Some Thoughts Stimulated by reading Jacob L Moreno

The stage is open on every side. Above it is the spirit of creativity that may descend upon us at any time. Below is the bottomless pit of shadows from which we may winch up, as from a well, the reversal of all our efforts, assumptions and dreams. One can enter this stage from the north, as out of winter or the south as of summer or from east or west in the spirit of equinox balance - balance of man and woman, first and last, strong and weak, old and young, whatever.

The stage is a place of freedom, but also of exposure, of encounter and of entrancement. Outside and all around is the hidden audience, those who have not yet ventured into the light or who have done so and already left.

One does not know in advance what the script will be: a comedy, tragedy, farce, adventure, love story, mystery, musical, journey, home-coming, redemption, what? Perhaps a fairy tale. Always a fairy tale in one way or another. If the fairy spirit is not present nothing more is possible.

How will one walk onto that stage? Striding arrogantly, creeping, crawling, sidling, edging on backwards, feet first, on a horse, by somersault? And in what guise or disguise? With what air? It is all very well to talk of being straight-forward, but who knows himself well enough to know what that might be? And who can know it without the exposure of being there?

On this stage I shall encounter you and you shall encounter me and we together shall encounter walls and traps, cages and freedoms, mountains and valleys, and we shall cross oceans and learn to fly, and I shall cry your tears and you shall cry mine, and we shall both cast off skins like snakes in summer, and when we have come to the very ultimate end of all our childish games we shall discover new ones played for us by the gods and we shall steal their crowns and throw silver into the pond and ride on turtles.

You shall be Jesus and I Mary Magdalene and we shall turn loaves into fishes and race them to the end of the Dead Sea and back and visit Hades and talk to Persephone, and when we have eaten the pomegranate and danced with Dante we shall be reborn as roses, blooming under rainbows.

For in this play there is serious playing to be done and the script is written as we go along, each line being as the peeling off of an onion skin, revealing a deeper truth, a wilder feeling, a deeper mood.

Warm Up
Yet, before one can venture onto this stage one must find the flame, one must find some thread, some clue, some hint of real life, buried somewhere beneath the dull materialism that is called modernity. One must find the spirit hidden in the mechanism, the tepid glow that might possibly one day give birth to a spark. Death must be warmed up until it comes once again to life, eternal life, real life, but it is understandable that one would hesitate.

Watching from the shadows one sees such things unfold on that stage, unthinkable things, life, death, tears and rage. Do you love me? she says, speaking to the long dead, and Where has my baby gone? and Who slew my love? The curtain rises on beatings and rape, on tenderness and desire, on faithful longing and terrible betrayal. Will you venture forth to meet your angels and demons in that space? Do you know which is which - of course not! Not yet.

Shall you dare to be the extraordinary character that you are, the hero, the fool, the also-ran, the creator, thief, prostitute or queen? And what will you pull up from the nether regions? What reversal awaits when the energy of projection subsides? And what if Puck should come and sprinkle dust upon your eyes? Will there be fullness in your emptiness and emptiness in your fullness?

Let us make a safe refuge, an alternative world, where madness is permitted and our criminal selves can find expression and solace, where staleness can be undone and living water can fill a cup. The space is already there, there is no gate. Within our fairy circle we can make it so. With what is left of us we can make such a stage and make our circle dance.

Will you, dare you, bring your hidden self into the light, discover its auxilliaries, reverse with its alter-ego, and dance together through joy and pain until someone emerges that you have never seen yet recognise, have never felt yet that feels most true, and then return, step by step risking your coat of many colours in the humdrum mud where lotus grow?

Having done so much, shall we cast it off like an old coat and go and have tea together, free souls, and then return to the outer dark to give light to those who follow? Shall we now live too their lives, sway with their living souls, and gasp as the light of God appears in their radient cheeks?

If so then you shall be my minstrel bard and sing me into fairy land where I can find my wings once more and shall we fall in love with the dew drops of dawn as we worship the coming of a new day?

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What a beautiful love poem. _/|\_

wonderful picture and the man really looks like David....

Carol English said:

What a beautiful love poem. _/|\_



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