Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Always beginning again

My life is coming up to a bend in the road...

or so it seems.

I'm in my second to last week of telling the story "The Skin of Our Teeth" at Rosebud Theatre, and I can feel myself wanting to start the grieving and letting go, so I can move on afterwards.  There's a wrapping up of the old and a striking out toward the new. 

It must be because SPRING has now busted out all over Rosebud.

The lilacs have joined the throngs of birds singing and nesting and green has swept through the valley like a new carpet.  Now it's loud when the wind blows because of all the sticky new green leaves dancing in response to its breath.

Life is pulsating above and below and everyone has a stirring within to get on with living.

The show is still a privilege to be a part of, but it's been like pulling teeth to get people to come to it.  It takes work to enter this story, it's not a casual, "I'm going to snuggle in and hold my wife's hand" kind of play.  It grabs you by the neck and drags you through the ice age, the flood, a world war, and several tense and loud moments, only to keep encouraging another new beginning.

I suppose that's what's happening to me.

I'm being asked to begin again.

The character Sabina has some good hard questions of Mrs. Antrobus when Henry, the enemy of the free world, is sleeping back home in his father's chair.  "Always beginning again, -- why do we go on pretending?"  But of course, Sabina is ever the skeptic.  From the start of the story, she doesn't know why we go on living when there are so many stresses to endure.  "It's easier being dead" she says.

But Mr. Antrobus reasons it out near the end.  "God has always given us that second chance", and with the memories of our mistakes to guide us... we are learning.  It doesn't matter if we're fighting for a country, or a field, or a home... or I might add, a moment, or a kitchen table, or a tomato seedling... every good and excellent thing stands on the razor's edge of danger and must be fought for. 

If we don't fight for the good in each little thing, we will get swamped by the desire our own comfort.

This little/big war happens to me every five waking minutes.

Don't worry, I'm not being too hard on myself, just realistic.  I fail.   And I try again.  And I know I cannot earn my salvation, and I know that I often need a break to recharge and refocus.

But, if I am to begin again...

to make a good turn in this bend ahead I see sweeping before me, and stay on the road,

I need to begin to let go of what I have been holding and open my hands to grasp what is coming.

The next theatrical endeavor I embark on will, believe it or not, be even more challenging than Mrs. Antrobus,

And I take a deep breath with that thought.

More on that to come.







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