
And not a Prince in sight.

wave effect

So much.
What it does to your body. We're all withdrawing. Each actor's process is unique and perfectly suited to their mental/emotional configuration and journey through the play. I ran into L, one of the rapists. She's having more nightmares now that during rehearsal and the run. And depression.

Me, my dam broke on Saturday right in the middle of a party. It was, I must admit, quite scary. A more ferocious torrent of emotion than I think I've ever experienced running through my body ever before. And unlike while acting, I couldn't seem to control it. IT wanted to come out, to be expressed.
Ex - pressed out. Pressed. Pressure. Aaaaaaaand release. Soon I hope.

The force of the e(nergy in)motion was so great that I was moved to call for help. This was the Revolutionary Act that I think this whole experience was set up to accomplish. A series of experiences that made it impossible and unsafe NOT to reach out to another human being. In order for me to realize that I am not self-contained, shouldn't be and can actually harm myself when I keep myself hermetically sealed.

This may not make any sense or may describe you, dear reader, to a T.

When you've never had any one to turn to for certain activites, emotional sustenance and support, that sort of thing you learn to fend for yourself. Until there comes a time when what you've got (I've got) to work with is beyond my solo capacities.

I'm alright. Don't worry. But the process hasn't run itself through, by any means.
I can feel it at the edges of me, welling up its energy until it's accumulated enough critical disturbance to spill over into another wave (an energy transport phenomenom), a disturbance that moves through the medium (me), leaves the medium in place and yet somehow altered by the event.

Waves of Profound Grief.
Me mourning the characters' fates.
Mourning which the structure of the performance prohibited.
My natural response to the situation rather than one crafted in service to the text of the play.

What scar issue will these waves break up?
What calcifications will be pummelled and flushed out by these tears?
What space will be opened for new knowings?
New ways of being?
New beliefs?

Stay tuned.
In key.
This is my advice to myself.
Sensitive to the song that's slowly playing itself out on the stringfibres of my Self.

after opening night

I think I'm a good actor.



I'm a good actor.




I know.

sleep apparel

Sometimes going to bed with your coat on is just the right thing to do.