Whether it’s incredible successes or heart wrenching losses — both of which we tend to experience in any given year or two — there comes a time, amidst your brooding by that old oak tree in your amygdala, as you have been for countless days and nights, pages of your journal open to those old reflections that you’ve been reading a thousand times and then some.
A time when a soft breeze descends upon you. Upon those words of remembered joy and continued longing, upon all that endless nostalgia.
Then just like that, the pages turn …
I picked up a new theatre project earlier this year, after a couple years of pondering and probing whether I could really sink my teeth into it and making the ultimate decision that it was worth a try. If I build it, and others express an interest, maybe good art will come.
But first, brooding. Over the previous project and other life circumstances that I was grieving, little deaths of things that were all consuming and life chapter forming.
It’s perhaps appropriate that this next piece I’m directing is all about that. Ghosts. Loss of life and loss in life. Grieving, which is a full body and social system experience. Striving to find a way to let your story continue on. Finding a way to turn the page.
Thus it continues.
Muttering Retreats 