the spring rises the dead.

I've been avoiding this, like most things that seem too big to tackle and therefore continue on being the stagnant thing they are for months.
This includes my room. I'm in the midst of a cluttery chair piled with sweaters and a desk covered with paper and candles (good mix?) and tiny boxes. I have a new (old) dresser standing in the middle of the floor, waiting to be put to use. It's a nice dresser, made by my great grandfather; I'm eager (in some ways) to use it- reorganize and downsize by belongings.

So, for update on life: I'm swallowed almost completely with the theatre right now. In most ways, this is a blessing like I've never experienced; in others, I'm looking at the next few months with such apprehension as to how it will all work out schedule-wise and energy-to-keep-it-going-and-give-100%-to-each-thing-wise.
I was involved in the writing and staging of a show called I Don't Know, I Just Don't Know; a devising with 12 actors and an awesome stage crew based upon the idea of modern uncertainty; with a story line that could be catch-phrased in such a way:
"Can a therapist who doesn't believe in therapy, a man with carved duck heads, and a girl named Michael join together to save their community? I don't know, I just don't know."
If you didn't see it, sad day. It's a funny piece; first run, of course- it needs editing and all that. But I'm proud. I will have the DVD hopefully shortly.

Literally the day after that show closed we had auditions for the next show, Godspell, which I was fortunate to be cast in (for me, first show directed by Jeff). I love this show. I am always psyched for rehearsals, and I'm suprised this honeymoon stage hasn't worn off yet, honestly. But take it while you can. Simultaneously I'm directing a short piece for a class: WASP by Steve Martin (yes, that Steve Martin) with a cast of four friends. I also work for the North Shore YMCA Theatre Company, and we just finished casting our next show of the Music Man Jr. with two casts of about 60 children between the ages of 6-17. It's a blast, but my vocal chords are tired of projecting for hours on end.

So that's the main structure of my time/life as of now, with my other class meshed in there- as well as eating and sleeping and being at my house.

I just finished reading the Alchemist by Pauolo Coelho. A short read, and a worthy one. It is a contemplative discussion about a lot of relevant things. The story starts off with a prologue about the alchemist (an unnamed, ambiguous character at the moment) finding a book that belongs to someone in the caravan that you assume he is travelling with- retelling the story of Narcisuss: a young man who is so fascinted with his own beauty that one day he falls into the lake and drowns; and a flower grows up and blooms where he had been on the shore. But this particular telling ended with the goddess of the forest asking the lake why it had transformed into salt water (made of tears). It replied that is was weeping for Narcissus, not because of the loss of a great beauty, but rather because when Narcissus bent over and looked into the lake, the lake saw its own beauty reflected in his eyes.

Then the story starts, and you kind of just forget about the prologue- it starts off somewhere else, and the alchemist is just a mentioned character until near the end. And then after it was done, I remembered. The prologue! What's interesting about this is that the book is about following what the main character calls his "Personal Legend", which is probably a lot more beautiful in the original language of Portuguese, but no matter. It begged the question of me; isn't this selfish? This character, Santiago, drops everything and everyone to follow his "Personal Legend" and leans how to listen to his heart and all this (it's a stylized story; you have to allow yourself some corny-ness) to find his "treasure". The Alchemist, who he meets much later in the story, helps him to achieve a lot of this knowledge, simply by challenging him in the right ways. But I still felt a little uncomfortable (maybe a little jealous) about how he moved from place to place and people to people all in search and pursuit of his treasure. It seemed to be rooted in something that was slightly, well, narcissistic. The End. Then, I remembered the prologue and there was a mini circle that was formed; in searching for- and being able to see- your own 'Legend' (or, Beauty) other people also find theirs as well, both their meaning and beauty. And the fact that the Alchemist reads this story at the beginning (and comments on it "What a lovely story,") you get this feeling that the alchemist is a sort of god-figure, or a kind of all-knowing Gandalf (someone you would feel safe around, haha) someone who exists almost outside of time- as the prologue stands outside of the time of the story. You trust what he says and thinks for this reason, and when you view the story through the lens of the prologue, it can completely change the reading and meaning.
All that to say, I wish I read Portuguese. There's no doubt things are always better in their original language.




Oh, and happy Spring.
and, I need headshots.