In Anticipation of Opening Night

To come out from hiding
and seek the abiding,
Accountability is in the willingness to remove each dark veil and cover.
I admit to being the first and main culpit to affronting my loving Lord above,
so as the Director wishes for us to want and to feast upon eachother,
I give these words from the pulpit, like the last supper, for that’s what it is to love.

Thank you, each of you, for giving your very best. I have been blessed to share life with you, though we’ve done it with little rest, while birds come down from the beam to disturb Salem’s nest. Let us find rest in eachother, as we tell this story of unrest to each guest. For this story is powerfully relevant here and now, as these trying times would suggest. For though our plans in life have and will often become messed, we must now answer the calling before us and pass this prying test.

I have been given a human’s life, and I have been tasked with making it mine.
We have absorbed this classic piece of American theatre, trying to learn it line by line. We are passing through the crucible, in this dark thriller by Miller, and are continually being refined. We have danced with the Devil, been statues with eachother, and have drawn closer to the divine.

Lord be with our hands as we pick and place each thing,
Lord be with our voices as we stress them to shout and sing.
Lord be with our feet to follow safely the blocking which has been set,
Lord be with our minds to remember words and intentions yet.
Lord be with our ears to hear each and every one of our cues,
Lord lift up our pained and strained hearts as we have all paid our dues.
Lord be with our eyes, that we may fully see each other upon the stage,
Lord be with the entire ensemble, that we may rattle the audience cage.
Let us poke, provoke and evoke those who are heavy in their search.
Let us tell this story for those whom a classroom, theatre or cafe is their church.
Lord let us help every person create and strive for new goals.
Lord you have met us where we are, dust from wandering stars, with uncommon souls.

My mind is trying to find the sacred
as it sifts through the words of this script. I’m behind in this life of mine, but I have this gift from my lips. The darkness surrounds me and confounds me, as my spirit has dipped. But this beautiful body of players lift it back up with words of their own and bit by bit, with little sips, the wellspring of humanity bridges conflicts, rifts, and rips my heart which was trying to turn to stone and rescues it from the pit.

You see we, this body that be, charged with this large amount of words to tell a story. Playing our parts as a part of the ancient charted history of storytellers before me. We are the shamans, the ones encircling the fire. We are the guardians who protect the dying light in the mire which the world tries to expire. Wire to wire, while the rote and file of life doesn’t meet our desires, we are hired with the paycheck of authenticity and applause,
free notes in the symphony, deleting each unnecessary pause.

For I don’t care if there’s a shiny glare from the candlesticks of gold I hold, or if they’re made from adobe mixed with blood spilt from the cow with a hat full of milk, as long as it’s your hands I’m holding, folding our bodies in half, bowing before the crowd showing them how you’ve shown me fixed hope, void of guilt, smooth as redemptive silk.

In this world of discovering danger, dishonesty, discord, and death,
hurled together loving, no longer strangers, energy gone as we thank the Lord for our breath, when we feel we have nothing left.
In this world of fleeing to the wilderness, to dance together, and seek what there is to learn in a village intent to be in disarray, have innocence killed, witches hung, turn their backs on God, and families burn,
I’m seeing we are the playing children, taking a chance on forever, who create and build, rather than pillage, who speak the truth in love, bless heaven above, and for love we will return.

About SIDEWAYS EIGHT

Being heard, stirred, and perhaps cured by life's many hidden images and the written-spoken word.
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